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We all know that one person who hoards ketchup packets. You go to their place, and they've got a drawer full of them, as if they're preparing for the ketchup apocalypse. I'm starting to think they believe ketchup packets will become the new currency after the economic collapse. And it's not just ketchup; it's every condiment imaginable. You ask for some salt, and they hand you a mini salt shaker from a fast-food joint circa 2005. I'm like, "Do you even remember where this came from? Is this a collector's item now?"
I propose an intervention for these condiment hoarders. We need to sit them down and say, "Listen, it's time to let go. Your ketchup packet collection is not going to pay the bills or solve world hunger.
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You ever notice how opening a ketchup packet is like participating in the Olympics? It's a full-contact sport, my friends. You've got to be precise, delicate, and have the reflexes of a ninja. I'm there, squeezing, smacking, doing the ketchup dance, and the packet is just staring back at me, mocking my efforts. It's like it's saying, "You think you can handle me? Think again, sauce amateur!"
And let's talk about the sound that packet makes when you're trying to open it. It's the loudest noise in the room. You might as well announce to the world, "Attention, everyone! I am attempting to open a ketchup packet, and it's about to get messy!"
I suggest we turn ketchup packet opening into an Olympic event. Judges can rate us on style, technique, and the least amount of ketchup on our faces. I guarantee you, I'd win gold in the "Most Dramatic Ketchup Extraction" category.
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You know, the other day I found myself in a serious life dilemma, folks. I was at a fast-food joint, and they handed me a single ketchup packet. Now, I don't know about you, but one ketchup packet for a meal is like giving me a thimble of water in the middle of the Sahara Desert. I mean, what are they thinking? I look at the packet, and it's like they're challenging my ketchup-eating abilities. Do they not realize the amount of fries I have here? It's like they're saying, "Good luck, buddy! May the odds be ever in your flavor!"
So, I start strategizing, you know? I'm contemplating the perfect distribution of ketchup to fries ratio. It's a mathematical equation at this point. But then, the guy next to me gets a handful of those little red packets. He's got ketchup to spare, and I'm over here rationing like it's the apocalypse.
I propose a ketchup socialism, where we all pool our resources for the greater good of fry-kind. Because, let's face it, we've all experienced the heartbreak of a dry fry. It's a tragedy of epic proportions.
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You ever get so desperate for ketchup that you contemplate a ketchup packet heist? I mean, it's right there on the counter, practically begging to be liberated. But then you start having these moral dilemmas, like, "Am I really about to steal condiments? What has my life come to?" I imagine myself in a movie, Mission: Impossible style, with intense music playing as I go in slow motion for that ketchup packet. There's suspense, drama, and maybe a little slow-motion hair flip for added flair.
But then reality kicks in, and I remember that it's just ketchup. I mean, it's not like I'm robbing a bank; I just want my fries to have a decent bath.
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