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You ever try cracking a joke in hospice? It's like walking through a minefield. One wrong step, and you've offended someone's great aunt twice removed. I made the mistake of saying, "I guess laughter is the best medicine," and the room went silent. I felt like I'd just told them I was starting a mariachi band in the corner. I think they have a secret "Hospice Humor Police" who patrol the halls, ready to shut down any attempt at levity. I can just imagine them in their uniforms, armed with sarcasm detectors and whoopee cushion detectors. "Sir, step away from the rubber chicken, and no one gets hurt!
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You ever notice how they call it a "hospice"? It sounds like the place where laughter goes to die. I mean, come on, couldn't they have picked a more upbeat name? Maybe something like "Joy Junction" or "Giggle Gardens." No, instead, they went with "Hospice." It's like they're saying, "Welcome to the last stop, folks! Get ready for the ultimate checkout experience." I went to visit my grandma in hospice, and I gotta tell you, it's like they have a strict "no-jokes" policy. I tried to lighten the mood with a knock-knock joke, and the nurse just stared at me like I'd told her I was the tooth fairy. I get it; it's a serious place, but a little humor wouldn't hurt. Maybe they should consider a comedy night, you know? Bring in some standup comedians to entertain the residents. Imagine a hospice talent show - "Tonight, on stage one, Ethel is going to kill with her rendition of 'Stairway to Heaven' on the harmonica!
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You know, they say life is a party, but hospice feels more like a party with really strict parents. I mean, they have a schedule for everything. "Time for medication. Time for reflection. Time for a nap." I'm just waiting for them to announce, "And now, it's time for the hospice conga line!" I tried to suggest a game night to liven things up. Maybe a game of Bingo or charades. But no, they were not having it. Apparently, the only game allowed is the waiting game. Spoiler alert: it's not very entertaining.
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So, I noticed something interesting about hospice food. It's like they have a secret mission to make everything taste like cardboard. I tried the mashed potatoes, and I swear they were just rehydrated potato flakes from 1985. And the green beans? Let's just say they were doing a fantastic impression of overcooked spaghetti. I asked the nurse, "Is this a meal or a punishment?" She said, "Well, it's all about comfort." I don't know about you, but if I'm on my deathbed, I want my taste buds to go out with a bang, not a whimper. I want my last meal to be like a culinary fireworks display, not a sad trombone of flavor.
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