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Why did we decide that one of our most popular drinks should be a hot brown liquid that makes your breath have the stench of a sewer? Probably to boost the sales of insulin shots, because backing up a dump truck of sugar and cream is the only way you can get through drinking that concoction of brownness. The only people who drink plain coffee are fall-over drunks who mistakenly think the "strong" (synonym for gross) taste will stop them from slip-and-sliding their car off a bridge, and tired adults who desperately need something to distract them from the idea of leaving their kid at a rest stop.

 
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Marching bands were created by paid NFL sponsors as a giant alarm clock to prevent drunks from totally passing out. Nothing keeps you awake like a line of trumpets blasting a fight song in your ear all quarter. "Hey, moron, stay awake so you can watch our cartoon cookie mascot dance on the screen while they show a slo-mo replay of the running back snapping his leg in half and and collapsing into the photographers!" To justify this giant noise contraption, there are marching band competitions, where judges decide who's best at sweating in wool suits, stepping in shapes, and playing songs that were popular six weeks ago. 

 
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Most parades begin with a group of motorcycle cops riding in figure-8's with the sirens on, which sounds like an expensive Japanese sex doll drowning. Then they move on to the floats, where, best case scenario, you see the mayor, and that annoying kid on his dad's shoulders gets hit in the face with a set of beads by a car salesman dressed as a cartoon character. Even the Macy's thanksgiving parade sucks. It's kind of like NASCAR - boring, and with everyone praying for a disaster. How about next year we "accidentally" let a couple Muppet balloons go, and see how many skyscrapers they can crash into before flying into the stratosphere, or hitting the Chrysler building and deflating onto some innocent bystanders. 
 
 
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If you've ever been on a plane, you know that some passengers are randomly assigned to sit near the emergency exit, and help other passengers in the event that shit hits the fan. Why is this a thing? The last time I was seated in an exit row, it was me, two elderly people, and an extremely obese man in a "who farted" shirt. As if this A-Team is going to save a single person. And why do we need safety instructions? You're not telling me anything the pilot won't scream in a panic through the PA as the cockpit fills with water. 

 
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Christmas dinner is the time when families come together to unite in the sound of mushy chewing, and probably the sound of your grandmother trashing minorities as she eats from her child-sized plate. You promise yourself you'll stop eating terribly by New Years, but Christmas dinner is normally the beginning of a 3-month chow fest that ends in you at the gym, falling off the treadmill and flying into an exercise bike. Who can blame you? You've got your mom smoking in the backyard because grandpa came out of his I-recently-had-a-stroke stare just long enough to adjust his glass eye and tell her he hated the food, and you're left with a table of mac and cheese. Who wouldn't stuff their face?