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I had to call tech support the other day because my computer was doing the unthinkable—it was actually working correctly. I thought I'd been transported to an alternate universe. I mean, who knew computers were capable of doing what they were designed to do? So, I call up tech support, and after being on hold for what felt like a century, I finally get a human on the line. I explain my situation, and the guy says, "Sir, are you sure your computer is on?" I'm like, "Buddy, I may not be a tech genius, but I know when a computer is on. I'm not trying to have a philosophical debate with my laptop here."
He then proceeds to ask me if I've tried turning it off and on again. I'm thinking, "Is this guy for real?" But, just to humor him, I restart the computer. Lo and behold, it starts working perfectly.
I wanted to thank the guy, but all I could think was, "Is this the level of technical expertise we're dealing with here? If so, I've been doing the unthinkable—I've been overestimating tech support all these years.
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Laundry day is always an adventure, isn't it? I mean, I've had socks disappear into the black hole that is the washing machine, never to be seen again. But the other day, something even more unthinkable happened—I actually found a sock that wasn't mine. I'm folding my laundry, and suddenly, there it is—a sock that belongs to a completely different species. I don't know whose sock it is or how it infiltrated my laundry, but I'm convinced my washing machine is hosting sock secret meetings when I'm not looking.
Now, I'm faced with a moral dilemma. Do I keep the sock and adopt it into my sock family, or do I try to reunite it with its long-lost mate? It's like a sock version of "The Parent Trap."
And then there's the eternal struggle of folding fitted sheets. I swear, I've watched tutorials, read articles, and consulted with the laundry gods, but that fitted sheet still looks at me like, "You have no power here."
Laundry day is the day I contemplate the unthinkable—joining a nudist colony. At least then, I wouldn't have to deal with the mystery socks and the fitted sheet conundrum.
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You know, I decided to switch things up a bit and go to a new barber the other day. Big mistake. This guy must have misunderstood the word "trim" because, before I knew it, he had taken off more hair than I thought was humanly possible. I looked in the mirror, and my reflection was like, "Who are you, and what did you do with my hair?" I went in asking for a slight change, and I walked out looking like I just joined the military.
I tried to stay positive, though. I thought, "Maybe this is the universe's way of telling me I was destined to be a bald rockstar." But, let me tell you, my head doesn't have the charisma of a rockstar; it has the charisma of a surprised potato.
I went back to the barber to complain, and he said, "It'll grow back." Yeah, no kidding. I just hope it grows back faster than my self-esteem did.
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Ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you about this new diet I tried recently. They call it "The Unthinkable Diet." Now, you might be wondering, what's so unthinkable about it? Well, it's unthinkable because after a week on this diet, the only thing you'll be thinking is, "Why did I do this to myself?" I mean, the diet is so extreme, they recommend you only eat things you'd never imagine putting in your mouth. First day, they suggest a breakfast of raw broccoli dipped in mustard. I swear, I've never seen broccoli look so offended in my life. It's like, "What did I ever do to you?"
And don't get me started on dinner. They want you to try a delightful combination of pickles and peanut butter. Pickles and peanut butter! I felt like I was betraying my taste buds. My mouth was like, "Dude, we trusted you, and this is the nonsense you bring us?"
I stuck with it for a week, but by day seven, I was dreaming about a burger so juicy it would make a vegetarian cry. The unthinkable happened—I broke the diet and ordered the biggest, greasiest pizza I could find. I thought about calling it a cheat day, but it was more like a "rescue mission for my sanity.
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