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Hey, everybody! So, my ghostwriter handed me a note that just said "kool." Now, I'm not sure if they're trying to be hip with the lingo or if they just misspelled "cool," but let's roll with it. You know, back in the day, being cool meant having a leather jacket, sunglasses, and riding a motorcycle. Nowadays, it's having the latest smartphone and knowing how to use emojis. I miss the days when being cool meant you had a slick pompadour, not a perfectly curated Instagram feed. Now, if someone calls you "kool," are they complimenting you or just subtly pointing out that you're not quite up to par with the regular cool kids? It's like being in the B-team of coolness. I don't want to be on the B-list! I want to be on the A-list where they spell everything correctly.
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You ever think about the Kool-Aid man? You know, that big pitcher of red liquid bursting through walls, screaming "Oh, yeah!" Now, I'm no engineer, but who designs a house where a giant liquid-filled pitcher can just crash through the walls? I can imagine the conversation at the architectural firm. "Yeah, we need a feature that allows a gigantic anthropomorphic drink container to make a dramatic entrance into the kitchen." And someone was like, "Brilliant! Let's make the walls out of cardboard." But here's my question: if the Kool-Aid man can burst through walls, why doesn't he just use the door like a normal person? Or pitcher? Whatever he is. I mean, it's not like he's breaking into a secret lair; he's just delivering a sugary beverage. I want to see him at a party, politely knocking on the door, waiting for someone to answer, instead of demolishing the entire living room. It's like, Kool-Aid man, chill out! We have a doorbell for a reason.
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You know you're officially an adult when you start diluting your Kool-Aid. As a kid, you're all about that sugar rush. You mix it up, and it's practically liquid candy. But as an adult, you're standing there in the kitchen, reading the instructions on the back of the Kool-Aid packet like it's the most important decision of your day. "One cup of sugar? Nah, let's go for half a cup. Gotta watch those calories." And then you end up with this sad excuse for Kool-Aid that tastes like watered-down nostalgia. You take a sip and think, "Wow, I've really let myself go." It's like a rite of passage into adulthood. Forget mortgages and 401(k)s; if you're diluting your Kool-Aid, you're officially adulting.
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I was in an elevator the other day, and there was this guy trying so hard to be cool. Leather jacket, sunglasses, the whole shebang. But he was facing the wrong way in the elevator! Now, I don't know about you, but when I'm in an elevator, I face the door. It's just common sense, right? This guy was facing everyone, like he was ready to have a one-man dance party. And I'm just standing there, thinking, "Dude, this isn't a nightclub. We're going up to the third floor, not the VIP section." I bet he's the same guy who would get on a crowded subway and start beatboxing, thinking he's the next big thing. But seriously, who faces backward in an elevator? That's not cool; that's just confusing. I wanted to give him a mirror and say, "Here, face this way. You'll look cooler, I promise.
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