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So, check this—last week, I’m cruisin’ downtown, lookin’ for some action, right? Not me personally, just sayin’—hypothetical Bart-style, ha! And there’s this chick, all “your mind is the scene of the crime,” winkin’ at me like she knows my secrets. I’m like, whoa, lady, chill! Made me happy, tho—kinda cool she’s playin’ mysterious. But then, ugh, this greasy dude rolls up, all “pay me first,” and I’m like, eat my shorts, creep! Pissed me off big time—hate middlemen, ya feel me?

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But then, disaster strikes! I spill some broth on my shirt. I’m like, “Great, now I look like a mess.” I try to clean it up, but it just makes it worse. I’m sittin’ there, lookin’ like a total goofball. The owner sees me and starts laughin’. I laugh too, but inside I’m like, “Why me?”

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