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You ever notice how the brunt of responsibility always falls on the person with the car keys? Like, suddenly, you become the designated driver, the official GPS operator, and the snack organizer. It's like, "Sure, I'll drive, but I didn't sign up for this unpaid chauffeur buffet coordinator role.
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You know you're an adult when your refrigerator takes the brunt of your indecisiveness. It's a battlefield of expired condiments and forgotten leftovers. Opening it is like playing a game of culinary Russian roulette - will it be a tasty surprise or a science experiment gone wrong?
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Ever notice how the last slice of pizza always bears the brunt of everyone's reluctance? It sits there, forlorn and untouched, like the kid no one wants to pick for their team in gym class. I've started calling it the "lonely slice," and it deserves better.
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I recently realized that my laundry hamper bears the brunt of my fashion decisions. It's sitting there, judging me silently, as I toss in a mismatched sock and a shirt that probably should've retired three washes ago. It's the unsung hero of my questionable wardrobe.
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The shopping cart is the unsung hero of grocery stores, silently bearing the brunt of our impulsive purchases. It's like a miniature battlefield as we navigate through aisles, trying to resist the siren call of the snack section. The struggle is real, and the shopping cart witnesses it all.
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The brunt of my morning routine is convincing myself that I can totally hit the snooze button one more time and still make it to work on time. It's a delicate dance between punctuality and the allure of five more minutes of sleep. Spoiler alert: sleep usually wins.
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The humble door is the unsung hero of privacy, bearing the brunt of our awkward encounters with neighbors. It's like a shield protecting us from unwanted small talk as we fumble with our keys, desperately trying to escape into the safety of our own homes. Thank you, door, for saving us from social awkwardness.
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The TV remote is the unsung hero of our living rooms. It bears the brunt of our frustration when we can't find it, but when we do, it's like discovering the Holy Grail. We should have a national holiday dedicated to all the lost and found remotes out there.
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Let's talk about the poor stapler in the office - the unsung hero that bears the brunt of our document-binding needs. It sits there on the desk, quietly doing its job, until that one day when it decides to jam and throw a tiny, metallic tantrum. Suddenly, it's the office villain, and we're all just trying to keep our cool in the face of stapler rebellion.
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You ever notice how the brunt of our digital age falls on poor autocorrect? It's doing its best, trying to decipher our typos and predict our thoughts, but sometimes it turns a simple text into a Shakespearean tragedy. Autocorrect, you're the real MVP, even when you make us say things we never intended.
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