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You ever notice how everything nowadays seems to be a bit, well, fake? I mean, we've got fake news, fake friends, and let's not even get started on those fake pockets they put on women's pants. What's the deal with that? Is someone out there collecting the tears of women who thought they found a pocket but were brutally deceived? And don't even get me started on social media. It's like everyone's living their best fake life online. I saw a picture of someone's dinner the other day captioned, "Homemade gourmet meal." I know for a fact that's a frozen pizza. The only thing homemade about it was the guilt they felt for lying about it.
But you know what's the pinnacle of fakeness? Those fake plants people have in their homes. Who are we kidding here? You can't keep a cactus alive, and now you're pretending to nurture a plastic fern? At least with real plants, you have the excuse of neglect. "Oh, I forgot to water it." What's your excuse now, Susan? "I forgot to plug it in"?
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Have you ever noticed how people these days get outraged over the smallest things? I mean, someone sneezes, and suddenly it's a national controversy. "How dare you spread your germs in my general direction?" We've become a society of professional finger-pointers. And social media is the breeding ground for fake outrage. People will get mad about anything just to feel like they're part of a movement. "I can't believe they changed the color of the emoji. This is an attack on my identity!" Newsflash: the only identity you're losing is the one of someone who has their priorities straight.
But you know what I'm genuinely outraged about? The fact that I have to pretend to care about all these fake outrages. Can't we reserve our energy for something more important, like figuring out how to open those annoying plastic packages without injuring ourselves?
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I recently tried one of those cake mixes where all you need to do is add water, stir, and voila! You're a baking genius. Well, let me tell you, the only thing I baked was my disappointment. I followed the instructions to a T, and when I took it out of the oven, it looked like a UFO crash-landed in my kitchen. I'm pretty sure even the ants outside were giving me judgmental looks. But here's the kicker: the box had the audacity to say, "Tastes like homemade." Really? Because the last time I checked, homemade didn't taste like regret mixed with a hint of cardboard. If that's what homemade tastes like, then I've been cooking up masterpieces my entire life.
And who are these people who claim they love baking? "It's so therapeutic," they say. Yeah, right. I find therapy in the bakery section of my grocery store, where someone else did the baking, and I just need to pick it up.
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We all know that one person who's suddenly a fitness guru after a week at the gym. They post sweaty selfies, use hashtags like #BeastMode, and talk about their gains. But let's be real, the only gains they've made are in their collection of workout clothes. And have you noticed that workout supplements sound like failed superhero names? "Introducing Protein Man!" Sorry, Protein Man, but you can't save the world with a blender bottle and a scoop of powder.
And don't even get me started on those fitness influencers who post videos of their intense workouts. Meanwhile, the only thing intense about my workout is the internal struggle of deciding between the 5-pound dumbbells and the 8-pound dumbbells. Spoiler alert: I usually go with the 5-pounders.
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