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I asked Nic about his school day, and he goes, "School is like a movie. Except it's in black and white, and the plot is confusing, and the snacks are terrible." I couldn't argue with that analysis. Nic, my man, you've cracked the code.
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Nic believes that if you whisper your bedtime wishes to your pillow, they come true. Tried it last night. Now I'm expecting a magical pillow delivery of pizza and a lifetime supply of cozy blankets. Thanks for the tip, Nic.
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You know, Nic is a master negotiator. I saw him at the ice cream truck, haggling over the price of a popsicle like he's buying a car. "Listen, I've been a good boy this week. Can we do two gummy bears and a push-up pop for a dollar? Final offer.
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I was talking to Nic, and I asked him what he wants to be when he grows up. He looked at me dead serious and said, "I want to be a professional LEGO builder." Well, Nic, welcome to the world of dreams – where stepping on LEGO is the adult version of a landmine.
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Nic once asked me why adults are always so serious. I told him it's because we have bills to pay. He looked at me and said, "Well, maybe you should try paying them with Monopoly money. Problem solved." Nic, my financial advisor.
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I overheard Nic telling his friend that the reason he doesn't want to grow up is because adults have to eat broccoli willingly. Kid, you have no idea what awaits you – and it's not just broccoli; it's kale, spinach, and the dreaded Brussels sprouts. Good luck, Nic, good luck.
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Nic has this theory that if you eat your vegetables while standing on one leg, they taste better. Tried it myself – now I'm hopping around the kitchen every dinner like a veggie-loving flamingo. Thanks, Nic.
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So, there's this kid named Nic in my neighborhood. He's like a human GPS for lost toys. I lost my remote control car the other day, and within minutes, Nic showed up at my doorstep, proudly announcing, "Found it under the sofa. You really need to vacuum more, by the way.
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Nic has this imaginary friend named Bob. I thought it was cute until Nic blamed Bob for eating all the cookies. Now I'm having imaginary arguments with Bob in my head, like, "Bob, you sneaky cookie monster, those were for the bake sale!
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