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There's always that one person at the gym with a pathological need to loudly narrate their entire workout. Dude, I don't need a live commentary of your bench press journey. I'm just trying to find a treadmill that won't judge me for walking at a moderate pace.
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You know you've reached a pathological level of adulthood when you get genuinely excited about a new sponge for the kitchen. Suddenly, you're standing there in the cleaning aisle, comparing absorbency rates like it's the Olympics of household chores.
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I think my neighbor has a pathological relationship with lawnmowers. I swear, the guy mows his lawn more often than I change my socks. I'm starting to think he's secretly auditioning for a lawnmower beauty pageant.
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You ever notice how the "pathological" line at the grocery store is always the one with the cashier who insists on counting every penny twice? I mean, I just wanted some milk and bread, not a recount of my financial history.
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Have you ever been in a meeting where someone's pathological love for jargon turns a simple conversation into a linguistic maze? I felt like I needed a GPS just to navigate through the sea of corporate buzzwords. I had no idea we were discussing the budget; I thought we were decoding the Da Vinci Code.
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Why is it that whenever someone has a pathological fear of spiders, they feel the need to share every gruesome detail about their arachnophobic nightmares? Look, I get it, eight legs are too many for you, but I don't need a play-by-play of your tarantula-themed horror movie.
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Why is it that when someone has a pathological love for selfies, every outing becomes a photo shoot? I just wanted a casual coffee, not to be the background prop in your quest for the perfect latte art selfie.
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You ever meet someone with a pathological fear of commitment to dinner plans? It's like trying to schedule a meeting with the President. "I can pencil you in for a quick bite in three weeks, but don't expect a confirmation until the day before.
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I've come to the conclusion that printers have a pathological hatred for deadlines. The closer you get to that crucial printout, the more likely it is to start its rebellious paper-jamming dance. It's like they have a secret society against productivity.
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