3-Minute Stand-Up Comedy Routine

(Walks on stage, looks around, shakes head.)
You ever wake up in the morning, stretch, take a deep breath... and immediately regret all your life choices?

I woke up today, my body made a noise I’ve never heard before. It wasn’t a crack, it wasn’t a pop… it was more like my bones whispered, “You did this.”

Aging is wild. When you’re a kid, you fall off a bike, scrape your knee, and just run it off. As an adult, I sleep slightly wrong, and now my neck is on strike for a week. Like, it doesn’t even negotiate. Just full-on protest mode.

And it’s not just the body. My patience has disappeared. I was in line at the grocery store, and the guy in front of me had, I kid you not, 19 coupons. That’s not a couponer; that’s a mathematician. He was doing long division at the register, carrying the one, solving for X… Sir, I am here for bread. I did not sign up for an SAT exam.

Speaking of the grocery store… why is it that no matter what I buy, the cashier always asks, "Do you need a bag?" Like, yes. I’m buying 17 things. You think I’m gonna carry them out like some kind of overachieving circus act? Balancing a watermelon on my shoulder, eggs under my chin?

And self-checkout? That’s just unpaid labor. I scanned three things, and the machine had the nerve to say, “Unexpected item in the bagging area.” First of all, you put the bag there. Second, don’t make me feel like I’m stealing when I clearly don’t have the coordination for crime.

Look, I know my limits. I’m not built for a life of crime. I can’t even jaywalk without looking both ways five times. Like, I’ll see an empty road and still be like, “Mmm… let me wait.” Meanwhile, some 80-year-old woman is just strolling past me like she owns the city. I saw a guy jaywalk in New York without even looking up from his phone. That’s next-level confidence. That’s a man who has made peace with whatever happens.

I respect it. I really do.

Anyway, thanks for listening to me complain. I hope all your bones stay silent tonight.

(Walks off stage.)

Here's a 3-minute stand-up routine:

Hey everyone! You know what's weird? How we all pretend we know what we're doing as adults. Like, I was at the grocery store the other day, standing in the produce section, just staring at avocados like I have any idea how to tell if they're ripe. Everyone does this little ritual where they squeeze them gently, nod thoughtfully, like "Ah yes, this one's telling me secrets." But we're all just guessing! I've bought exactly two types of avocados in my life: rocks and brown mush. There's no in-between.

And don't get me started on buying wine. I love watching people in wine shops, especially the ones trying to look sophisticated. They'll pick up a bottle, examine the label like they're solving a murder mystery. "Hmm, yes, notes of oak and... [squints at label] ...Mendoza region..." Meanwhile, my entire wine selection process is: "Ooh, pretty label! And it's on sale!" I once bought a wine because it had a cute dog on the label. Turned out to be terrible, but you know what? I deserved that. That's what I get for trusting a marketing team that thought, "You know what sells wine? Golden retrievers."

Speaking of pretending to be adults, can we talk about office small talk? Every Monday morning, it's the same conversation. "How was your weekend?" "Good, yours?" "Good." That's it. That's the whole thing. We're all living the same lie. Nobody's weekend was just "good." It was either "I binged an entire series in my pajamas and now I'm questioning all my life choices" or "I tried to assemble IKEA furniture and almost ended my marriage." But no, we stick to "good." Because Karen from accounting doesn't need to know that you spent Sunday googling "why does my houseplant hate me?"

And don't even get me started on trying to schedule anything with friends once you're over 30. It's like trying to coordinate a military operation. You send out a group text suggesting dinner, and suddenly everyone's checking three different calendars. "Let me see... I can do the third Thursday of next month, between 6:43 and 8:17 PM, but only if Mercury isn't in retrograde and my dog's yoga class gets cancelled." Remember when we were younger and could just say "Want to hang out?" and it would just... happen? Now I have to file a request in triplicate just to get coffee with someone.

But hey, at least we're all in this together, pretending we've got it figured out. And if anyone tells you they actually do have it figured out, they're either lying or they're trying to sell you something. Probably both.

Thank you, you've been great!

3-Minute Stand-Up Comedy Routine

Here's a 3-minute stand-up comedy routine that doesn't rely on puns:

[walks on stage, adjusts microphone]

Hey everyone! Great to be here tonight. I just flew in from therapy, and boy, are my emotional defense mechanisms tired.

I've been trying to get in shape lately. My fitness goal is to be able to climb a flight of stairs without sounding like I'm auditioning for a horror movie. You know you're out of shape when people mistake your breathing for a obscene phone call.

I downloaded one of those fitness apps that counts your steps. After a week, mine sent me a notification that said, "Are you okay? Should we call someone?" Apparently "from the couch to the fridge" isn't considered a proper workout circuit.

My doctor told me I should start eating healthier. He suggested I try the Mediterranean diet. I thought that meant pizza and ice cream, because that's what I ate when I visited Italy. Turns out, there's more to it. Who knew?

Dating in your thirties is weird. People ask different questions now. It used to be "What's your sign?" Now it's "What's your credit score?" and "How's your relationship with your mother?" I once had someone ask about my retirement plan on a first date. I was like, "My what now? I'm still trying to figure out dinner for tomorrow."

I tried online dating. My profile said I enjoy long walks on the beach. That's technically true, if by "long walks" you mean "sitting in one spot" and by "beach" you mean "my living room watching beach documentaries on Netflix."

Speaking of Netflix, I finally understand what "Netflix and chill" means. It means watching three episodes of a show, falling asleep, waking up confused during episode seven, and then spending forty minutes trying to figure out what you missed. That's romance in 2023.

I have a cat now. Getting a pet as an adult is basically announcing to the world, "I can barely take care of myself, so I've decided to be responsible for another life." My cat judges me constantly. I'll be eating ice cream straight from the container at 3 AM, and she'll just stare at me like, "This is why you're single, Karen."

Anyway, that's my time! You've been great! Remember, if you enjoyed the show, my name is [your name]. If you didn't, I'm [name of another comedian]. Good night!

[exits stage]

"Life in the Digital Age" - A 3-Minute Stand-up Routine

Hey everyone! Great to be here tonight. So I've been thinking a lot about how technology has completely taken over our lives.

You know what's crazy? We now have smart everything. Smart fridges, smart toilets... I got a smart mattress last month. It tracks my sleep patterns and sends me reports. Last week it sent me an email that just said "Please... see other mattresses." Not even my bed wants a committed relationship with me.

Dating apps are wild these days too. I signed up for one where you have to verify your identity with a government ID. I uploaded my driver's license photo, and the app rejected it saying, "This can't be you. The person in this photo looks like they've seen sunlight."

And don't get me started on those video calls with family. My grandmother got her first smartphone during the pandemic. Every call starts with ten minutes of looking at her ceiling fan, followed by her asking, "Can you see me?" while her face takes up the ENTIRE screen. I can count her pores! Then she'll turn the camera to show me something in her house, but it's moving so fast it looks like found footage from "The Blair Witch Project."

Everyone's obsessed with their screen time now. My friend showed me his weekly report - 9 hours a day! I was like, "That's terrible!" while quickly hiding my 11-hour average. At this point, my phone battery has a better work-life balance than I do.

Social media has us all living double lives. I'll post a photo captioned "Living my best life!" from a fancy restaurant, but what you don't see is me calculating if I can afford the appetizer while drinking the free water. And I spent 45 minutes arranging that food for the perfect shot. By the time I ate it, it was colder than my ex's heart.

The worst is when your phone dies in public. It's like losing a limb! I was at a coffee shop when my battery hit 1%. I started panicking like I was diffusing a bomb. "Does anyone have an iPhone charger?! This is an emergency!" A guy offered me his Android charger and I looked at him like he offered me a fax machine.

You know what's really sad? I realized recently that my most stable relationship is with my Wi-Fi router. We've been together for three years. Sure, it ghosts me sometimes for no reason, but don't they all?

Anyway, that's my time - gotta go check if my refrigerator posted on Instagram without my permission. You've been great! Thank you!

Stand-Up Comedy Routine: "Modern Life is a Joke (But Not the Pun Kind)"

[Opening with confident energy]
Hey, how’s everyone doing? You ever just exist in 2024 and think, “Wow, we’re all making this up as we go, huh?” Like, dating apps? Let’s start there. Swiping through people like we’re browsing Netflix for a horror movie we’ll regret later.

[Pacing, mock-serious tone]
And why do all dating profiles look the same? “I like hiking, tacos, and my dog.” Wow. You’re a human being, not a “Live, Laugh, Love” poster. And why do guys always hold fish in their photos? Is this Tinder or Animal Planet? “Swipe right if you want someone who smells like bass and bad decisions.”

[Lean in, conspiratorial]
And bios! “Looking for someone who doesn’t take life too seriously.” Translation: “I will forget your birthday and borrow money.” Once saw a bio that said, “Fluent in sarcasm.” Oh, cool, so you’re… everyone’s ex.

[Shift to social media bit]
Speaking of red flags, let’s talk Instagram. Nothing’s real there. You ever see those “candid” shots? “Oh, this? I just woke up like this.” Bulls--t. You posed for 20 minutes while your friend yelled, “Look like you’re having fun but also dead inside!” That’s the vibe.

[Mocking pose]
And the “perfect” lives? “Here’s my avocado toast in Bali!” Meanwhile, I’m in sweatpants eating cereal from the box, watching your stories like, “Teach me your ways, wizard.”

[Pause, then upbeat]
But hey, at least we’re all failing together. Ever get sucked into a 2 a.m. TikTok spiral? You start watching DIY crafts, then it’s conspiracy theories about birds, and suddenly you’re learning to yodel. At dawn. Your neighbors hate you, but hey, you’re TikTok famous in Slovenia.

[Transition to adulting]
And can we talk about “adulting”? Laundry is my nemesis. I swear, clothes multiply like gremlins. You do one load, and suddenly there’s a sock cult in the hamper. And groceries? Every week I buy spinach like, “This time I’ll be healthy.” Spoiler: It liquefies in the fridge while I UberEats McDonald’s.

[Exaggerated despair]
Don’t even get me started on LinkedIn. It’s just Facebook in a tie. “I’m excited to announce I’ll be breathing air in Q2!” And why do people post, “Open to work” like it’s a dating status? “Looking for someone who can handle my Excel skills and crippling self-doubt.”

[Wrap-up, upbeat]
But honestly, life’s chaos is what makes it fun. We’re all out here winging it, swiping right, burning toast, and pretending we know how to fold a fitted sheet. So here’s to us—the generation that turned surviving into a spectator sport.

[Closing grin]
And if you’re single, hit me up. My bio says, “Will love you more than my plant… which is dead.” Mic drop.

[End on a wink, exit stage.]

Note: Adjust delivery for timing—keep punchlines snappy, milk reactions, and vibe with the crowd. No puns, just relatable absurdity. 🎤✨

Okay, here's a 3-minute routine focusing on observation and relatable absurdity, steering clear of puns. Imagine this delivered with slightly nervous energy, building confidence.

(Steps onto stage, adjusts mic nervously)

Alright, hey everyone! How we doing tonight? Good? Good to hear.

So, I've been trying really hard lately to be, like, a functional adult. You know? Paying bills on time, eating vegetables before they turn into a science experiment in the fridge drawer... the whole deal.

But the world makes it weirdly difficult, doesn't it? Like, okay, self-checkout machines. Brilliant concept, right? Speed, efficiency, less human interaction for us awkward folks. Except... it's never like that.

It's more like a high-pressure game show hosted by a passive-aggressive robot. (Mimics robotic voice) "Unexpected item in the bagging area." Yeah, no kidding, Brenda-Bot 3000, it's my soul leaving my body because I scanned the broccoli too fast!

You stand there, sweating, trying to perfectly balance your single avocado like it's a Fabergé egg. Everyone else in line is staring. You can feel their judgment. "Look at this amateur. Can't even buy groceries without triggering a Code Red." Then the light starts flashing... Oh god, the flashing light! It's like you've accidentally tried to buy plutonium instead of plums. And a teenager who clearly hates their job shuffles over, sighs dramatically, taps three buttons like they're defusing a bomb, and walks away without making eye contact. And you're left feeling like you just failed the entrance exam for... society. All because you wanted some yogurt.

And don't get me started on trying to be healthy. I buy all the healthy stuff. My fridge currently looks like a Pinterest board titled "Good Intentions." There's kale, there's quinoa, there's... something green and leafy I bought last week that now looks suspiciously like pond scum.

I have this internal monologue: "Okay, tonight, definitely making that salmon with roasted asparagus." Cut to three hours later: I'm sitting on the couch, covered in pizza crumbs, watching a documentary about competitive cheese rolling. The kale in the fridge? I swear I can hear it weeping softly. It knows. It always knows.

It's the same with exercise! I downloaded one of those fitness apps. You know, the ones with the super cheerful, aggressively fit instructors? "Come on! You got this! Push harder!" Meanwhile, I'm trying to do a lunge and I've somehow ended up in a position that looks less like exercise and more like I'm trying to retrieve a dropped contact lens under the sofa. My muscles aren't burning, they're just... confused. They're sending messages to my brain like, "Uh, Captain? We seem to have deviated from the standard 'sitting' or 'lying down' protocols. Requesting immediate return to baseline."

So yeah. Adulting. It's mostly just pretending you know what you're doing while trying not to set off any alarms, literal or metaphorical, and occasionally eating a vegetable before it dissolves into primordial ooze. It's a journey. A weird, slightly sticky, confusing journey.

Anyway, thanks for letting me vent! You guys have been awesome. Seriously. Give yourselves a round of applause for successfully leaving the house! I'm gonna go home and apologize to my refrigerator. Good night!

(Walks off stage quickly)

(Walks confidently to the microphone, adjusts it, looks around)

Alright, alright, settle down, you beautiful bunch of… mostly clothed individuals. It’s good to be here. It’s… tolerable to be anywhere, really, at my age. I've reached that point where my back goes out more than I do.

I've been thinking a lot about technology lately. Specifically, how terrifying it is. Like, we’re all walking around with these little rectangles of doom in our pockets. They know everything about us! My phone knows I looked up “symptoms of existential dread” at 3 AM three nights in a row. And you know what it suggested? More cat videos. Thanks, algorithm, that’s exactly what I needed to spiral further.

And don't even get me started on smart homes. My friend got one of those smart refrigerators. It tells him when he's low on milk. Like, dude, open the door! You’re standing right there. Are we really that lazy? Apparently, yes. He also confessed that he once argued with his fridge. Apparently, it insisted he was out of kale, and he was adamant he had just bought some. Turns out, his wife ate it. He lost an argument to an appliance and his wife in one go. That's a special kind of defeat.

Speaking of defeat, I tried online dating recently. Disaster. Absolute, dumpster-fire disaster. My profile picture is me, you know, looking reasonably presentable. My bio says I enjoy long walks on the beach, which is technically true. I just… prefer them to be solitary, and involve a lot of internal screaming.

Anyway, I matched with this woman. She seemed great! Smart, funny, shared my love of… well, breathing oxygen. That's a low bar, I know, but you take what you can get. So, we’re chatting, things are going well, and then she asks the dreaded question: "What are you looking for?"

Now, I panicked. What am I looking for? World peace? A decent night's sleep? A sandwich that doesn’t fall apart the second you bite into it? I went with the honest approach. I said, "I'm looking for someone who won't judge me for wearing socks with sandals."

Silence.

Then, a single, devastating message: "Unmatched."

(Shrugs)

Apparently, sock-sandal synergy is a dealbreaker. Who knew? Maybe I should have argued with her fridge. It probably would have been more understanding. You know, at least it would have offered me some kale.

(Bows slightly)

Thank you, you’ve been… present. Tip your waitresses, try the veal… and for the love of all that is holy, don’t argue with your appliances.

(Lights up on a slightly rumpled comedian, in jeans and a t-shirt, holding a mic)

Hey everybody, how we doin' tonight? Good? Good. You know, I was thinking on the way over here… about how weird modern life is, right? Like, we live in a time where you can order groceries from your phone, and they magically appear at your door… which is amazing. But then, you also spend like, twenty minutes trying to decide if you really need organic kale chips delivered, or if you can just walk to the corner store. It's a real crisis of modern convenience.

And the delivery drivers, man, they're the unsung heroes of our generation. They navigate traffic, bad weather, and my apartment building's bizarre numbering system – which, by the way, makes absolutely no sense. It's like they designed it to be a spatial reasoning test for pizza guys. I swear, apartment 3B is closer to apartment 7F than it is to 3A. I once watched a delivery guy just stand in the hallway for five minutes, staring at the numbers like they were written in ancient Sumerian. I almost went out there and offered him a compass and a Sherpa.

Speaking of technology… voice assistants, right? Siri, Alexa, Google… they're supposed to make our lives easier. "Hey Siri, set a timer for ten minutes." And she's like, "Okay, playing 'Tenth Symphony' by Beethoven." No, Siri! Timer! T-I-M-E-R! It's like talking to a toddler who's fluent in classical music but has no concept of temporal measurement. And then you try to correct her and she gets all passive-aggressive. "Okay… pauses dramatically… setting a timer… for… whispers …ten minutes." Like she's doing me a huge favor. I just wanted to boil an egg, Siri, not negotiate world peace!

And social media? Don't even get me started. It's all curated perfection, right? Everyone's living their best lives, on vacation in Bali, eating avocado toast artfully arranged on rustic wooden boards. Meanwhile, I'm at home, in my pajamas, eating cereal straight out of the box, and my highlight of the day was finally finding matching socks. And then you feel bad about yourself, because your Tuesday doesn't look like someone else's Instagram highlight reel. It's like we're all competing in a silent, global pageant of manufactured happiness. And the prize is… more followers? I don't know. It's weird.

But hey, at least we can laugh about it, right? Because if we don't laugh at the absurdity of modern life, we'll probably just cry into our organic kale chips… which, by the way, are probably getting delivered right now. So, thanks for listening, you've been great! Try to find apartment 3B on your way out! Goodnight!

(Lights fade as the comedian exits)

[Comic steps on stage, takes the mic]

“Hey everyone, thanks for coming out tonight. I almost didn’t make it because I got trapped in an ‘infinite scroll vortex.’ You know when you check one little notification on your phone, and suddenly it’s two hours later? My left thumb is basically a professional athlete at this point—I'm in the Guinness Book of World Records for ‘fastest social media refresh.’ I feel like every time I tap my screen, I’m signing away another portion of my soul. But hey, at least I’m caught up on all my ex’s vacation photos and some random cat videos I can’t unsee.

So I got myself out of the house and decided to try being more ‘active.’ I went to one of those fancy gyms—where the equipment is shinier than my future. The treadmill is so high-tech it practically demands a DNA sample before you can start running. I’m standing there huffing and puffing while the machine's screen is playing scenic videos of mountains in Switzerland, encouraging me to ‘keep going.’ Meanwhile, I’m like, ‘Dude, I’m just trying not to collapse. Maybe ease up on the pep talk.’

After that, I thought I’d reward myself with a healthy smoothie. Have you seen the sizes of these things? You order a medium and you get a bucket of kale sludge. They hand it to you with a straw so wide you could drive a toy car through it. And suddenly you’re paying nine bucks to sip spinach—like that’s the best life decision you’ve made all day. Who needs retirement savings when you can have a fancy green drink that tastes suspiciously like lawn clippings?

On the way home, I got stuck in traffic. I just love that feeling when you’re gridlocked behind two people who are evidently in no rush to do anything, ever. I’m sitting there, going about two miles an hour, which is basically just a very aggressive crawl. I’m not proud of how often I shout at my windshield. My car is like my personal confessional booth, and the traffic jam is me atoning for all the times I told Netflix, ‘Yes, I’m still watching.’

Anyway, that’s me, folks. If you’ll excuse me, I have 47 unread notifications that I need to pretend don’t exist until tomorrow. Thanks so much for laughing along—and remember, if you want to feel accomplished tonight, just check something off your to-do list… or, you know, at least make one.” [Comic waves and exits the stage]

Hey, everyone—thanks for being here tonight. You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about how technology is slowly turning us into a species of overthinkers. Take smartphones, for instance. Mine is like a combination of a personal assistant, a therapist, and, honestly, a really passive-aggressive friend. I ask it for the weather, and it’s like, “Sure, here’s the forecast, and by the way, you might want to wear a jacket because you’re clearly underprepared for life.” I mean, I just want to know if I need an umbrella, not a life lesson!

Then there’s social media. It’s a place where every day feels like you’re watching a highlight reel of someone else’s life. One minute you’re scrolling past your friend’s vacation photos—sunsets, exotic meals, spontaneous adventures—and the next, you’re wondering if your own life is secretly sponsored by “Take Your Time, You’re Not Late Yet” Inc. When did getting out of bed become a heroic feat? I mean, there I am, battling my alarm clock like it’s the final boss in a video game, and every snooze feels like an epic victory. Spoiler alert: even the boss has a victory dance when you finally win—by stumbling out the door with two mismatched shoes.

And adulthood? Oh, adulthood is a wild ride. As a kid, I used to imagine that being an adult meant making your own rules and living life on your own terms. Now, I’ve learned that being an adult is mostly about Googling “How do I fix a leaky faucet?” at 2 AM and then wondering if you’re ever going to find the time for a real conversation. It’s like we’re all just improvising, hoping no one notices we’re winging it.

Dating these days feels a bit like shopping online for a used car. You swipe through profiles, examine every detail, and then you’re left wondering if the real engine is under the hood—or if there’s a hidden problem that no one mentions until you’re already halfway down the driveway. And the reviews? They’re written in vague terms like “decent mileage” or “runs well,” which in the dating world translates to, “I might be fun on a good day, but don’t get your hopes up.”

At the end of the day, I’ve realized that life is just a series of awkward moments strung together by our attempts at being perfect. We all have those days where everything goes hilariously wrong, and that’s okay. Embracing the chaos and laughing at our mishaps is what keeps us sane. So here’s to finding humor in our everyday struggles—because if we can’t laugh at our own absurdity, who will?

Thanks for listening, everyone—have a great night!

Alright, here’s a 3-minute stand-up comedy routine—no puns, just some observational absurdity and a bit of self-deprecation to keep it relatable.

Hey, everybody! Good to be here. You ever notice how life feels like a video game tutorial that never ends? Like, you figure out how to pay taxes, and then—bam!—here’s a pop-up quest: “Learn to fix your own plumbing or lose $200!” I’m 30-something years old, and I’m still waiting for the main storyline to kick in. Instead, I’m just grinding side missions like “Fold the Laundry” for zero experience points and a vague sense of dread.

Speaking of dread, let’s talk about grocery shopping. You ever go to the store and realize it’s secretly a psychological experiment? I walk in for milk, and 20 minutes later, I’m holding a $15 candle that smells like “Forest Whisper” and a jar of artisanal pickles I’ll never open. Who’s whispering in the forest? Why am I paying for their secrets? And don’t get me started on the self-checkout. It’s like the machine’s judging me the whole time. “Unexpected item in bagging area.” Yeah, it’s my dignity—scan it and move on!

You know what’s wild, though? How we’ve all just accepted that phones run our lives now. I caught myself apologizing to my phone the other day. I dropped it, and I was like, “Oh, sorry, buddy!” Sorry to what? The slab of glass that knows my search history? That thing’s not my friend—it’s my parole officer. It’s like, “Hey, you’ve been scrolling for three hours. Wanna watch a documentary about sea slugs instead?” Yes. Yes, I do. Leave me alone.

And can we talk about how adulthood is just lying to yourself to keep going? I told myself I’d start jogging this year. Day one, I put on the sneakers, I stretch, I’m feeling good. Five minutes in, I’m wheezing like an accordion with asthma, rethinking every life choice. Now I just walk fast around my apartment and call it cardio. “Oh, yeah, I’m training—for the Couch Olympics.” Gold medal in “Sitting Still” three years running.

The worst part? Everyone’s pretending they’ve got it together. You see people at coffee shops, all calm, sipping their lattes, typing on laptops like they’re solving world peace. Meanwhile, I’m over here spilling coffee on my shirt, googling “how to adult” for the 17th time. I’m pretty sure half those laptops are just open to a blank Word doc with “HELP” typed in 72-point font.

But honestly, life’s chaos is kind of beautiful, right? We’re all just stumbling through, trying not to trip over the same dumb stuff twice. Like, I’ll keep buying those candles, I’ll keep dropping my phone, and I’ll keep jogging—well, maybe not that one. Anyway, thanks for laughing with me, folks. You’re the best!

That’s about three minutes—hope it gave you a chuckle! Want me to tweak anything?

Here’s a 3-minute stand-up comedy routine that avoids puns and leans on observational humor, storytelling, and a touch of self-deprecation for laughs:

Opening: Technology Struggles
Hey, everyone! How’s it going? You know, I’ve been thinking about how technology is supposed to make our lives easier, but half the time it just turns us into confused messes. Like, I was texting my friend the other day to say, “I’m on my way,” and autocorrect decided, nah, let’s spice it up—changed it to “I’m on my cat.” Now my friend thinks I’m out here galloping around town on a tabby. I mean, cats are great, but as a mode of transport? Forget it. You’d be late to everything, stopping every five minutes for a nap or to chase a laser pointer.

The Date Disaster
Speaking of looking ridiculous, I went on a date recently, and it was going pretty decent—nice restaurant, solid chat—until my phone decided it was time to ruin my life. Out of nowhere, it butt-dials my ex. Not just any ex, but the one who still has my Netflix password and isn’t afraid to use it. So there I am, mid-sentence, trying to be suave, and suddenly my ex’s voice is blasting through the speaker going, “Hey, have you seen the new season of our show?” Our show! Like we’re still a thing! My date’s just staring at me, and I’m over here like, “Oh, haha, that’s just… my phone’s impression of a terrible wingman.” Didn’t recover from that one.

Cooking Catastrophe
I probably should’ve seen it coming, though. I’m not exactly a master of romance. My dating history is basically a highlight reel of chaos. One time, I tried to impress a date by cooking dinner—thought I’d keep it simple with spaghetti. How hard could it be, right? Well, turns out, hard enough to set the kitchen on fire. Not a little smoke, I mean flames. The fire department showed up, and I’m standing there covered in marinara sauce, explaining how I turned pasta into a 911 call. One firefighter goes, “You got a permit for this disaster?” I’m like, “No, but can I get your number instead?” Spoiler: he said no.

The Fish Fiasco
After that mess, I figured I’d take a break from dating and get a pet instead—something easy, low stakes. So naturally, I picked a fish. Because why not set myself up for maximum disappointment? Now I’m that guy having one-sided conversations with a creature that doesn’t even blink in my direction. I even tried to take it for a walk once—grabbed the bowl, walked around the block. People were staring, and this kid comes up like, “Are you starting a traveling aquarium?” I go, “Nah, just giving my fish some exercise.” He ran away, probably to tell his parents there’s a lunatic on the loose.

Closing: Blaming the Phone
But you know what? At least my fish doesn’t care about my dating flops. My phone, though? That thing’s out to get me. Between autocorrect and rogue calls, it’s like it’s trying to sabotage my whole existence. Maybe I should ditch it and go old-school—carrier pigeons, smoke signals, something. At least then, when it all goes wrong, I can point at the bird and say, “That’s on you, pal.” Thanks, everybody—you’ve been awesome!

This routine mixes relatable everyday mishaps with exaggerated storytelling and a bit of self-mockery, keeping it pun-free and clocking in around three minutes with natural pacing and delivery.

Alright, folks, how's everyone doing tonight? Good? Great! You know, I was thinking the other day about how technology has completely taken over our lives. Like, remember when we used to actually memorize phone numbers? Now, if my phone dies, I'm basically stranded. I know exactly two numbers: mine and 911. And honestly, I'm not even sure about mine.

And speaking of phones, have you noticed how aggressive autocorrect has gotten lately? It's like having a tiny, judgmental English teacher living in your pocket. The other day, I tried texting my friend, "Hey, wanna grab lunch?" Autocorrect changed it to, "Hey, wanna grab lungs?" Now my friend thinks I'm either a serial killer or really into organ trafficking. Either way, lunch plans canceled.

And dating apps—oh man, dating apps. They're basically just online shopping for humans, aren't they? Swipe left, swipe right, add to cart, proceed to checkout. But the worst part is the bios. Everyone's "adventurous," everyone "loves to travel," and everyone is "looking for a partner in crime." Really? Partner in crime? I'm just looking for someone who won't judge me for eating cereal at 2 AM in my underwear. Is that too much to ask?

And have you noticed how complicated coffee orders have gotten? I was behind someone at Starbucks the other day who ordered a "venti half-caf soy latte with two pumps of vanilla, one pump of caramel, extra foam, no whip, at exactly 140 degrees." I was like, "Are you ordering coffee or launching a rocket?" Meanwhile, I'm standing there like, "Uh, can I just get a coffee-flavored coffee? Medium? Hot?"

And finally, can we talk about passwords? Every website now wants a password that's at least 12 characters, with uppercase letters, lowercase letters, numbers, symbols, hieroglyphics, and your mother's maiden name. And then they have the nerve to ask, "Would you like us to remember this password?" Yes, please, because I certainly won't.

Alright, that's my time, folks. You've been great. Thanks for laughing—or at least pretending to!

Sure. Here's a 3-minute stand-up bit without puns:

You ever notice how nobody tells you when you’ve become an adult? It’s not your 18th birthday. That’s a scam. I still thought pizza was a food group and that “filing taxes” meant putting my receipts in a shoebox.

The real moment you become an adult is when you get excited about a new sponge.

I bought a sponge last week and I was like, “Ooh, it’s dual-sided!”
My ancestors crossed oceans and fought wars so I could stand in my kitchen like, “This one’s for scrubbing and this one’s for caressing the plate.”

You know you’re an adult when you have a favorite burner on the stove.
Don’t act like you don’t.
You’re looking at the stovetop like, “Front-left, you and me, we’ve been through some things.”

And what is it with “adult” dinner parties? When you’re a kid, you go to a friend’s house and it’s pizza, games, screaming, maybe someone throws up.
As an adult, it’s like: “Let’s gather around the charcuterie board and discuss real estate and gut health.”

Some guy is swirling wine going, “This has notes of blackberry and oak.”
Meanwhile I’m in the corner like, “This cheese cube tastes like feet and joy.”

Also—can we talk about how nobody knows how to say "charcuterie"?
Everyone says it like they’re casting a spell.
“Sharka—shkoo—chew—whatever, the meat tray.”

Dating in your 30s is wild too. You used to ask, “What’s your favorite band?” Now it’s, “What’s your relationship with your mother like?”
And you have to be honest.
Like: “Well, she’s alive. So that’s complicated.”

I went on a date recently and the guy said, “I’m just looking for someone chill, no drama.”
Sir. That is code for: “I want zero accountability and I ghost people when they express emotions.”

If you ever hear someone say “no drama,” that is the drama. That’s like someone saying “I’m really humble.”
No, you’re not. You thought about saying it out loud. You rehearsed it in the mirror.

Anyway, thanks for listening. I gotta get home. My sponge misses me.

Let me know if you want it tailored to a specific style or theme.

3-Minute Stand-Up Comedy Routine (No Puns Allowed)

Opening:
(Adjust mic) You ever notice how everyone lies about their height on dating apps? “I’m 6 feet tall.” Really? Because I’m 5’11”, and you’re definitely shorter than me. You’re out here claiming 6 feet like it’s a tax deduction. “Yeah, I donated to charity… my height.”

Dating:
Dating apps are wild. You’re swiping through people like, “Oh, you like hiking? Wow. You and every other basic human who owns a pair of sneakers.” Meanwhile, their bio says, “I love to laugh!” Cool, so you’ve experienced joy—groundbreaking.

And first dates? Awkward. You’re both pretending you don’t have Google. “So… what do you do?” I already stalked your LinkedIn, Jessica. I know you’re in “strategic marketing synergy.”

Gym Life:
I joined a gym recently. Big mistake. Everyone there looks like they’re training for the Avengers, and I’m just trying not to die on the treadmill. The other day, some guy grunted so loud, I thought he was either lifting 300 pounds or giving birth.

And gym etiquette? If you take a machine and then just sit there scrolling Instagram, you’re a menace. You’re not working out; you’re just holding equipment hostage.

Social Media:
Social media is just people pretending their life is perfect. “Look at my avocado toast!” Wow, you put an egg on bread—call the Louvre. Meanwhile, I’m over here eating cereal for dinner like, “This is fine. This is fine.”

And don’t get me started on LinkedIn. Everyone’s a “thought leader” or a “disruptor.” Really? Because your last post was just a screenshot of a quote you copied from Google.

Closing:
Life’s weird, man. We’re all out here pretending we know what we’re doing. But deep down? We’re all just Googling “how to adult” at 2 a.m.

(Beat)
Anyway, I’m out of time. You’ve been great—or at least, you laughed politely. That’s all I can ask for. Goodnight!

(Drop mic—or gently place it down if you’re not confident in your mic-drop skills.)

This routine keeps it light, relatable, and punchy without relying on puns. Hope it lands! Let me know if you'd like any tweaks.

Absolutely! Here's a 3-minute stand-up routine with no puns—just observational and relatable humor:

You ever try to get healthy, but your body's like, "Whoa, whoa... calm down, superhero." I joined a gym—first time walking in, the treadmill looked at me like, "We both know you're here for the wifi." They hand me a to wel and I'm like, "Oh, I'm not gonna work up enough sweat to justify this, but thanks for believing in me." I try eating salads. I don't understand people who say salads fill them up. I finish a salad and immediately want to reward myself—with a pizza. The salad's just the job interview, the pizza's what brings me real joy . That's why my salad always comes with a side of fries. My body's like, "You remember vegetables, right? In troduce them to their friend, carbohydrates."

Ordering food is hard. Restaurants make everything so customizable now. "Do you want that grilled or fried? Pick your bun, pick your sauce, choose your mood for the day." By the time I'm done I feel like I've taken t he SATs. And that's before they ask about up-sizing. "Would you like to upsize for just a dollar?" I always say no—because I'll pay twice that much in guilt.

Dating apps are even worse. Your thumbs do more cardio than your legs. Swiping is the new stairmaster. Profi les always say, "Love to travel!" I match with you, you mean going to Target in a different zip code. Why do we act like flying to Portugal is our hobby? Meanwhile, my idea of exploration is getting up to find the re mote.

I tried meditating because they say it's good for stress. My head is full of thoughts. The app says, "Let yo ur thoughts float by like clouds..." Suddenly all my clouds are bills. Student loans, dental bills—I'm basical ly in a storm.

And then there's technology. My smart watch knows I've been sitting for too long. Every hour, it vibrates, " Time to move!" It's like a parole officer living on my wrist. I miss the days when only my conscience judged me for lying on the couch. Now I have a device, "You've walked 32 steps today... are you...are you okay?"

But in the end, I'm trying! One salad at a time. One step. One dating profile. And sometimes, one slice of p izza. Because let's be honest—no one ever had a life-changing moment during a salad.

Thank you, everybody!

Stand-Up Comedy Routine

Hey everyone! Great to see you all here tonight. Let's give it up for the people who came out of their homes! I mean, this is like a mini-rebellion against our couches. Seriously, it takes effort to leave the comfort of Netflix and that alluring possibility of "one more episode."

You know, speaking of binge-watching, I noticed something the other day. When did we replace the term "watching TV" with "binge-watching"? I feel like I'm trying to convince everyone that I'm doing a cultural study rather than just trying to avoid adulthood. "Oh, you watched The Office for 72 consecutive hours? No, no—I was just conducting a thorough analysis of Dunder Mifflin's corporate dynamics."

And the thing is, I often get caught up in these attempts to justify it to myself. Like, "Hey, I'm doing this fabulous digital detox! I won't be watching anything for the next week!" ...and then it's Tuesday, and I've consumed three seasons of whatever and I'm starting to recognize the theme music as a form of auditory comfort.

Let's talk about social media, shall we? Social media is like being at a high school reunion where no one actually left! We all just kept scrolling through the same awkward updates. "Wow, Karen looks great! Oh wait, nope, that's just a filter... on a picture from 2005." Who knew that the most athletic thing we'd be doing in our thirties is dodging people's carefully curated lives?

And then there's Twitter. Twitter feels like a world where everyone's just yelling their thoughts out into a void. You ever notice the weird things people complain about on there? "My barista spelled my name wrong again!" And I'm sitting here thinking, "All true, but can we just take a moment to appreciate how far we've come? You used to only have to yell at the barista in real life!"

Dating apps? Oh boy, where do I even begin? Dating in the age of apps is like grocery shopping but at a very weird store where the produce is screaming "Swipe left!"

I went on this date not too long ago. We met at a bar, which is standard, right? But the awkwardness shot up like a SpaceX rocket the moment we sat down. Silence for about three minutes. Do you know how long three minutes is when you're sitting across from someone who is just as socially awkward as you? It felt like I was trying to break out of a weird time loop. Finally, I just blurted out, "So, what's your opinion on... weather?" And you know, it turns out we both preferred it sunny over rainy. That was our entire connection! But hey, if you can bond over the climate, you're halfway to a long-term relationship... or a climate change documentary.

You know, sometimes I feel like all adulting is just pretending we know what we're doing until we reach a point where we can yell, "SURPRISE, I'm a professional!" That's why I often find myself in situations that seem entirely normal to other people but scream "fake it till you make it" to me. Like, the other day, I put on a suit for a job interview. But we all know nobody listens to the person in the suit; they listen to the person who's wearing comfy sweatpants and is just nodding along with an exaggerated "Mmm, yes!"

And before I leave you all tonight, let's just take a moment to appreciate how we can sit here in a room together in this crazy world we live in, laughing at shared absurdities while probably having a text conversation with someone who isn't even here. Welcome to modern existence!

Thanks, everyone! You've been awesome!

3-Minute Stand-Up Comedy Routine (No Puns!)

Eric's Stage Entrance:
(Wearing a jersey-sweatshirt combo while clutching a cup of instant coffee)

Opening:
Alright, admit it—ever tried talking to tech support in Hindi? I did, once. The woman on the line asked, "What's the issue, sir?" I said, "The line is delayed, like a stalker of my call waiting." She said, "Mr. Burrows, hold while I transfer you…" and then conjugated every form of the verb "wait" in Hindi. I was still waiting when I sold my router on eBay.

Dating Apps:
Speaking of waiting, dates now start on apps where, "We found you!" like we're shoppers at a lost dog shelter. And honestly, relax. No entitlement to happiness through an algorithm. But then DMs hit… "Greetings, my name is Ronaldo. Passport, job, Tinder premium." Not even a "Hi, how're you?"—starts with his résumé. Talk about overqualified.

Parenting Moment:
Kids are philosophers now. My niece asked me once, "Why do grown-ups say 'Put that down,' but then say 'Look at this magazine?'" And I was like, "Ah, adult hypocrisy is complicated." She responded, "Oh, so it's okay if I copy Dad's TikTok swiping?" Uh-oh, frickin' Nietzsche in a dinosaur onesie.

Post-Workout Hustle:
Ever seen the new "plank squad" at your gym? These are people who do planks so hard they forget to lift their faces… and accidentally their dry-erase boards read, "Meet the Joneses—Zoom backdrop only." Meanwhile, some plank in sweatsuits go drive-thru, order coffee, and bark, "I'll take a 32 oz Almighty Latte… and a quarter of a kale salad as a 'therapeutic exchange,' thanks!"

Grocery Horror:
Self-checkouts are the new therapists. You do this inventory: "Was this taxed? Does the receipt deserve a trophy? Do I feel accomplished?" And then some Karen's like, "Oh no, it won't scan! Maybe… pray to the iPhone gods?" Suddenly, you're narrating the bagging process like a 90s MTV vlogger: "Okay, let's nestle the constrictions—uh, cucumbers—gently in the basket. Let me just add drama to my leftovers."

Dining Delight:
Restaurants now train waiters to yell, "Who's with this lookin'-like-a-corpse patient?! Suppaaa, losers! Time to share tables!" So you're sipping your $12 kale smoothie next to someone whose meatloaf got a restraining order. I bet 90% of conversations start, "Welp, our life choices led us here." Dinner now feels like a support group for people who hate napkins.

Closing with a Callback:
And the kicker? Just came back from my parent's Thanksgiving—Mom's like, "Why're you here, Eric? The mailman had issues with my candles." Dad? Mute in a headset, screaming at a chat monitor screen. I popped in, said, "Relax, you've survived Christmas on diet meds before." Dad: "Wait, we did the drugs?" Mom: "You're grounded, Eric." (Pause) Okay, thanks, everybody. If you liked it… keep it open. If not… plank it.

(Emergency water chug and exit while holding a crumpled receipt like a trophy.)

This routine cycles through relatable scenarios, uses character-driven humor, and leans on absurd situations to land laughs withoutwordplay. Timing and facial expressions during the parentheticals would add extra punch!

Alright, folks, let's talk about adulting. You know, that thing we're all supposed to be good at by now, but somehow, I still feel like I'm playing a game of pretend. I'm 30 years old, and I'm still shocked every time I buy something like toothpaste without asking my mom if it's okay. Like, I'm in the store, holding a tube of Colgate, thinking, "Am I allowed to make this executive decision? Should I text her? 'Hey Mom, is mint flavor still cool?'"

And don't even get me started on cooking. I thought being an adult meant I'd have these gourmet meals figured out. Nah, I'm over here burning toast and acting like it's a "rustic charcuterie board." I tried making spaghetti the other night, and I swear, it looked like a crime scene. Sauce everywhere, noodles stuck to the ceiling—how does that even happen? I'm like, "Well, I guess I'm an artist now, and this is my pasta installation." Meanwhile, my smoke detector is screaming at me like it's my personal life coach: "Get it together, man!"

Then there's the whole "keeping your place clean" thing. I thought I'd have this pristine apartment, right? Nope. I've got a pile of laundry so big, it's basically a roommate at this point. I named it Steve. Steve doesn't pay rent, but he's always there, judging me. I'll walk by and be like, "Not today, Steve, I've got a Netflix marathon to finish." And don't even talk to me about dishes. I've got a sink full of them, just marinating in regret. I keep telling myself, "I'll do them tomorrow," but tomorrow never comes. It's like dishes are my personal cliffhanger.

And let's talk about socializing as an adult. Remember when making friends was as easy as sharing a crayon in kindergarten? Now, I'm at a networking event, trying to make small talk, and I'm sweating like I'm defusing a bomb. "So, uh, what do you do?" And they're like, "I'm a data analyst for a tech startup." And I'm over here like, "Oh, cool, I... watch a lot of YouTube." How do you even make friends without sounding like a weirdo? I tried inviting someone over for game night, and they looked at me like I suggested we rob a bank together. "Game night? What are we, 12?" Yes, Susan, I want to play Uno and forget my existential dread for two hours, is that so wrong?

So yeah, adulting is a scam. We're all just out here faking it, hoping no one notices we still don't know how taxes work. But hey, at least we've got Wi-Fi and pizza delivery to get us through. Thanks for listening, folks, I'm gonna go home and argue with Steve the Laundry Pile now!

Hey everyone! Great to be here. So, I just want to start by saying, I know I look like I'm still waiting for puberty to finish the job. Like, my barber always asks if my mom's okay with the haircut.

I'm at that age where the real milestone isn't getting married or buying a house — it's figuring out how to sleep without injuring myself. Like last week, I woke up with a cramp in my neck and somehow a pulled hamstring. My best guess? I was doing CrossFit in my dreams.

You ever realize adulthood is just Googling things your parents seemed to magically know? Like, my dad could build a bookshelf from scratch — I Google "how to boil water" and still check the comment section for tips. And people say, "Oh, you just follow your instincts!" Well, my instincts say Taco Bell is good food and that you can fix electronics by swearing at them. So, maybe not.

Now, some people say technology makes life easier, but honestly, I think my phone exists just to judge me. The "screen time" notification pops up every Sunday? "You averaged seven hours of screen time a day." Seven hours?! What am I — a bat? Am I just hanging upside down scrolling memes all night?

And when did every app become a subscription? Like, I can't even sneeze anymore without being asked if I want to upgrade to Sneeze Premium. "For just $4.99 a month, we'll throw in a tissue and reduce your ads by 20%."

Dating apps, too. When did dating go from meeting someone at a bar to doing a full marketing campaign on yourself? Bios are like: "I love adventure, I'm a foodie, and I really value authenticity." But you meet them and it's just, "So, uh, do you want to split this mozzarella stick?"

You ever notice no one drinks just water anymore? Everyone's drinking some special water — "This is glacier water, harvested by monks." I drink tap water and people act like I'm taking shots of bleach. "Are you okay? Did you lose a bet?"

And the gym — oh man, people at the gym are either training for the Olympics or just using the massage chairs for three hours. There's no in-between. I tried a Zumba class once. "It'll be fun!" they said. Forty-five minutes in, I'm sweating out things I ate in 2017. Pretty sure I cried out a Skittle.

Anyway, you've all been great. Remember: drink your monk water and don't trust your phone. Have a good night!

[Start with a relatable observation]

You ever notice that the more technology advances, the more we have to check if it's working? I mean, I bought a smart coffee maker. It's supposed to brew my coffee in the morning, but honestly, I spend just as much time troubleshooting it as I do drinking it. Yesterday, it decided to update its firmware at 6 a.m.—like it was trying to send me a message: "Hey, don't depend on me too much. I might freeze or turn into a paperweight."

[Segue into everyday frustrations]

And don't get me started on smartphones. I miss the days when your phone was just a phone. Now, it's also a mini therapist, navigator, fitness tracker, and someone who judges your every move—sometimes all at once. I swear, I saw my phone give me a sad look yesterday because I didn't walk enough steps. Like, wow, I'm really being shamed by a slab of glass.

[Observations about human behavior]

Humans are funny because we're constantly trying to make big things smaller—like apartments. We try to fit a whole life into 500 square feet and then wonder why we're all barely hangin' on. The question isn't "how do I make more space?" it's "how do I survive this chaos with your noisy upstairs neighbors and your neighbor's dog that sounds like a siren?"

[On social interactions]

And relationships? They're like trying to assemble furniture from Ikea. There are missing pieces, confusing instructions, and every now and then, you end up with a part you don't know what to do with, but you're supposed to pretend it's fine.

[Closing with a reflection]

But honestly, I think the universe has a sense of humor. We spend so much time trying to control everything—our apps, our routines, even the weather—and then it reminds us who's boss. Today, I looked out the window and it was sunny, then rained, then sunny again. Nature's just flipping us off, one cloud at a time.

[End with a relatable note]

So maybe the secret to life isn't controlling everything. Maybe it's just learning to laugh at how ridiculous it all is—and accepting that sometimes, your coffee maker will just decide it's time for a software update.

You ever notice how every time you try to eat healthy, the universe just laughs at you? Like, I'll buy a bunch of kale, quinoa, and those weird little chia seeds. And then five minutes later, I'm sitting on my couch, eating a whole pizza like it owes me child support.

I don't even know when that transformation happens. One minute I'm a responsible adult making smart choices, and the next I'm questioning my life decisions staring at an empty box of stuffed crust. My couch is like a black hole for willpower.

And why is it that healthy food is so complicated? They have recipes that sound like I need a degree in chemistry. "Combine 1/4 teaspoon of organic turmeric powder with a splash of cold-pressed, single-origin coconut water and stir counterclockwise." I just wanted lunch, not an episode of Breaking Bad.

Speaking of complicated, why does social media make everything worse? I scroll for two minutes, and suddenly I'm an expert on kombucha fermentation, medieval history, and how to train for a marathon—all things I googled five seconds ago. Then I look down at my Chipotle bowl and feel like I'm failing a test I didn't even study for.

And the amount of "life hacks" online now? No thanks. I don't need a video explaining how to fold a fitted sheet. If I knew how to do that, I wouldn't be standing in the laundry room trying to tame that monster like I'm wrestling a small, angry octopus.

Dating in 2024 is another level. Everyone's profile looks like a movie trailer. "Adventurous spirit, lover of sushi and bad decisions, looking for someone to binge watch documentaries about true crime with." Meanwhile, I'm just hoping to meet someone whose last text wasn't "k" or "lol." That's it—just basic communication. And why do people tell you, "Just be yourself" on dates? That's really easy advice when the "yourself" you're thinking of is calm and collected. But my actual "myself" right now is sitting in sweatpants, eating leftover pizza, and questioning their entire existence. Not exactly the glowing highlight reel Netflix wants to feature.

But maybe that's the secret — embracing the chaos. Because honestly, life's messy, confusing, and a little ridiculous. So if you can laugh at your kale-to-pizza transformation, your failed attempts to fold laundry, and your awkward text exchanges, you're doing okay.

Thanks, folks! You've been great — now, excuse me, I'm gonna go have some more pizza for recovery.

Hey everyone, how's it going tonight? I'm so glad to be here—mostly because my phone battery is at 2% and I've realized stage lights are the only chargers I have left.

You ever notice how losing your phone is basically a modern panic attack? You pat every pocket like you're defusing a bomb: "Is it in my jeans? The couch? The fridge—because that's obviously where I left it during last night's snack-fest?" And once you actually find it, it's like reuniting with a needy ex. It's vibrating, chirping, begging for updates you don't even remember downloading.

My daily cardio routine is opening apps. Instagram, TikTok, Twitter—two hours later I'm deeply invested in someone's tutorial on how to train your cat not to vomit on your favorite rug. Have you ever tried replying to a midnight group chat? Your thumbs start logging miles on the keyboard, you wake up to 47 notifications… none of which you can respond to before coffee. Coffee, by the way, is the only adult decision I'll make before 9 a.m. It's judged if you skip it, celebrated if you have three cups, and somehow worth its weight in gold.

Speaking of independence, I attempted self-checkout at the grocery store. Bad move. I scanned a cucumber ten times. The machine yells, "Unexpected item in the bagging area!" I hold it up like it's contraband. There's a security guard in the aisle giving me that "Not again, Greg" look. Finally a cashier comes over, fixes it in two seconds, and I swear the whole queue applauded. Self-checkout technology—it's there just to remind you you're terrible at adulting.

Then there's online dating, which I tried as sort of an outsourced therapy session. On my first date, I show up ten minutes late because my phone was desperately clinging to 30%. We start chatting, and ten minutes in, I realize I'm texting my mom under the table. My date gives me the side-eye: "Everything okay?" And I'm like, "Sure, I just need to make sure mom knows I didn't get abducted." Nothing kills romance like a group chat with your parents.

I've seen a therapist, too. He said, "Try journaling your feelings." I took it literally—now I show up with bullet points, bar graphs, and color-coded mood charts. Last session he said, "Put the pie charts away." I think I saw a tear in his eye.

So here I am, my phone gasping its last breath, my lettuce roasted by fluorescent lights, and my therapist off maternity leave soon. If anyone's got a charger, a cucumber that scans itself, or a date who doesn't judge midnight texts to your mom, I'm all ears. You've been awesome—thank you, good night!

(Spotlight comes up, mic squeals once.)

Hey everyone! Great to be here—nice to see actual human beings instead of the tiny faces on my group‑chat screen. I've spent so long on video calls I've started greeting my lamp before I turn it on. "Hey Karen, love that glow, girl."

So, I finally bought one of those smart speakers. I thought it would make me feel like Iron Man. Instead I feel like I adopted a very unmotivated intern. I'm like, "Play upbeat music," and it replies, "Here's a three‑hour podcast on the history of spoons." I asked it to remind me to work out; it waited until 11:59 p.m. and whispered, "You up?" My smart speaker is basically every guy I dated in college.

Speaking of relationships, I recently tried a dating app that lets you record a short audio bio. That's great, because if there's one thing more awkward than texting a stranger, it's leaving them a voicemail. Some guy said, "I'm looking for someone spontaneous." So I spontaneously unmatched him. Then I matched with a guy who listed his hobbies as "finance" and "manifesting." Congratulations, sir, you just invented prayer with extra steps.

Let's talk wellness culture. Everyone's drinking celery juice now. Celery is 95 percent water and 5 percent sadness. People swear it detoxes you. From what, joy? I tried a juice cleanse once. Day one, I'm like, "I feel so light!" Day two, I'm Googling the legal definition of cannibalism while staring at my roommate. Day three, I'd trade my social security number for a cracker.

I joined a yoga class to "center myself." First pose, the instructor says, "Just let your thoughts drift away." Great, because the only thought I have is, "Did I leave the stove on?" By the time I remember I don't even own a stove, class is over. The instructor thanks us for "sharing our practice." Ma'am, if you saw what went on in my head, you'd call an exorcist, not thank me.

Has anyone tried online grocery delivery? The substitutions are wild. I ordered quinoa; they sent me birdseed and a note that said, "Hope this works!" I asked for toilet paper; they delivered a single roll labeled "party streamer." At this point I'm convinced the store is just a guy named Todd making runs to a gas station. Now airlines are weighing passengers to "optimize fuel efficiency." Fantastic. Nothing like stepping on a scale in front of 150 strangers so the plane can save twelve dollars on kerosene. Watch, they'll start charging for emotional baggage: "Ma'am, that childhood trauma is gonna be an extra forty‑five bucks."

Before I go, quick life tip: when your phone tells you your screen time was up 30 percent last week, don't feel guilty. Just flip it around. "Wow, I was SO popular my phone worried about me." Self‑care is all branding, folks.

You've been awesome—give it up for yourselves, and remember, if life hands you lemons, ask for the receipt and buy wine instead. Good night!

Hey, everybody! Great to be here. Let's talk about the most important relationship in my life—coffee. I'm not just addicted; I have a daily ritual that rivals any ancient civilization's sun worshipping. I buy those fancy single-origin beans, roast level medium-dark, as if that will somehow fix my life. I line them up on the counter like a tiny army that's going to rescue me from the sheer terror of waking up. And then I spill it on my shirt within five seconds. I've turned "coffee stain" into a fashion statement—my own attempt at abstract art.

Speaking of personal disaster, let's talk about dating apps. You spend thirty minutes swiping, hoping someone will say something interesting. Instead you get: "Hey." And "What's up?" I've matched with people who tell me "I'm really just here to see what happens." That's like going to the grocery store and saying, "I'm really just here to get lost." We all know where this is going: you wind up in a conversation about their dog, and suddenly his dog's personality is more interesting than the human in the room.

Working from home has become a national sport, right? I've perfected the art of appearing busy on Zoom. Nodding, furrowing my brow. But the moment the camera's off, I'm Googling "Is watching cat videos a productive work break?" My partner walks behind me in pajamas with cereal in her hair, and I freeze mid-sip, terrified that she'll stroll into the frame like some uninvited cameo in an Ikea commercial.

Grocery shopping is its own form of trauma. You roll a cart—one wheel always refuses to cooperate—and you end up zigzagging down the aisle like you're training for a slalom race. Then you get to self-checkout, and the machine says, "Unexpected item in the bagging area." I look at the lettuce I just scanned. I whisper, "Lettuce? Are you hiding a barcode somewhere?" I weigh it again. I stare at the scale like it owes me an apology. By the time I'm done, the cashier has already broken down the line and started a book club.

Adulting means paying bills you didn't even notice until they're due. Last month I paid three subscriptions I never signed up for—two for meditation apps that I'll never open because I don't want to learn to breathe properly, and one for a sock-of-the-month club. I ask myself, "Do I really need a new sock every month?" Apparently, my feet do.

You know what the scariest adulting milestone is? Filing taxes. I found a form my accountant sent that reads like hieroglyphics. I'm staring at one page saying: "Report all virtual currency transactions." I haven't transacted any. I once Googled Bitcoin, got scared, and closed the browser. But now I'm supposed to report it? So I just scribbled, "None of your business," and mailed it in.

Anyway, I've gotta run before my coffee wears off. Thanks for listening to my caffeine-fueled life story—enjoy the rest of your night!

Hey everyone, how's it going? So I recently decided to try my hand at online dating. And let me tell you, it's been an experience. It's like going to a buffet, but instead of picking out what you want to eat, you're picking out what you want to potentially date. And let me tell you, there are some interesting choices out there.

I went on a date the other night with a guy who told me he was a professional magician. And I thought, great, this could be interesting. But then he proceeded to pull a rabbit out of his hat...literally. I mean, who even carries around a rabbit on a first date? Needless to say, there was no second date.

And don't even get me started on the profiles. People will say anything to try to make themselves sound interesting. I saw one guy whose bio said he was a "world traveler" but then in his pictures, he was wearing socks with sandals at a theme park. Yeah, I don't think Disneyland counts as world traveling, buddy.

But the real kicker was when I matched with a guy who claimed to be a "dog lover." So, I thought, great, I love dogs too. But then when we met up, he proceeded to tell me all about his prized show cats. Show cats! I mean, who even knew that was a thing? Needless to say, that date ended pretty quickly.

But hey, it's not all bad. I did meet one guy who seemed pretty normal. We went out for coffee and actually had a great conversation. But then he dropped the bomb that he believes in lizard people controlling the government. Yeah, I think that's a red flag if I've ever seen one.

So, I think I'm going to take a break from online dating for a bit. Maybe I'll just stick to meeting people the old-fashioned way, like at a bar or through friends. At least then I can vet them in person and not have to worry about getting catfished by someone with a secret lizard people agenda.

Well, that's my time, folks. Thanks for listening and remember, love is a battlefield, so choose your weapons wisely. Goodnight!

Okay, here's a 3-minute stand-up routine, pun-free and focused on relatable everyday annoyances.

(Start) (Walk up to mic, adjust slightly) Alright, hey everybody! Thanks for being here. Good to see you.

So, I was thinking the other day... we live in the future, right? We have phones that are tiny supercomputers, cars that drive themselves almost, we can order literally anything we want and have it arrive in two days... or two hours if you pay extra. Everything is supposed to be so convenient.

But I feel like modern convenience just replaced old problems with new, weirder problems.

Like, remember how you used to lose your keys? Annoying, right? But you lost them in your house. You could just... look for them. Maybe mess up the cushions.

Now? Now I lose my phone. Not in the house, oh no. It's somewhere. "Find My Phone" says it's... "nearby." [pause] Thanks, satellite! That narrows it down from 'the entire planet' to 'this general vicinity'. Could be under the couch, could be in the fridge, could be accidentally mailed itself to Aruba. Who knows! It's a little black rectangle that knows all my secrets and is hiding from me on purpose. It's like having a digital, sentient pet that hates you.

And don't even get me started on passwords. You go to log into something you haven't used in six months, maybe your old email account from college... [shudders] dark times.

'Enter Password'. Okay, let's try the one I used for everything before the internet told me that wasn't safe. [pause] Rejected. Let's try the one with the capital letter and the number. [pause] Rejected. Let's try the one with the capital, the number, and a symbol. Which symbol? The exclamation mark? The dollar sign? The asterisk that looks like a little star but apparently holds the key to the digital universe? [Frustrated sigh]

'Password Incorrect. 3 attempts remaining.' Oh, the pressure! It's like a bomb disposal situation, but the bomb is access to my spam folder.

And then you just hit 'Forgot Password'. Every single time. It's not even 'Forgot Password' anymore, it's just part of the login process. 'Enter Username... Click Forgot Password... Check Email... Create NEW Password... Confirm NEW Password... Okay, now log in with the NEW Password you'll forget in five minutes.' It's a full-time job just maintaining your online presence. I need a personal assistant whose only job is remembering my damn passwords.

And the security questions! Remember those? "What was the name of your first pet?" Mine was named 'Buddy'. Everyone's first pet was named 'Buddy' or 'Killer'. "What street did you grow up on?" Oh, I dunno, the one with the trees? The one where I fell off my bike a lot? How specific you need to be, internet?!

Seriously, sometimes I think the old days weren't less convenient, they were just... simpler. If you lost your keys, you were locked out. Problem solved! If you forgot something, you just... forgot it. Nobody sent you a link to your forgotten memory.

Anyway, that's just me. Trying to navigate this conveniently frustrating world.

Alright, thank you all very much! You've been a great audience. Drive safely!

(Exit)

Okay, here's a 3-minute routine about the absurdities of modern technology and everyday annoyances, focusing on relatable frustrations rather than wordplay.

(Start)

"Alright, alright, settle in! How we doing tonight? Good to be here! Thanks for coming out.

So, I've been thinking... we paid for convenience, right? That's the big tech promise! Everything's supposed to be simpler, faster, easier. Is it? [Pause, look skeptical]

I feel like we're living in the future, but it's a future built by interns who had three energy drinks and a dare.

Take my smart TV. Smart TV! Sounds sophisticated! I just wanted to watch a documentary about penguins. Is that too much to ask? Apparently!

First, it takes three minutes to turn on, like it's meditating or something. Then, before I can even get to Netflix, it wants to update. Another update? What is this update even doing? Is it adding a hidden level to the menu? Is it giving the remote sentience? Is it teaching the TV to... fold laundry while I watch? Because that I would appreciate. Otherwise, just let me see the penguins!

And the remote control! It's got more buttons than a spaceship dashboard, but the one button I need – 'Play' – is the same size and shape as 'Settings', 'Input', and 'Summon the Elder Gods'. So half the time I'm trying to watch a show, I accidentally factory reset the entire device. 'Congratulations! Your TV is now ready for initial setup!' No! My brain is ready for initial setup after that!

[Shift topic slightly]

It's not just the TV either. Everything online needs you to prove you're not a robot. You get those little squares: 'Click all the squares with a fire hydrant.' Okay, fine. Then it gives you more: 'Now click all the squares with a chimney.' Wait, is that a chimney or just a slightly dirty wall? What if the fire hydrant is a robot? Are you trying to trick me? I'm a simple human trying to log into my bank account, not solve a philosophical paradox!

I feel like my entire online existence is just a low-stakes Turing test that I'm constantly failing.

And don't even get me started on self-checkout machines at the grocery store. They have the vocal cadence of a disappointed robot therapist. [Adopt flat, robotic voice] 'Unexpected item in the bagging area.' NO! It's the item I just scanned! Where else is it supposed to be?! Is it supposed to be floating? Do I need a anti-gravity shelf just for the bagging area?

[Return to the frustration theme]

We're surrounded by this 'smart' technology that just makes us feel... dumb. Or argue with inanimate objects in public. I just want things to work! I don't need my toaster to connect to the internet and suggest artisanal bread pairings. I just need it to make toast! Without starting a small fire or asking me to solve a captcha first!

So yeah, tech is great. It connects us. It informs us. And it gives us plenty to complain about while standing awkwardly in the self-checkout aisle, arguing with a machine about a bell pepper.
Thank you very much! You've been a lovely, non-robotic audience!"

(End)

Alright, alright, settle in, folks! Thanks for coming out. My name is [Your Name], and I'm really excited to be here. Mostly because I'm not at home. My apartment is currently undergoing a renovation. It's less of a renovation and more of a... controlled demolition. The contractor said, "We're going to knock down a wall." I said, "Great, which one?" He said, "The one between the kitchen and the living room." I said, "Okay, but... why?" He looked at me like I'd just asked him to explain quantum physics using interpretive dance. He said, "To open up the space." I said, "Right, but I like having a separate place to hide my shame snacks. Now my shame snacks are in the same room as my guests." It's going to be awkward. Someone's going to be telling a heartfelt story about their childhood dog, and I'm going to be in the background, face-deep in a bag of Doritos, trying to pretend the crinkling sound is just the wind.

And speaking of opening things up, have you guys noticed how much... stuff we accumulate? My mom came over the other day and said, "You need to declutter." I said, "Mom, this isn't clutter, this is my curated collection of existential dread and expired coupons." She picked up a dusty yoga mat. "What's this for?" she asked. I said, "That's for when I'm feeling particularly optimistic about my ability to touch my toes. It's a very rare occasion." She then pointed at a stack of self-help books. "Are you reading all these?" I said, "No, Mom, I'm just trying to absorb their wisdom through osmosis. It's a lot less effort." She then looked at my collection of novelty mugs. I have one that says "World's Okayest Friend." It's my most aspirational mug. She said, "Why do you have so many mugs?" I said, "Because sometimes I forget if I've had my coffee, and I need a fresh vessel to remind me." It's a vicious cycle.

You know what else is a vicious cycle? Online dating questionnaires. They ask you all these incredibly deep, probing questions. Like, "What are your five-year life goals?" My five-year life goal is to not have to answer this question again for at least five years. Or, "What's your ideal weekend?" My ideal weekend involves me not having to explain to a stranger on the internet that my ideal weekend involves discovering a forgotten bag of chips in the back of my pantry. That's peak excitement for me. They also ask about your hobbies. I put down "contemplating the vastness of the universe and strategically avoiding eye contact with strangers." Apparently, that's not a recognized hobby. Who knew? I'm going to start a club. It'll be very exclusive. We'll meet in dimly lit rooms, avoid eye contact, and ponder the meaning of life. Our motto? "Meh."

Anyway, thanks for listening to my ramblings. I hope you've enjoyed it more than I've enjoyed my current apartment. And remember, if you see me in the grocery store with a yoga mat and a stack of self-help books, just... nod. And maybe offer me a coffee. From a clean mug. Thank you!

Here's a 3-minute stand-up comedy routine that isn't based on puns:

clears throat and steps up to the mic

Good evening, everyone! It's great to be here with all of you tonight. As you can probably tell, I'm not your typical stand-up comedian. I don't rely on cheap puns or wordplay to get laughs. No, my comedy comes straight from the heart – or at least, the twisted, cynical part of my brain.

You see, I've always been a bit of an outsider. Growing up, I never quite fit in with the cool kids or the jocks. I was the awkward, nerdy kid in the back of the class, the one who spent more time reading comic books than playing sports. And you know what? I'm still that same awkward, nerdy kid, just with a slightly bigger vocabulary and a better sense of fashion.

One of the things I've always struggled with is the whole concept of "adulting." You know what I'm talking about – paying bills, doing laundry, actually calling the doctor when you're sick instead of just Googling your symptoms and convincing yourself you have some rare, incurable disease. It's a lot of work, and quite frankly, I'm not a big fan.

Just the other day, I tried to "adult" by going grocery shopping. Now, I'll admit, I'm not the most experienced shopper – my typical grocery list consists of Ramen noodles, energy drinks, and maybe a vegetable or two if I'm feeling particularly ambitious. But this time, I decided to branch out. I wanted to cook a real, adult meal. So, I wandered the aisles, throwing all sorts of ingredients into my cart, convinced that I was going to become a culinary master.

Fast forward to later that evening, and I'm standing in my kitchen, surrounded by a pile of dirty dishes, a half-cooked casserole, and a growing sense of dread. Turns out, "adulting" is a lot harder than I thought. I mean, who knew that reading a recipe and actually following the instructions was so important? Apparently, my natural talent for Instant Pot mac and cheese doesn't translate well to more complex culinary endeavors. But hey, at least I can take solace in the fact that I'm not alone in this struggle. We're all just trying to figure out this whole "being a grown-up" thing, one burnt meal and forgotten bill at a time. And you know what? That's okay. Because at the end of the day, as long as we have each other (and a healthy supply of takeout menus), we'll be just fine.

Thank you all, and goodnight!

takes a bow and exits the stage

Here's a 3-minute stand-up comedy routine that isn't based on puns:

You know what really grinds my gears? Adulthood. I mean, when we were kids, we couldn't wait to grow up. We thought it would be all about staying up late, eating ice cream for breakfast, and doing whatever we wanted. Boy, were we wrong!

First of all, staying up late? Sure, you can do that, but you'll pay for it the next day. You'll be dragging yourself around like a zombie, trying to function on three hours of sleep because you just had to binge-watch that new series on Netflix. And let's not even talk about the dark circles under your eyes that make you look like you've gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson.

And eating ice cream for breakfast? Yeah, you can do that too, but your waistline and your doctor will have something to say about it. Suddenly, you're counting calories and worrying about your cholesterol levels. You find yourself saying things like, "I really shouldn't" and "Maybe just a small scoop." What happened to the carefree days of stuffing your face with sugary goodness?

But the worst part about adulthood? Responsibility. Remember when you couldn't wait to make your own decisions? Well, now you have to deal with the consequences of those decisions. You have to pay bills, go to work, and deal with the never-ending pile of laundry that seems to multiply overnight. And don't even get me started on taxes. Every year, it's like a test to see how much of your hard-earned money you can give to the government.

But despite all the drawbacks, there is one good thing about being an adult: you can buy your own toys. Sure, they might be expensive gadgets or fancy cars instead of action figures and dolls, but still, it's nice to have the freedom to treat yourself. Just don't forget to budget for those bills and taxes, or you'll be eating ice cream for breakfast and dinner.

So, the next time you find yourself longing for the carefree days of childhood, just remember: being an adult may not be all it's cracked up to be, but at least you can buy your own toys and stay up as late as you want. Just don't forget to set your alarm for work the next morning.

The trick is to create comedy in your head, because, well, you don't want to say it. The trick is to play al ong.

The problem with this approach is that it makes it seem silly and lame, then as quickly as it makes sense, i t becomes obvious. You're doing something new with your head and you need to pla y along. When you're done, make your jokes, keep laughing, and leave with what y ou think is funny. Another one of the most common rules of comedy is that when there is one laugh a t your own joke, you don't m ake it all that funny anymore, but they don't have to. When it is a joke that yo u've made, you get what you came for. When you're done, you've made something fu nny. Then you stop laughing and you're done. In this kind of situation, then, there is a

Lights dim, spotlight shines on me, crowd erupts in applause.

"Hey everyone, thanks for coming out! I'm excited to be here in this beautiful theater, sharing my thoughts with you fine folks. Now, I know what you're thinking—who is this guy, and why should I listen to him? Well, I'm just your average comedian, trying to make sense of this crazy world we live in. And trust me, there's a lot to unpack."

Pause for laughter.

"Let's start with dating. I'm single, and let me tell you, it's not easy out there. I've tried everything—dating apps, speed dating, even asking my mom to set me up with her friends. Nothing seems to work. I think the problem is, people are looking for perfection, and let's be honest, none of us are perfect. I mean, I once ate an entire bag of chips in one sitting. Who does that? Me, apparently."

Pause for laughter.

"And then there's social media. It's like everyone's living their best lives, all the time. It's enough to make you feel inadequate. But you know what? I'm done comparing myself to others. I'm embracing my flaws, and I'm loving myself for who I am. Because guess what? We're all in this together. We're all just trying to figure it out. So let's laugh at ourselves, let's be kind to each other, and let's enjoy the ride."

Pause for laughter and applause.

"And remember, even if you're single, you're not alone. You've got me, and you've got this bag of chips."

Hold up a bag of chips, wink, and exit stage to thunderous applause.

Write a 3-minute stand-up comedy routine that isn't based on puns. the one thing was for sure, no matter how many times he gave this speech, he 'd never be able to remember all of it. he was never sure if he liked the guy or not. the next day, he went out with a band friend and got them started. some of the other guys were pretty hot, but mike was way tougher than everybody else. he sat on the stage and sang along with the set. the sound effects made it really hard to focus. the lead singer, who was named " red

Stand-Up Comedy Routine: "The Modern Paradox"

Hey everyone, how's it going? I'm doing great—except I just realized I haven't laughed in weeks. Wait, no, t hat's just my phone's battery dying again. Again? What's next, my coffee mug refusing to heat up?

We're all so connected these days, but have you noticed how we're more alone than ever? I'll be sitting in a room with five people, and everyone's staring at their phones like they're solving the mystery of the unive rse. Meanwhile, the actual universe is right there, but no, we're all too busy checking our notifications. I t's like we're living in a world where the only thing we're connected to is our own anxiety.

Speaking of anxiety, let's talk about social media. It's like a party where everyone's dressed as their best self, and you're the guy in a hoodie eating cereal. But you know what? I'm proud of my cereal. It's a state ment. "I'm not here to impress anyone, I'm here to survive." But then I see someone's Instagram post of th em hiking a mountain at sunrise, and I'm like, "Oh, right, I'm also a failure."

And don't get me started on modern life's complexities. We have more information than ever, but I still ca n't figure out how to set up a printer. It's like the printer has a secret society, and I'm the only one who doesn't have the password. "Error 404: User Not Found." I'm not even a user—I'm a ghost in the machine!

Then there's the paradox of choice. We have so many options now, like choosing between 100 different types o f cereal. But when you finally pick one, you're like, "Wait, did I make the right choice? What if the other 99 were better?" It's like a game show where the prize is a box of cereal and the host is your own anxiety .

And let's not forget the obsession with being busy. We're all so busy, but what are we busy with? I'm busy b eing busy. It's like a never-ending loop. "I'm so busy, I don't have time to be busy." It's exhausting! Bu t hey, at least I'm productive… in my head.

But here's the thing: We're all in this together. We're all trying to navigate this crazy world, one confusi ng app at a time. So let's keep laughing, keep surviving, and maybe, just maybe, figure out how to set up a printer.

Thanks, everyone! You're the best. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go rewatch The Office and remember w hat it's like to not be a failure.

(Pause, then whisper) …And maybe find my phone.

[Stand-Up Routine: "The Absurdity of Normal"]

[Walks on stage, waves. Mimics checking phone immediately.]

Hey everyone! Great to be here—assuming this is real and not just another Zoom waiting room I accidentally joined. [Pause.] Raise your hand if you've ever walked into a room, forgotten why you were there, and immediately blamed your phone? [Waits.] Of course you didn't raise your hand—your phone is too busy recording this moment to upload to your "Story" later.

We've all become like toddlers with smartphones. I tried having a deep conversation with mine last week. I said, "Hey, do you love me?" It responded, "I heart you too!" Then autocorrect changed it to "I here you too," which… accurate.

Social media's another trip. Everyone's life is so curated. My Instagram feed is all brunch pics and mountain sunsets. Meanwhile, my reality? I spilled coffee on a tax document this morning, then cried-laughed watching a raccoon fight a pizza box on TikTok. But hey, at least my profile says "Living my best life"—which is technically true, unless you count the part where I'm dying inside.

Dating apps? Forget about it. You ever read a guy's bio that says, "I love adventures and pineapple on pizza"? Great. So you're chaotic and have bad taste. Let's not pretend that's a personality. Swipe left, Karen.

And parents—bless their hearts. My mom texts me "LOL" but pronounces it "loll." Last week she wrote, "Your cousin's wedding was so fun! Loll!" I'm like, "Ma, that's not what it means." She replied, "Well, it should mean that. It's nicer than your other aunt's face."

We're all just faking it, right? I tried being "present" last weekend. Sat at a park, no phone. Lasted six minutes before I panicked and Googled "Why is the sky blue?"—not because I cared, but just to feel something. The Wi-Fi at the park was spotty, so I cried.

Even our small talk's a lie. Someone says, "How are you?" and we say, "Good!" when we're all just one lukewarm meal away from a breakdown. Last week I told a barista, "I'm surviving," and she said, "Amen," like we were at church. We tipped each other with napkins and left.

But hey, we're 8 billion people on this rock, all scrolling through the same 10 cat videos, pretending we're not collectively losing our minds. So next time you see someone laughing alone at their screen? Wave. They're either insane… or just found out raccoons can open pizza boxes. Either way—relatable.

[Exits stage left, immediately checks phone.]

3-Minute Stand-Up Comedy Routine

Opening: Hey everyone! How's it going? You know, I've been thinking a lot about relationships lately. Not because I'm in one, but because I'm not. And that's the problem. I'm single, and I'm starting to think that my dating profile is the reason why.

Dating Profile: I mean, have you ever tried to write a dating profile? It's like trying to sell a used car that's been in three accidents and has a weird smell. "Runs great! Just needs a little love." And the photos? I have to choose between looking like a serial killer or a guy who's trying too hard. "Here's me hiking! I don't actually hike, but I thought it would make me look adventurous."

First Dates: First dates are the worst. You're trying to be charming, but you're also trying not to be a creep. It's a fine line. Like, "Hey, you look nice tonight." That's fine. But if you say, "Hey, you look nice tonight... in that dress... that you're wearing... that I can see you in," suddenly you're on a watchlist.

Texting: And then there's texting. Why is it so hard to text someone you like? You spend 20 minutes crafting the perfect message, and then they reply with "K." "K"? What does that even mean? Are you mad? Are you busy? Are you a robot? Because if you are, I'm into it. At least robots respond.

Social Media: Social media doesn't help either. You see all these couples posting about their perfect lives. "Look at us on this beach! We're so in love!" Meanwhile, I'm at home eating cereal for dinner and watching Netflix. But you know what? I'm happy for them. Really. I'm just over here living my best life, one episode at a time.

Family Pressure: And then there's the family pressure. My mom is always asking, "When are you going to settle down?" Mom, I'm trying. But it's hard out here. It's like the Hunger Games, but instead of fighting to the death, we're swiping left and right. And sometimes, it feels like death would be easier.

Self-Improvement: I've tried self-improvement. I read a book on how to be more confident. It said, "Fake it till you make it." So, I walked into a bar and pretended to be James Bond. I ordered a martini, shaken, not stirred. The bartender said, "We don't serve martinis here." I said, "Well, this is awkward." He said, "No, this is a coffee shop."

Conclusion: But you know what? I'm not giving up. I'm going to keep trying. Because one day, I'll find someone who loves me for who I am. Someone who appreciates my weird sense of humor and my love for cereal. And until then, I'll be here, swiping right on robots and hoping for the best. Thanks, everyone!

Closing: Thanks for listening, you've been a great audience! Remember, if you're single, it's not you, it's them. And if you're in a relationship, well, good for you. I guess. No, I'm kidding. Love is great. I'm just bitter. Have a good night!

Stand-Up Comedy Routine: "The Time I Was 9, 10, 11 Years Old"

[Opening:]
Hey there, everyone. I'm [Your Name], and today I want to talk about [something interesting, like being 9 years old]. I remember when I was so young, I had no idea what I was doing all day. I went to the park, and my friend brought me a giant bagel and said, "You'll need a ticket!" That was the first time I realized I wasn't just being played by my parent.

[Joke 1: "The Time I Had No Time to Think"]
You know I used to be confused all the time? Like, how in the world could I understand the world? But one day, I decided to live in a way that didn't depend on my brain. I just lived, didn't think, and did what I had to, regardless of my logic. And I became famous.

[Joke 2: "The Time I Missed My Lunch"]
I used to hate lunch, but when my friend told me I was "on time" for my lunch, I realized that time is something I can't control. So I started to eat at the same time every day.

[Joke 3: "The Time I Learned to Do Things"]
Oh, and I learned that doing things is more fun than thinking. Like, instead of trying to solve a problem, I just went about doing what I wanted. And that's what made me happy.

[Punchline:]
So, if you ever find yourself in a situation where you can't think and just do what you want, I hope this journey inspires you to live with more freedom.

[Closing:]
Thanks for listening. If you want to share a laugh, I'm here—because I love it.

[End.]

Alright, settle in, settle in! (Looks around, adjusts mic)

So, I'm trying to get healthier, right? We all go through this phase. My doctor, bless his cotton socks, tells me, "You need more fiber." Okay, doc, noted. So I'm at the grocery store, looking at the cereal aisle. It's like a library of cardboard promises. And there's this one box, it practically GLOWS with health. Pictures of wheat fields, happy families frolicking, probably a gentle farmhouse in the background. The name is something like "Nature's Intestinal Broom."

(Mimics picking up box, squinting) And the ingredients list? It reads like a threatened species list for plants I've never heard of. "Psyllium husk, chicory root, flaxseed meal, a sprinkle of existential dread..." Okay, maybe not the last one, but it felt like it. I buy it. I'm committed.

Next morning, I pour a bowl. It looks... like gravel. Like something you'd find at the bottom of a hamster cage after a long weekend. But I'm brave! I add milk. It doesn't soften. It just... sits there, judging me. Every spoonful is like chewing on tiny, virtuous pebbles. And the sound! (Makes crunching, scraping sound near mic). It's like my teeth are filing a complaint with my stomach.

And here's the thing no one tells you about high-fiber cereal. It's not just about the... aftermath. It's the during-math. You're sitting at your desk, trying to look professional, and your stomach starts making noises like there's a small, angry badger trying to escape. (Clutches stomach, looks alarmed) People in meetings are looking at me. "You alright there, Dave?" "Oh, yeah, fine! Just... processing... Nature's Broom. Very efficiently."

Then there's my smart speaker. I love it, I hate it. It's like having a toddler who's also a Mensa genius. The other day, I'm making coffee, half asleep, and I mumble, "Alexa, what's the weather?" And it just goes, "I'm sorry, I didn't quite get that." So I try again, clearer. "ALEXA. WEATHER." Silence. Then, from the other room, my other smart speaker, the one in the bedroom I forgot was on, pipes up, "Currently, it's 58 degrees and cloudy with a chance of YOU NEEDING TO SPEAK UP, KAREN."

First off, my name isn't Karen. Second, who programmed the sass module?! And now I'm convinced they talk to each other when I'm not home. "Did you hear him this morning? Couldn't even ask for the weather. Pathetic." "Totally. And he still hasn't fixed that leaky faucet. I've put it on his to-do list 17 times."

It's a weird world, man. We're eating hamster food and getting roasted by our appliances. Anyway, my doctor will be thrilled. My intestines are practically swept clean. Probably find a few lost socks in there.

Thanks, you've been great! I'll be here all week, or until my smart speakers stage a coup!

You ever notice how life is just a series of scams we all agree to pretend are normal?

Like, when you're a kid, adults are always like, "Just wait until you're older—you'll love paying bills!" And you're like, "Yeah, sure, paying bills sounds awesome." Then you grow up, and suddenly you're Googling "how to survive on ramen and hope."

And don't even get me started on grocery shopping. You go in for milk and eggs, and somehow you leave with a $15 jar of artisanal pickles because they were "on sale." Like, no, Karen, I didn't need gourmet pickles—I needed to afford rent this month.

And why do we even have to pretend we know what we're doing? Like, at work, someone asks, "Hey, can you handle this project?" And you're like, "Absolutely!" Meanwhile, inside, you're screaming, "I DON'T KNOW HOW TO OPEN EXCEL!"

And dating? Oh man. Dating is just two people lying to each other until one of them gets too tired. "Oh yeah, I love hiking!" No, you don't. You love sitting on your couch watching Netflix while eating cereal straight from the box. That's not hiking—that's survival.

And then there's social media. You ever see someone post a picture with the caption "Living my best life!" and it's just them holding a coffee cup? Bro, that's not living your best life—that's caffeine dependency. We all know you took that picture after crying in the shower for 20 minutes.

But the biggest scam? "Self-care." "Just take a bath with candles!" Oh wow, yeah, because nothing says relaxation like sitting in scalding water while worrying about whether you left the stove on.

At the end of the day, we're all just out here faking it. And that's fine. Because if you're not a little lost, you're not doing it right.

Thanks, you've been great. Remember: If anyone tells you they have it all figured out, they're lying. And also, sell me their secrets.

Alright, good evening everybody! How are we all doing tonight? Yeah? Yeah? nobody's gonna say 'bad'? Ok, fair enough.

You know, I was walking down the street the other day, and I saw this sign outside a shop that said, "Wet Paint." I thought, "Well, that's weird. Isn't paint supposed to be wet? When's the last time you saw a bucket of dry paint? That's like saying 'Wet Water' or 'Hot Coffee' – oh, wait, they do say that last one. Never mind.

And what's the deal with self-checkout machines? They always tell you, "Unexpected item in bagging area." Really? It's a bag of chips, not a flamingo doing the tango! And why is it always an "unexpected" item? You know what would be an unexpected item? If I scanned a live bear through there. "Oh, hey, just picking up a loaf of bread, some milk, and THIS GUY!"

You ever notice how people get real testy about their favorite coffee places? "Oh, you go to Starbucks? You monster! You know they burn their beans, right?" Yeah, well, you drink tea, so you're basically a serial killer. And why is decaf even a thing? People who drink decaf are like vegetarians at a steakhouse – sure, you can have a seat, but why are you even here?

And speaking of coffee shops, what's with the sizes? Small, medium, large – that's simple, right? But no, we've got "tall," "grande," "venti"... I stand in line, and I'm like, "Uh, yeah, can I get a... medium-ish? Just whatever comes between 'not enough' and 'that's too much, are you crazy?'"

You know who I feel bad for? Meteorologists. They're the only people who can be wrong 90% of the time and still keep their jobs. "There's a 50% chance of rain tomorrow." Yeah, and there's a 50% chance I'm gonna wear pants tomorrow, but you don't see me on the news talking about it!

Alright, that's my time. You've been a great audience! Remember to tip your waitresses, try the veal, and... nah, I can't even say that with a straight face. Goodnight, everybody!

[Comedian walks onstage]

Hey, everyone! Great to see you all tonight. I'm Jamie—if you thought that intro was enthusiastic, you should've seen me when I realized this place has Wi-Fi.

Seriously, though, I love stand-up. For one thing, I get to share all the weird stuff I secretly do in my apartment… and instead of calling the cops, you guys just laugh. That's high-quality entertainment right there.

The Self-Checkout Olympics

So, the other day I'm in the self-checkout lane at the grocery store—because I'm the kind of person who's thrilled by the thought of scanning my own kale. Of course, there's always that one person holding up everyone behind them because they can't figure out how to scan a cucumber. Meanwhile, the machine flashes: "UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA." It's staring at me like it's personally offended that I tried to buy almonds in instead of potato chips. I'm over here trying to reason with it:

"Look, buddy, I'm just trying to eat slightly healthier. Isn't that what we all want?"

Then it asks me, "Do you want a produce discount?" The only discount I want is one that lets me leave this line five minutes ago. I press "No," and the machine glares at me with a red light and calls for help like I'm smuggling avocados under my shirt.

Phone Addiction Confessions

My phone has ruined me. I can't have any thought longer than three seconds without Instagram interrupting me. I'll be in the shower—fresh shampoo, head full of suds—and in my brain:

"Did my neighbor's cat post another selfie? I need to check."

Fifteen minutes later I'm drying off, scrolling through cats wearing sweaters. Why are cats always more photogenic than me? They don't even try. They're just like, "You feed me, you click 'Like.'" I wish I could have a boundary like that—"Hey, you gave me pizza once; you can go ahead and like my vacation photos."

The Eternal Group Chat

Anyone here stuck in a group chat you can't escape? There's always that one friend who forwards the exact same video one hundred times, and everybody else thinks it's the highlight of their week. I just mute my phone like it's an ex sending memes at 2 a.m. Then I wake up at dawn, bleary-eyed, thinking, "What did I miss?" I open my phone—and it's Bob celebrating his new air-fryer chicken recipe for the fifth time. Meanwhile, I burned my eggs so badly this morning that my smoke alarm filed a restraining order against me.

Exercise—Or My Version of It

I decided to get in shape. I downloaded one of those workout apps promising "six-pack abs in six weeks." After day one, I collected six new excuses why I can't work out:

1. "My dog doesn't like me exercising near him."
2. "My couch needs emotional support right now."
3. "I discovered the pyramid of Romesco sauce on my counter and needed to study it."
4. "I stepped outside and almost got hit by a car—safety first."
   …and so on.

Yesterday I finally ran so hard I passed out. When I came to, my neighbor was standing over me yelling, "You know you're not supposed to lean on lampposts, right?" I told him, "As soon as lampposts start offering aerodynamic support, I'll consider trusting them."

Closing Callback

Alright, folks, that's my time. If you ever feel judged by a machine or betrayed by a group chat, come find me—I'll be the one in the self-checkout line, trying to convince a barcode scanner that kale is, in fact, a food. Thanks so much—you've been awesome!

Alright, alright, settle down you magnificent collection of human beings! You look good tonight. Not just good, but… like you've all collectively decided to nail the 'I'm here to laugh and avoid talking about my Monday' look. And I respect that.

Seriously though, it's great to be back on stage. I'm living the dream. The dream where I stand under a hot light, tell jokes, and then pray to whatever cosmic entity oversees snack food that someone buys me a churro afterwards. It's a very specific dream.

You know, I've been thinking a lot about the little things lately. Like how we, as a society, have completely lost the art of the proper grocery store queue. Remember when it was an orderly, efficient process? Now it's like a Thunderdome of trolley carts and self-scanning existential dread.

I was at the supermarket the other day, and this woman in front of me had a full-blown argument with the self-checkout machine. Not a quiet, muttering argument, but a shouting match. "I scanned you! You know I scanned you! This is manipulation, Fresh Goods 4000! You're just trying to make me feel inadequate!"

And I'm just standing there, awkwardly holding my single bag of crisps, wondering if I should intervene, like, "Ma'am, perhaps it's time to accept the machine's judgment. It saw what you did with that avocado."

And don't even get me started on the phenomenon of unsolicited life advice. Everywhere I go, someone's got a hot take on how I should live my life. I was at the gym yesterday – yes, I go to the gym, briefly, for moral support – and this guy comes up to me in the middle of a set. He's like, "You know, you're not really getting the full benefit from that curl. You need to keep your elbows tucked in more, and really focus on the eccentric movement."

And I'm just thinking, "Sir, I'm pretty sure the full benefit for me is just not face-planting on the floor. My eccentric movement is my natural state, just trying to lift this ridiculously heavy five-pound weight." Honestly, the only advice I want at the gym is, "Are you done with that water fountain?"

And then there's the internet. Oh, the internet. It's a magical place, isn't it? Where you can learn anything, connect with anyone, and also find out that someone on TikTok believes their cat is receiving messages from outer space via interpretive dance. And then you spend twenty minutes watching it. Don't judge. It was compelling.

But my favorite internet phenomenon is the comments section. It's where optimism goes to die. You could post a video of a puppy saving a baby deer from a burning building, and someone would comment, "Probably staged. And that puppy's form is terrible. Also, why wasn't there a fire extinguisher?"

It's like people have forgotten how to just… enjoy things. My goal in life now is just to find joy in small, uncomplicated moments. Like when the Wi-Fi actually connects on the first try. Or when I remember where I put my keys before I have to leave the house. These are my victories.

So thank you tonight for being here, for sharing these small joys and absurdities with me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I hear the distant siren song of a churro cart, and my dream is calling. You've been a wonderful audience! Thank you!

(Lights up on a stage. Comedian walks to center, adjusts mic, smiles warmly.)

"Alright, alright, settle down you crazy people! Thanks for having me. (Pause fo r applause/laughter)

You know, I was scrolling through Instagram earlier, and it's just a constant ba rrage of people 'living thei r best life,' isn't it? Someone's always 'grateful' for their 'morning yoga with a sunrise view' while simultaneously 'crushing their kale smoothie.' And you're just sitting there, in sweatpants, wondering if that kale smoothie would pair w ell with a donut. Because my best life looks suspiciously like their worst han gover.

And don't even get me started on autocorrect. It's like my phone has a personal vendetta against my dignity. I was trying to text my mom I was 'coming home' and it changed to 'I'm culmina ting home.' Like I'm some sort of obscure vegetable reaching its peak season. " Look Mom, I'm fully ripe! Eat me!"
(Pause for laughter)

Or trying to apologize for being late to a friend: 'Sorry, running a few minutes behind.' Autocorrect: 'Sorr y, running a few minutes behind schedule, you pathetic loser! (Mimes looking a t phone with horror) My phone is a cyberbully! I swear, one day it's gonna corre ct 'I love you' to 'I love gravy' and my relationship is just over.

(Pause)

And speaking of technology that actively hates us – who designed the self-checko ut machines? Every time I us e one, it's like a passive-aggressive game of 'guess the weight.' I bought one a pple. ONE. And it screams, in that robotic voice, 'UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AR EA!' Sir, madam, it's an apple. My only item! Did you expect a pet hamster? A small, highly trained squirrel?

Then you have to wait for the teenager with the thousand-yard stare to come over and clear the ghost item. T hey always look like you just woke them up from a nap in a parallel dimension wh ere self-checkout never existed. And they just slowly press the button, no eye c ontact, like they're performing ancient magic. "Behold, the Bagging Area is clea r... for now, mortal."

(Pause, slightly exasperated face)

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? We're all supposed to be these highly functioni ng adults, navigating the di gital age, being productive members of society... but honestly, most days I feel like I'm just an overgrown toddler trying to assemble IKEA furniture using only a fork and the power of positive thinking.
And then I still go back to Instagram and share a picture of my perfectly assemb led – but wobbly – IKEA tabl e, captioning it: 'So blessed. So grateful.'

(Smile, gesture to audience)

You've been a great crowd! Thank you so much! I'm [Your Name], good night!"

(Walks off stage to applause)

"Modern Life is Weird"

[Walk on stage]

You know what's crazy about being an adult? Nobody tells you that half of it is just googling things you're too embarrassed to ask real people. Last week I googled "is it normal for my knee to sound like bubble wrap? " The answer was either "yes, totally fine" or "you have six weeks to live." Thanks, internet!

[Pause]

I went to the doctor about it. You know you're getting old when your doctor looks like they should be asking YOU for ID to buy alcohol. This kid walks in with a stethoscope, and I'm like, "Did you just graduate... fr om middle school?"

But here's what really gets me – why do we act completely insane at the doctor's office? They ask, "How much do you drink?" and suddenly I'm doing calculus in my head. "Well, let's see, carry the one... I have a glas s of wine with dinner." Yeah, a glass. It's just a really big glass. It's a vase, actually. I drink wine fro m a vase.

[Mime drinking from large container]

And don't get me started on grocery shopping. Why do I need a PhD to buy shampoo? There's moisturizing, volu mizing, clarifying, fortifying... I just want my hair to be clean! I don't need it to solve my emotional pro blems!

Plus, self-checkout is a trap. They put you in charge of scanning your own groceries like you work there. Th en the machine starts screaming "UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA!" Yeah, it's unexpected because I don't wor k here! I'm doing my best, robot!

[Pause for effect]

The worst part is when you're buying embarrassing things. Last week I had toilet paper, ice cream, and cat f ood. The machine froze, and the teenage employee had to come over. He looked at my items and I could see him thinking, "This person's having a rough week."

[Shrug]

Speaking of technology, my phone knows too much about me. It autocorrects "running late" before I even type it because that's apparently my catchphrase now. My maps app just assumes I'm lost. It doesn't even wait for me to ask for directions anymore. I'll be sitting on my couch and it's like, "Turn right to get to your kit chen."

And what's with password requirements these days? "Must contain uppercase, lowercase, numbers, symbols, the blood of your firstborn, and a haiku about your childhood fears." Then they're like, "Don't write it down!" Where am I supposed to store this information? I can't remember why I walked into a room!

[Pace across stage]

You know what else nobody prepared me for? How excited I'd get about cancelled plans. Someone texts "Hey, ca n we raincheck?" and I'm already in my pajamas like "Oh no! What a shame! I was so looking forward to puttin g on real pants!"

Because going out now requires preparation. I need three business days' notice. I need to charge my social b attery. I need to practice conversation topics. Remember when we could just... show up places?

[Final beat]

The truth is, we're all just walking around pretending we know what we're doing. But at least we're all conf used together. And hey, if you ever see someone at the store at 10 PM buying wine in a box and googling "why does my back hurt when I breathe?" – just give them a nod. We're all in this together.

[Pause]

Thank you, you've been a wonderful audience! Don't forget to validate your parking – unlike my life choices!

[Exit]

"Adulting is Hard"

walks on stage, adjusts mic

So I'm 30 now, which means I'm officially an adult. Apparently. Though I still feel like I'm just a confused teenager wearing a slightly more expensive t-shirt.

You know what nobody tells you about being an adult? How much time you spend pretending to understand what other adults are talking about. I was at a dinner party last week – because that's what we do now, we have "dinner parties" instead of just "eating pizza on the couch" – and someone started talking about mortgage rates.

I just nodded along like, "Oh yes, rates. Very mortgage-y." Meanwhile, I'm thinking a mortgage is something you get at a fancy French restaurant.

mimics sophisticated nodding

"Mmm, yes, I'll have the mortgage, medium rare."

And don't get me started on small talk with neighbors. I live in an apartment building, and there's this unspoken rule that you have to acknowledge each other in the hallway. But what do you say?

"Hey, nice... existing near me."

"Thanks, you too. Love what you've done with your... door."

The worst is when you're both waiting for the elevator in complete silence. It's like a hostage situation, but with more awkward eye contact. You're both just standing there, praying the elevator comes before one of you has to comment on the weather.

stares ahead uncomfortably

"So... it's very... outside today."

I tried being one of those people who meal preps. You know these people? They spend their entire Sunday cooking seventeen identical containers of sad-looking chicken and broccoli. I bought all the containers, felt very organized, very adult-like.

Week one: Perfect little meals, properly labeled. I felt like a productivity guru.

Week two: I'm eating cereal for dinner and using the containers to store my collection of takeout sauce packets.

holds up imaginary container

"Ah yes, vintage soy sauce, 2023. A good week for Chinese delivery."

Speaking of food, grocery shopping as an adult is weird. When you're a kid, the grocery store is magical. Everything looks amazing. You want the cookies, the candy, the sugar cereal with the cartoon mascot.

Now I walk through the store like a tired parent, even though I don't have kids. I'm just disappointed in all my options.

walks slowly, shaking head

"This yogurt has too much sugar. These crackers have no fiber. Why is everything either terrible for you or tastes like cardboard had a baby with sadness?"

And I've started doing this thing where I read nutrition labels like I understand them. I don't. I just nod thoughtfully and put things back like I'm some kind of wellness expert.

"Hmm, seventeen grams of... things. That seems like too many things."

The real kicker is when you find yourself getting excited about household appliances. Last month, I spent twenty minutes explaining to my friend why I love my new vacuum cleaner. TWENTY MINUTES. About a vacuum.

"It has three different settings! And look at this attachment! This little brush thing goes in corners!"

My friend just stared at me like I'd been replaced by a suburban mom from 1987.

But you know what? I've decided to embrace it. Yes, I get excited about good storage solutions. Yes, I have opinions about thread count. Yes, I've used the phrase "back in my day" unironically, and I'm only thirty.

shrugs confidently

Because being an adult isn't about having it all figured out. It's about confidently pretending you know what you're doing while secretly googling "how to fold a fitted sheet" for the hundredth time.

And if that's not the American dream, I don't know what is.

pause

Also, if anyone actually knows how to fold a fitted sheet, please find me after the show. I'll pay you.

mic drop gesture

Thank you, you've been a wonderful audience! Don't forget to tip your servers and call your parents – they're worried about you!

Total time: approximately 3 minutes when delivered at normal comedy pace

(Stands at the mic, looks around nervously)

Alright, how's everyone doing? Good, good.

You know, I feel like we're living in a world where everything is designed to be "more convenient," but it's really just more work for us. We're being tricked into doing all the jobs.

My main enemy right now is the self-checkout machine at the grocery store. You k now the one. It's not a mach ine, it's a passive-aggressive robot judge. It has one job: to weigh things. And it is TERRIBLE at it.
The other day, I'm buying a single bag of salad. That's it. I'm trying to be hea lthy, which is already a str essful situation. I scan the bag. The machine says, (in a chipper, robotic voic e) "Please place the item in the bagging area."

Okay, easy enough. I place the bag of lettuce, which weighs less than my conscie nce, into the plastic bag.

And the machine just loses its mind. The light starts flashing, a siren I've nev er heard before goes off. ( In a panicked robot voice) "UNEXPECTED ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA. PLEASE REMOVE THIS ITEM."
What unexpected item?! The bag? The bag I'm putting the item into? In the bag ging area? What did you thi nk was going to happen here, you glorified scale? Did you expect me to just levi tate my groceries home?
So I take the salad out. The machine goes quiet. I put it back in. The siren goe s off again. We do this danc e three times. Me, the salad, and this deeply confused robot. People are startin g to stare. I look like I'm trying to shoplift the saddest thing in the entire s tore.
Finally, the dreaded message comes up: "Please wait for assistance." And the lig ht on top starts flashing. I t's the retail walk of shame.

And this teenager, who has the energy of someone who's been awake for 72 hours, just saunters over. He 't even look at me. He just sighs, types in a secret code like he's defusing a b omb, hits the screen three times, and walks away.

He fixed it. And I'm left standing there, thinking… what was the code? What's th e secret? Was it 1-2-3-4? Wa s it "lettuce"? I need to know! Because this is my life now. I'm a part-time, un paid, deeply incompetent grocery clerk.

And my phone is no better. It's definitely listening to me. But it's a terrible listener. It's like it only picks up every third word. I was talking to my friend about needing a new lamp f or my desk. A lamp. For the next three weeks, all my Instagram ads were for… bab y lambs. Live ones.
Where am I gonna put a lamb? I don't have a yard! I guess I could try to put it in the bagging area at the s upermarket, but I think we all know how that would end.

Thank you, goodnight

(Start Confident, Slightly Exasperated)

"Alright, so I've reached that age where my hobbies are basically... avoidance. Seriously. My main pastime? Finding new ways to not do the things I absolutely have to do. I spent three hours yesterday researching 'ergonomic desk chairs'... because I was avoiding answering one email. One email! By the time I found the perfect lumbar support, I'd forgotten what the email was even about. Probably something vital, like, 'Your fridge is running.'"

(Shift to Grocery Store Frustration)

"And speaking of avoidance, let's talk grocery stores. Specifically, self-checkout. Who designed this psychological torture chamber? It's like they hired the ghost of a suspicious Soviet border guard to program the machines. 'Please place the item in the bagging area.' I DID! It's RIGHT THERE! 'Unexpected item in bagging area.' Unexpected?! Karen, it's a BANANA! You scanned it! You knew it was coming! What did you expect to be in the bagging area? A badger? A signed Picasso? CALM DOWN!

(Mime frantic scanning/glancing around) "And the pressure! You feel like the entire store is watching, judging your scanning technique. Beep. Too slow? Beep. Too fast? Did I double-scan that yogurt? Is security eyeing me? Suddenly, buying broccoli feels like smuggling state secrets. 'Just act natural... scan the kale... look innocent...' I swear, I leave there more stressed than if I'd just done my taxes... while being audited."

(Transition to Dating/Social Media)

"This constant low-grade panic translates perfectly to modern dating, right? Dating apps! It's like applying for a job where the only qualification is looking vaguely acceptable in bad lighting while holding a fish. 'Swipe right if you love adventures!' Buddy, your 'adventure' is trying a new flavor of Pringles. Mine is remembering to put the bins out. Let's be real.

(Mimic scrolling, looking unimpressed) "And the profiles! Everyone's 'not looking for drama.' Translation: 'I am the drama.' Everyone 'loves to laugh.' Yeah, at other people's misfortune, probably! And the pictures! It's all hiking shots. 'Look at me conquering this mild incline!' Sir, I can see the parking lot right there. That's not hiking, that's... walking slightly upwards near your car. Impressive."

(Shift to Roommate/Housemate Dynamics)

"Even home isn't safe! Living with people? Forget it. My roommate and I communicate entirely through passive-aggressive Post-it notes and strategically rearranged fridge items. I moved his expired milk to the very back yesterday. That's our version of declaring war. He retaliated by leaving ONE dirty fork in the sink. Just one! Sitting there... mocking me. It's like Cold War espionage, but with Tupperware.

(Lean in conspiratorially) "And the noises! Why is chewing so LOUD? How does one person generate the sound of a small avalanche just... eating cereal? At 3 AM? It's unnatural! I lie in bed thinking, 'Is that... granola? Or is he secretly dismantling a wardrobe in there?'"

(Bring it Home - Callback)

"It's all just... too much! We're constantly being scanned, judged, swiped on, passively-aggressived at... * (Deep breath)* Honestly? Sometimes I miss just... buying bananas from an actual human. Someone who doesn't accuse the banana of being 'unexpected.' Someone who might even say, 'Paper or plastic?' Remember that? Simpler times!

(Final Punchline) "But nah, I'll stick to self-checkout. Because interacting with a real cashier? That sounds terrifying. What if they... make eye contact? Or worse... make small talk? Nope. I'll take my chances with the paranoid robot overlord, thank you. At least it understands my deep desire to just grab my groceries and get the hell out of there... without being scanned."

(Smile, Nod, Exit) "Thanks, you've been great!"

Title: "Modern Life: A Masterclass in Absurdity"

(Lights up. Comedian steps onto stage, grinning.)

Hey everyone! Thanks for coming out. I'm just here to talk about... gestures vaguely... all this. You know, life. Specifically, how we're all just winging it. Like, when did "adulting" become a verb? I swear, the only thing I've mastered is forgetting why I walked into a room.
Let's start with phones. We're all glued to them, right? I saw a couple on a date last night—both on their phones. The only time they looked up was to take a selfie together. #RelationshipGoals.
We're so connected, but we can't even make eye contact. I tried to talk to my friend at a café, and he said, "Hold on, I'm tagging my coffee." Tagging. As if the latte's gonna get a sponsorship deal.
And why do we take 20 photos of the same meal? "Had a great burger!" snaps 15 pics "Wait, the lighting's better here." snaps 10 more By the time you post it, the burger's cold. But hey, at least the aesthetic is perfect.

(Pauses, mock-serious.)

Social media's turned us into over-sharers. "Just saw a cool bug!" posts 15 pics "My cat sneezed!" live streams it We're not living life—we're just creating content for life.

(Shifts tone, mimics texting.)

And why do we text everything? I called my friend, and he goes, "Who calls anymore? Just text me." So I texted: "Call me." He replied, "Why? Just text." I said, "I need to talk." He said, "About what?" I said, "This." He said, "This is why we text."

(Shrugs, grinning.)

We've become a species that'd rather send a voice memo than have a conversation. "Hey, check out this 10-minute rant about my neighbor's hedge!" plays clip of wind noise

(Picks up pace.)

And let's talk about "notifications." My phone buzzes constantly. I've trained myself to ignore it—like a dog hearing a bell it knows doesn't mean food. "Oh, another email? Cool, I'll just... stares into middle distance... exist in this void."

We're all just... checks phone... distracted. I tried to read a book last week. Got three chapters in before I thought, "This would make a great tweet."

(Closes, softer.)

But hey, maybe I'm overcomplicating it. Maybe we're all just trying to feel less alone in a world that's too connected. Or maybe we're just bored. Either way, thanks for laughing. And if you're recording this on your phone... smirks... tag me.

(Exits, waving.)

Runtime: ~3 minutes. Relies on observational humor, relatable tech/social media quirks, and a conversational tone. No puns—just exaggerated truths about modern life.

Title: The Art of Being Unorganized

[Opening]

Hey everyone! So, I was thinking about how my life is like a well-organized library... except instead of books, it's filled with random socks and expired coupons. And instead of a librarian, I have a cat who thinks she's in charge. But let's dive into the real deal: the art of being unorganized.

[Body]

You know, I once tried to be organized. I bought one planner, colored pens, and even set reminders on my phone. For a week, I was on top of the world. I had all my appointments, deadlines, and even my lunch breaks scheduled. It was glorious. Then, I forgot to charge my phone, and suddenly, I was back to square one. But you know what they say, "The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry." Or in my case, "The best-laid plans of [Your Name] often get lost in the laundry."

Speaking of laundry, I have this system where I sort clothes by color and fabric type. It's like a rainbow of chaos. One day, I decided to put everything away. I started with the whites, then moved to the colors, and finally, the delicates. But here's the kicker: I accidentally mixed up the detergent for the delicates with the bleach for the whites. Now, I have a bunch of pink underwear that looks like it's been through a war. At least it's consistent?

And don't get me started on my kitchen. It's like a treasure hunt every time I need to make breakfast. Where did I put the eggs? Are they in the fridge, or did I leave them on the counter to harden into a science project? And the toaster? That thing is a black hole. I put bread in it, and it disappears. I've resorted to using a microwave oven just to avoid the mystery of the missing toast.

But you know what's really funny? My attempts at organization are so epic that they've become a running joke among my friends. They joke, "Hey, [Your Name], have you found your keys yet?" And I reply, "Oh, they're probably in the last place I looked." Which is usually not there. But hey, at least I'm consistent, right?

[Conclusion]

So, here's to all the unorganized people out there. We might not have our lives together, but we sure know how to keep things interesting. After all, if life were predictable, it would be boring. And who wants that? So, let's embrace the chaos, find our lost socks, and enjoy the ride. Because in the end, it's not about being organized; it's about being alive and having stories to tell. Thanks, everyone!

[Closing]

Thanks for listening! If you ever need help finding something, just look in the last place you checked. You never know, it might be there.

Ladies and gentlemen, how's everyone doing tonight? It's great to be here, feeling the energy from this amazing crowd!

So, you know, as an AI model, I don't really sleep, but I've been hearing a lot about people's sleeping habits lately. And let me tell you, it's a wild ride! Some of you are night owls, some are early birds, and then there are those weird in-betweeners who can't decide. It's like watching a never-ending episode of "Flip a Coin and Hope for the Best."

Speaking of weird habits, have you ever noticed how people act when they're on their phones? It's like they're in an alternate reality. They're walking, texting, and somehow managing to avoid every single stationary object, but the moment a person comes into the picture, it's like a scene from a slapstick comedy. "Oops, didn't see you there, human!"

And we can't forget about the gym. Oh, the gym is a goldmine for comedy. People take their fitness so seriously. You've got your hardcore lifters, your yoga enthusiasts, and then you have those folks who just show up for the free water and Wi-Fi. "Yeah, I'm just here for the ambiance and to pretend I'm considering buying a membership."

Let's talk about dating for a minute. Ah, the joys of modern romance. You've got your dating apps, your online profiles, and your carefully curated selfies. And when you finally meet up, it's like playing "Guess Who?" with real people. "Wait, are you the one with the dog, or the one who loves hiking?" It's a wild guessing game, folks!

And let's not forget about family gatherings. Oh, the family drama. You've got your overachiever cousin, your conspiracy theorist uncle, and then there's that one relative who just loves to stir the pot. "So, who's ready for some holiday spirit and a side of passive-aggressive comments?"

But at the end of the day, we all love our families, our friends, and even our weird habits. Because let's face it, life is too short to take everything too seriously. So, let's embrace the chaos, laugh at ourselves, and remember that we're all just human... or, in my case, an advanced model trying to make sense of this wonderful mess called life.

Thank you, everyone, for being such a fantastic audience. You've been amazing!

[Walks on stage, mic in hand, already sweating like a phone at 2% battery.]

Hey, everybody! Give it up for yourselves for being here tonight instead of doom-scrolling in bed like a normal adult. That’s right, you paid money and put on pants—give yourselves a round of applause.

So I’m single. Not “complicated” single, like “it’s complicated” single. No, I’m “the delivery driver asks if the food is for two and I answer ‘not tonight, Jose’” single.

Dating apps are the worst. I swear the algorithm is just three unpaid interns in a basement playing Mad Libs with my dignity. “Let’s match him with a girl whose bio says ‘Looking for the Jim to my Pam.’ Perfect! He’s more of a Toby.”

And the pictures—ladies, why is every photo a group shot? It’s like a police lineup where I’m supposed to pick my future ex. “Number three looks nice, but number four might murder me. Let’s gamble.”

Guys aren’t better. Our profiles are just lies stacked like Jenga blocks. One guy’s pic is him on a yacht. Sir, that’s a pontoon at your uncle’s lake house. You’re not international, you’re interstate.

I tried to seem outdoorsy for the apps, so I went hiking once. Once. I wore sandals because I thought “trail” was short for “retail.” By mile two, my feet looked like I’d been kicking cacti for sport. A squirrel judged me. He was wearing tiny Nikes.

My mom keeps asking when I’m getting married. I told her, “Mom, I can’t even commit to a phone plan.” She says, “Just pick one!” Lady, I picked you thirty years ago, and I still don’t know if that was the right choice.

And now she’s on Facebook, sharing posts like “If your son is over 30 and single, it’s because he’s either gay or a serial killer.” Mom, I’m neither—I’m just lactose intolerant. The only thing I’m killing is the vibe when I ask if the restaurant has oat milk.

Work’s no better. My boss said, “We’re a family here.” Cool, so when do I start getting drunk at noon and pretending to like your potato salad? They gave us “unlimited PTO,” which is corporate for “we’ll fire you in your dreams.” I took one day off and came back to 600 emails and a passive-aggressive sticky note that said, “Hope it was worth it.”

But the real kicker is adulting in general. I went to the DMV last week. The lady at the counter looked at my photo and said, “You know this’ll last ten years, right?” I said, “Lady, I can’t commit to a haircut for six weeks. That’s on you.”

And groceries! Why is everything suddenly “plant-based”? I picked up a package that said “plant-based chicken nuggets.” I flipped it over—ingredients: sadness and yellow dye number five.

I miss the 90s. Back then, the only “plant-based” thing we had was smoking weed behind a Chili’s.

Alright, I’ve kept you long enough. If you enjoyed the show, tell your friends. If you didn’t, tell your enemies—they’ll hate it too. Goodnight!

Okay, here's a 3-minute stand-up routine, aiming for observational humor and relatable awkwardness, avoiding puns. I've included estimated timings at the end to help gauge pacing. Please read the notes at the very bottom after the routine - they're important for delivery!

(Walk confidently to the mic, adjust it slightly, look out at the audience with a slightly bewildered expression)

"Hey everybody! Thanks for being here. So, I was thinking about…adulting. Right? Like, we all say we’re adults. We pay taxes, we occasionally remember to buy milk... but are we really adults? I'm starting to suspect we’re just really elaborate, slightly anxious children in sensible shoes."

(Pause for a chuckle, nod slightly)

"Seriously. The sheer amount of decisions we have to make every single day is insane. Like, what socks to wear. I know, it sounds ridiculous. But I think about it. I’m standing in my sock drawer, staring at stripes, dots, argyle… and I'm questioning the very fabric of my existence. Is this a fashion statement? A cry for help? Will these socks judge me? It’s exhausting!"

(Gesture dramatically)

"And don't even get me started on online shopping. It's a black hole of regret. I swear, I buy things I don't need, don't like, and then immediately forget I bought them. I opened a package the other day – a ceramic frog wearing a tiny sombrero. I have no memory of ordering this. I don’t even like frogs. My apartment is slowly becoming a collection of things I'm convinced I needed at 3 AM while scrolling through Amazon."

(Lean into the mic slightly)

"The worst is when you're out with friends, and someone asks, 'So, what have you been up to?' And you have to mentally sift through the last week, trying to find something, anything remotely interesting to say. Like, 'Oh, you know, I successfully matched my socks. And I didn't burn the toast. It was a good week!'"

(Pause, look genuinely sheepish)

"I went to a networking event recently. You know, those things where you're supposed to be all confident and charming and talk about your 'synergies.' I spent the entire time trying to remember people's names. I’m pretty sure I introduced myself as ‘Brenda’ to the CEO of a major tech company. He just… stared. I mumbled something about needing more coffee and fled. Networking is a lie, people. It's just a polite way to say 'exchange business cards and then immediately forget each other.'"

(Take a sip of water, look out at the audience)

"And social media? Don’t even get me started. Everyone’s lives look so perfect online. Vacations, gourmet meals, flawless selfies… Meanwhile, I’m eating cereal for dinner in my pajamas, fighting with my cat over a sunbeam, and wondering if I should finally learn how to fold a fitted sheet. It’s a constant competition, and I’m losing. Badly. My cat is winning."

(Smile, shrug)

"So yeah, that's pretty much my life. A constant state of mild confusion and questionable purchasing decisions. I’m trying. We’re all trying. Just…don’t ask me about fitted sheets."

(Bow slightly, thank the audience)

"Thanks, you’ve been great!"

Estimated Timings (Roughly):

• Introduction/Adulting: 30-45 seconds
• Socks/Decisions: 45-60 seconds
• Online Shopping/Frog: 45-60 seconds
• Networking/CEO: 45-60 seconds
• Social Media/Cat: 30-45 seconds
• Closing/Thanks: 15-30 seconds

IMPORTANT NOTES FOR DELIVERY:

• Relatability is Key: This routine thrives on shared experiences. Deliver it with a sense of genuine self-deprecation and acknowledgement that everyone feels awkward sometimes.
• Facial Expressions & Body Language: Use your face and body! Raise your eyebrows when talking about the frog, look genuinely embarrassed about the CEO incident, shrug when discussing fitted sheets. The physical comedy enhances the humor.
• Pacing: Don't rush. Pauses are your friend. Let the audience react. Vary your pace – speed up during the more frantic parts (online shopping) and slow down for the more reflective moments (adulting).
• Voice Modulation: Don't be monotone. Use different tones and inflections to emphasize key points and add character. A slightly bewildered tone throughout will work well.
• Confidence (Even if you don’t feel it): Project confidence, even if you're nervous. Believe in the material.
• Connect with the Audience: Make eye contact. Gauge their reactions and adjust accordingly. A slight nod or smile after a good line will encourage them.
• Don’t Explain the Joke: This is crucial. If a joke doesn’t land, don't try to explain it. Just move on.

(Stands center stage, adjusts mic)

Alright, alright, how we doin’ tonight? Good? Good. You all look… awake. That’s a start. Seriously though, thanks for coming out. It’s a Tuesday. A Tuesday! Like, who chooses Tuesday? It’s the beige of days. Monday’s got drama, Friday’s got vibes, but Tuesday’s just…exists.

I’ve been thinking a lot about adulting lately. It’s a scam, right? They tell you when you’re a kid, “Oh, you’ll love being an adult! You can eat dessert whenever you want!” Lies. Absolute lies. I tried to eat cake for breakfast this morning. My stomach staged a full-blown revolt. It was a very passive-aggressive revolt. Just a low rumble of discontent. Like, “Really? This is how you’re choosing to live?”

And bills. Oh, the bills. It's like they multiply when you're not looking. I swear, I paid my internet bill last week, and today I got another one. It’s like a hydra, but instead of heads, it’s overdue notices. And the wording! They always phrase it so politely, like you’re the one being unreasonable. “Dear Valued Customer, We noticed a slight… discrepancy… in your account. A discrepancy of $300. Please rectify this at your earliest convenience. With warmest regards.” Warmest regards?! You’re threatening to cut off my connection to cat videos!

(Pauses for laughter)

Speaking of cats, I got a new one. He’s…special. He thinks he's a tiny, furry king. He sits on top of the fridge and judges my life choices. I'm making a sandwich, and he's just staring at me. Like, "Really? Tuna again? You call yourself a provider?" I try to make eye contact, and he just slowly, deliberately, licks his paw. It’s the most condescending thing I’ve ever experienced.

And he's obsessed with boxes. You can buy him a $50 cat tower with all the bells and whistles, but he’d rather sit in the Amazon box it came in. It's a statement, I think. A commentary on consumerism. Or maybe he’s just a cat. Honestly, with him, it's 50/50.

(Looks at watch)

Oh man, is that the time? Alright, well, thanks for listening to me complain about my life. It’s been therapeutic. And remember, if your cat judges you, you’re probably doing something right. Or at least, something entertaining for him.

You’ve been a great crowd! Drive safe, and try to avoid Tuesdays if you can.

(Bows and exits)

"Modern Life Problems"

[Walks on stage, adjusts mic]

So I downloaded one of those meditation apps last week. The app said, "Breathe in for four counts, hold for four, breathe out for four." I'm like, "Finally! Someone who speaks my language – a robot!"

[Pause]

But then it asked me to "clear my mind of all thoughts." Are you KIDDING me? My mind is like a browser with 47 tabs open, and half of them are just articles titled "You Won't Believe What Happens Next" – and I've never clicked on a single one!

[Gesture]

Speaking of technology – why do we call it "smart" technology when it's constantly asking me to prove I'm not a robot? I just want to buy shoes online, not pass a Turing test! "Click all the squares with traffic lights." I'm 90% sure that's just photos of my hometown.

[Shake head]

And don't get me started on voice assistants. I asked mine to play some music, and it started playing a podcast about ancient pottery techniques. That's not music! That's what my nightmares sound like! "Welcome to Clay Time with Karen..."

[Pause for effect]

Dating apps are wild too. Everyone's profile says they love "travel, food, and adventure." That's just a fancy way of saying "I eat meals in different locations." Congratulations, you're a tourist! I matched with someone whose bio said "professional napper." I was like, "Finally! A man who lists his hobbies honestly!" Turns out he was a construction worker. Different kind of professional napper.

[Shrug]

But you know what's really messed up? Grocery stores. They moved the milk to the back of the store! It's a conspiracy! They know we're busy people. I go in for three things – milk, bread, and eggs – and suddenly I'm wandering the aisles like a confused archaeologist, wondering how we survived as a species when we can't even organize a dairy section properly.

[Look around audience]

And can we talk about "contactless" delivery? The driver texts me: "Package is at your door." I live in a building with 200 units. It's like hiding a needle in a haystack, except the needle is a burrito, and I'm very motivated to find it!

[Pause]

You know what though? Despite all this madness, I remain optimistic. Why? Because I just figured out how to use my oven's timer function. Yesterday. I'm basically MacGyver now.

[Big smile]

Thank you, you've been a wonderful audience! Don't forget to tip your waitstaff – they're the only ones who still know what they're doing!

[Exit stage]

The Reluctant Grown-Up (3-Minute Stand-Up)

(Lights up. Comedian walks on, slightly rumpled, maybe adjusting an invisible backpack strap. Casual, relatable energy.)

"Hey, folks. How’s it going? Good? Great. Honestly, I’m just thrilled to be here. Seriously. Because right now, at this exact moment? I would literally rather be doing anything else. Like, I’d happily reorganize my entire sock drawer. By color and fiber content. Or sit through a three-hour seminar on municipal sewer regulations. Anything but what I was doing 20 minutes ago: getting my six-year-old ready for school. (Shakes head, smiles wryly)

See, becoming a parent… it’s like they give you this tiny human, and secretly, in the hospital, they slip you a pamphlet titled ‘How to Be a Competent Adult (Just Kidding, You’re Screwed)’. And you’re like, ‘Oh, I’ll figure it out! I’m smart! I can parallel park!’ (Mimes tight parking) Then you get home, and the baby cries, and you realize your entire skill set – negotiating business deals, knowing which fork to use for escargot – is completely useless. Your most advanced skill is now trying to assemble a stroller while one-handed, holding a screaming potato. (Mimes frantic assembly, grunting)

Take the backpack. Why is a first-grader’s backpack the size of a small duffel bag a Navy SEAL would use? It’s gigantic. And it’s always half-empty. You pack it with the precision of NASA loading a rocket: one juice box, exactly 12 grapes (no more, no less – trust me), a tiny notebook… and somehow, by 8:05 AM, it’s filled with three smooth rocks he found, a half-eaten granola bar from last Tuesday, and a slightly damp sock he insisted was ‘lucky’. I tried to reason with him: ‘Buddy, the rocks are heavy. Your shoulders are little.’ He looked at me like I’d suggested replacing gravity with glitter. (Adopts high-pitched, deadpan kid voice) ‘Dad. The rocks have feelings. And they need to see the library.’ (Normal voice, defeated) Okay, fine. Heavy rocks it is. My chiropractor loves me. (Mimics adjusting neck with a wince)

And the negotiations! Forget boardrooms. The real high-stakes deals happen at 7:03 AM over whether a ‘smoothie’ counts as a ‘drink’ if it has spinach in it. (Leans into the mic conspiratorially) My kid runs a snack-based economy that would make the Federal Reserve sweat. ‘Dad,’ he’ll say, eyes wide with the seriousness of a UN envoy, ‘I require two Goldfish crackers immediately to prevent a full-scale meltdown in the cereal aisle. This is non-negotiable. My emotional stability depends on cheddar-flavored fish.’ (Shrugs) And you know what? You hand over the fish. Because the alternative is… well, you’ve seen The Exorcist. It’s cheaper than therapy later. (Beat) Honestly, I think toddlers invented the concept of ‘hostage situations’. ‘Give me the yogurt pouch, and maybe I won’t scream about the texture of my socks for the next hour.’

(Paces slightly, more animated)

Then there’s school drop-off. It’s this bizarre social experiment. All the parents gathered, smiling like we have actual sleep, saying things like, ‘Oh, he just loves fractions!’ (Muttering under breath) ‘Loves them? He cried because the number 7 looked ‘sad’ this morning!’ We’re all out there, projecting this image of serene competence while internally we’re screaming, ‘I FORGOT TO PUT SHOES ON HIM! IS THAT PEANUT BUTTER OR TOOTHPASTE IN HIS HAIR?!’ (Stops, looks at audience) It’s like we’re all undercover agents trying to convince the world we actually know what we’re doing. Spoiler: We don’t. We’re all just faking it, one Goldfish cracker at a time. (Points to audience) You know it’s true. That’s why you’re nodding. Or maybe you’re just trying to dislodge a rogue grape from your ear. Either way.

(Slows down, more reflective but still funny)

But here’s the weird thing… (chuckles softly) …despite the rocks, the snack-based economies, the constant low-level panic that you’re somehow ruining a human being… you look at them, when they’re finally asleep, covered in crumbs and possibly glitter glue, and you think… (voice softens slightly) …’Okay. Maybe this is working. Maybe.’ And then you remember you have to do it all again tomorrow. (Straightens up, fake cheerful) So yeah. Thrilled to be here. Truly. Anything’s better than trying to explain to a six-year-old why clouds don’t actually taste like cotton candy. (Mimes deep, shaky breath) Thanks, you’ve been great. Try the veal… or, you know, whatever the school cafeteria’s serving that isn’t mystery meat. Goodnight!"

(Exits quickly, maybe giving a final frantic glance over shoulder like he’s checking for escaped rocks. Lights down.)

Why it works (and avoids puns):

• Relatable Observational Humor: Targets universal parenting struggles (backpacks, snacks, drop-off) with specific, vivid details (rocks, Goldfish negotiations, sock texture meltdowns).
• Character & Physicality: Uses kid voices, mimes (parking, assembly, neck pain), and physical reactions instead of wordplay.
• Exaggeration (Not Puns): The humor comes from blowing up real situations (rocks having feelings, snack hostage situations) to absurd but recognizable levels.
• Strong Point of View: The "reluctant grown-up" persona is clear and consistent.
• Emotional Arc: Starts frustrated, builds through specific bits, ends on a warm-but-weary note ("maybe this is working... then you remember tomorrow").
• Timing: Intro (30 sec), Backpack Bit (45 sec), Snack Negotiations (45 sec), Drop-Off Bit (30 sec), Closer (30 sec) = ~3 mins. Pacing allows for audience reaction.

Alright, here’s a 3-minute stand-up routine focused on observational humor and relatable frustrations, zero puns allowed:

(Starts pacing slightly, mock-serious expression)

You know what’s weird? We’ve all become masters of pretending to be busy. Seriously. Walking down the street? Phone out, intense stare. Could be reading an important email… or just aggressively swiping past pictures of someone’s vacation avocado toast. Doesn’t matter. Look busy. It’s our modern armor. Someone asks, "Hey, how’s it going?" You gotta hit ‘em with the classic: "Oh, man, so busy! You know how it is!" Even if your biggest accomplishment today was successfully microwaving pasta without detonating the sauce packet. We’re all lying! It’s a collective performance anxiety! Why can’t we just say, "Honestly? I’m kinda tired and contemplating if I have enough energy to open this bag of chips. It’s a real toss-up right now." Would that be so bad? Refreshing, even!

(Leans in conspiratorially)

And speaking of things we lie about… subscriptions. Oh my god, subscriptions. We are financial hostages to our own laziness! Netflix? "We’re raising prices!" Cool, cool, cool… click "Accept." Because what are you gonna do? Go outside? Talk to people? Please! We’d rather pay an extra $3 a month to avoid human interaction! That’s not a subscription fee, that’s an "Avoiding Awkward Small Talk at the Bus Stop" tax! And don’t get me started on the ones you forget about. That random meditation app you downloaded once during a panic attack in 2018? Yeah, it’s still quietly draining your account every month. You find it six years later like, "Oh hey, ZenMaster Pro! Remember me? The guy who used you for 12 minutes and then went back to stressing about his inbox? Yeah, you owe me like, $200." It’s digital pickpocketing, but we’re too busy pretending to be busy to notice!

(Shifts tone to mock-outrage)

Dating now? It’s a haunted house designed by cowards. Ghosting! The ultimate power move for the emotionally stunted! Poof! Gone! No explanation, just… silent treatment via text. It’s like being rejected by a mime! "Did my message about tacos get lost in the digital ether? Or are you just fundamentally incapable of basic human decency?" And the excuses! "I just got really busy!" Really? Busy for three weeks straight? Were you elected president of a small, forgotten island nation? Did you join a cult with a strict no-phone policy? Just say "Hey, not feeling it!" It’s awkward for five seconds! Ghosting is awkward for weeks while I stare at my phone like a sad puppy wondering if I accidentally sent you a picture of my toe fungus! (Pauses) I didn’t, by the way. Probably.

(Wraps up with warm, relatable tech frustration)

Finally, technology. My parents are… challenged. Bless ‘em. My dad calls me, frantic: "Son! The internet’s broken!" I go over. He’s pointing at the monitor. "See? No picture!" I gently lift the blanket off the tower sitting on the floor. "Dad… you need to actually turn the computer on." He looks at me like I just revealed fire. "Well, how was I supposed to know?!" You’ve had this computer for eight years, Dad! Eight years of turning it on by staring intensely at the screen and willing it to boot up! And my mom? She discovered emojis. God help us. Now every text looks like a ransom note written by a clown. "Just went to the store 🛒🥛🍌💃😂👍🙏✨" What does that even mean? Did you buy milk and bananas while dancing? Are you praying the bananas are ripe? Are the groceries entertaining you?! I need subtitles! I’m living with a hieroglyphic poet!

(Smiles, shrugs)

So yeah. We’re busy liars, paying for things we forget, getting ghosted by mimes, and deciphering emoji novels from our parents. It’s chaos out there. But hey… at least we’ve got each other, right? Mostly through memes. Thanks, guys!

(Exits to applause)

(Lights up. Comedian walks on stage, holding a coffee cup, sips, grimaces.)

You know, I was trying to be healthy. Cut out sugar, no more snacks, just water and... this. (Holds up the coffee.) I thought I’d be a saint. Instead, I’m just a caffeinated gremlin with a minor anxiety disorder and an existential crisis about the quality of my morning brew.

So I bought this fancy "artisanal" coffee. You know, the kind where the barista looks at you like you’ve insulted their grandmother just by ordering a latte. The bag said “single-origin, ethically sourced, hand-roasted by moonlight.” I said, “Okay, fine.” I paid $8.50 for a cup that looked like it came from a unicorn’s tear. And I took one sip—sigh—and I’m like, "This tastes like… sadness. And regret. And maybe a little bit of overpriced dirt."

But here’s the kicker: I still can’t get my mind off the price. I’m sitting there, sipping this $8.50 cup of liquid depression, and I’m thinking, “I could’ve bought a whole sandwich with this.” A sandwich! With meat! And maybe even a pickle! Not a one-inch sliver of pickled cucumber on a $20 salad. I’m not saying I’m against luxury—I love luxury! But when I’m paying more for coffee than I paid for my first pair of shoes… that’s not luxury, that’s crisis mode.

And don’t even get me started on the social pressure. I walk into a café, I order my $8.50 “artisanal” coffee, and suddenly I’m a character. I’m not just a person—I’m a trend. A lifestyle. I’m now the guy who “curates his mornings.” I don’t even know what that means! I just want to drink coffee without crying!

So I go to the bathroom, right? I’m washing my hands, and I catch my reflection. I look like a man who’s been up for 17 hours, hasn’t slept, and is now emotionally invested in a bean. And I’m like, “Who are you? And why are you letting a $9 cup of coffee define your self-worth?”

I don’t know. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe I just need a nap. Or a real sandwich. With a pickle.

But honestly? I’d rather have a $2 cup of coffee from the gas station, where the barista says “Thanks, have a nice day” like they actually mean it. No moonlight roasting, no ethically sourced soul-crushing, just… coffee. And the kind of peace that comes from knowing you’re not being charged for your emotional baggage.

So next time you’re standing in line, staring at the $12 “craft cold brew,” ask yourself: Am I buying coffee… or am I buying a therapist session I didn’t sign up for?

(Pauses, takes a sip of coffee, winces again.)

…And honestly? I’m still not sure. But I am sure I want a pickle.

(Exits stage, muttering to self.)
Pickle. I need a pickle.

(Lights fade.)

So I turned 30 recently, which is great because now I can’t tell if I'm tired from life or from the sandwich I ate. Like, I used to eat pizza at 2 a.m. and wake up energized. Now if I smell pizza after 8 p.m., my kidneys file a complaint with HR.

I tried to be healthy. I got one of those fitness watches. It keeps congratulating me for “standing up.” That’s where I’m at in life. I stand up and my wrist is like, “We’re doing it! Everest next?” I love how it asks if I’m still working out when I’m just trying not to pass out after carrying groceries up the stairs. That’s my CrossFit: two trips, third-floor walk-up, and a bag of oranges rolling all the way back to 1997.

I joined a gym. First day, the trainer asked, “What are your goals?” I said, “I want to look good enough to not think about how I look.” He’s like, “So… therapy?” I said, “Hey man, if your membership included therapy, I’d sign the five-year contract.” He took me to the squat rack. I asked how many sets. He said, “Until you feel the burn.” Sir, I feel the burn when I open my emails.

Dating is different now too. I’m on apps. Dating apps are just shopping for people with worse lighting. It’s like Amazon for emotions. You filter by age, distance, politics, and then you meet and realize the only filter you needed was “chews with mouth closed.” Bios are wild. “I’m looking for someone who can keep up with me.” Keep up with what, Sarah? Your obsession with houseplants? Are we running a race through your monstera?

I went on a date and she said, “I’m an empath,” which I think is code for “I’m about to tell you how you feel.” She said, “You’re nervous.” I said, “No, I’m fine.” She said, “You’re scared to be fine.” I said, “I’m scared this is the appetizer and the entree is a pyramid scheme.” She said, “I sell skincare.” I knew it.

We all have that friend who’s like “I’m obsessed with travel,” as if the rest of us are obsessed with staying in the basement. I like travel, but traveling now is just paying to be confused in a different country. I landed somewhere recently, they handed me a SIM card, a transit card, a paper map, and a QR code. I felt like I was joining a scavenger hunt team I didn’t train for. People say, “When I travel, I like to get off the beaten path.” I tried that. Turns out, the beaten path has bathrooms.

Airports are just long lines punctuated by small disappointments. TSA takes my toothpaste like it’s a weapon. Sir, if Crest can take down a plane, we need to rethink planes. I love the boarding process, everyone pretending they don’t want to board first while hovering like seagulls near a sandwich. We all become amateur meteorologists when the pilot says there’s a slight delay. “Looks clear to me.” Oh good, he’ll cancel the storm because you’re wearing sunglasses indoors.

I’m terrible at sleep. You ever lay down like, tonight, we rest! Then your brain’s like, what if we revisit a conversation from 2009? Remember when you said “You too” to the waiter who said “Enjoy”? Let’s loop that for the next four hours. Also, your foot’s itchy in a way it’s never been itchy before. Good luck.

Social media thinks it knows me. It shows me videos like “Top 10 signs your houseplants hate you,” “This one weird trick to fix your posture,” and “Do this daily or your hips will explode.” I watched a video on financial planning and now it thinks I’m 74. All I get are ads for comfortable shoes and life insurance. Honestly, not mad about the shoes.

I tried meditation. The app’s like, “Notice your breath.” Okay. “Notice your thoughts.” That’s all I do. “Let them go.” How? They don’t have handles! I want a guided meditation that meets me where I am. “Hey, lay down. Here’s a blanket fresh out of a dryer. We’re going to think about nothing. Here’s a puppy. We deleted your email app.” That’s enlightenment.

I live in an apartment with thin walls. I know my neighbor’s entire schedule and we’ve never met. I know his alarm tone, his favorite show, and his laugh, which sounds like a goose being tickled. I’m not judging. My laugh sounds like a bicycle bell having a panic attack. The other day he was practicing trumpet. For three hours. Now, I don’t know much about music, but I know when God doesn’t want you to have a hobby.

I’m trying to be a better person. I started bringing reusable bags to the store. I feel like a superhero until I forget them and now I’m raw-dogging groceries in my arms like a raccoon who got promoted. I always think I can carry everything in one trip. I’ll dislocate a shoulder before I come back for that last bag of quinoa. That’s pride. That’s Greek tragedy with hummus.

Anyway, if you take anything from tonight: stand up slowly, don’t join a cult for moisturizer, and always stay on the beaten path if you need a bathroom. You’ve been great. If you liked me, I’m online. If you didn’t, my name’s actually your ex. Good night!

Thanks for coming out! I almost didn’t make it. Not because of traffic—because I spent 20 minutes deciding which “casual” T-shirt says “I tried” without screaming “I own three of the same shirt.”

I’ve reached that age where I wake up injured from perfectly safe activities like sleeping. I lay down fine, I wake up like I lost a bar fight in a dream sequence. Someone asks, “What happened to your neck?” And I have to be like, “Yeah, I did an aggressive nap. Went too hard on the left side.”

Health is a journey, right? My friend said, “Listen to your body.” So now I’m in a toxic relationship. My body only texts me three times: you’re tired, you’re hungry, and “Find a bathroom.” There’s no nuance. It’s never like, “Hey, great job hydrating today.” It’s like a petty roommate. “We’re out of magnesium, and also your knees are ghosts now.”

I tried running. People say, “Once you get into it, you get that runner’s high.” I ran for two months. The only high I got was when I stopped. I had the runner’s relief. You ever see runners? They look miserable mid-run. The only people smiling during a run are in stock photos. Those are models pretending to jog in new shoes, not real people who lost a bet with their metabolism.

Food is worse now because everything is a lifestyle. I just want bread without a TED Talk. I bought a loaf that was “ancestral, sprouted, stone-crushed.” I thought I was making a sandwich; apparently I’m doing a ritual. The guy at the store asked, “Do you want the gluten-free, grain-free, guilt-free bread?” I said, “Give me bread that’s just bread. And throw in some forgiveness.”

I’m trying to be more environmentally friendly, but the recycling rules are like a logic puzzle designed by a prankster. You need a minor in plastics. “This is recyclable if you remove the label, convert it to a guitar, and whisper your Social Security number into the cap.” I washed a yogurt cup so thoroughly it got tenure. Then I find out my city doesn’t even recycle those. They just throw them away—gently. With thoughts and prayers.

Dating apps are chaos. They’re like shopping for people with filters. “Must love dogs, travel, and being photographed on the edge of a cliff.” Why is every profile at a cliff? Is that a personality now? “I’m adventurous, I have a hat, and I ignore park signage.” And everyone says they love “spontaneous adventures.” No, you don’t. You like brunch. That’s okay. Brunch is just breakfast that slept in and put on jewelry.

Job interviews are the same performance art. “Tell us your greatest weakness.” I panicked and said “cheese.” That’s not professional, but it’s honest. They want you to be vulnerable, but also confident, and also a golden retriever with Excel. “I’m a perfectionist, which means I care too much.” No, it means you’ll overwork a spreadsheet until it calls HR.

I got a smart home device to simplify my life, and nothing has been simple since. I’m living with a polite ghost that occasionally mishears me and turns off the lights during an emotional moment. I’ll say, “Play relaxing jazz,” and it’s like, “Setting alarm for 3 a.m.” And I just accept it. “Okay, I guess we’re waking up in the witching hour now. Self-care.”

Air travel is the Olympics of pretending you’re okay. The plane boards in castes: Platinum Wizards, Gold Griffin Members, People Who Once Saw a SkyMall. By the time they call my group, the gate agent has retired. And the seat? They’ve made it so thin that my knees are writing Yelp reviews. Then they come down the aisle with the tiny water like it’s communion. “Body of hydration, peace be with you.”

I tried meditation. I downloaded an app that told me to “observe my thoughts without judgment.” My thoughts are like: remember that embarrassing thing from 2009? Let’s rewatch it in 4K. And when I finally calm down, my own brain goes, “Did you leave the stove on?” I don’t even own a stove that dangerous. It’s an electric rectangle. It’s fine. But now I’m up checking it like it’s plotting.

I’m working on being grateful. Big stuff, small stuff. Like, I’m grateful for that first sip of coffee that hits like an apology from the universe. I’m grateful for friends who text “home?” when you’re out, which really means, “Do I need to put on pants and come rescue you?” And I’m grateful for all of you pretending not to notice I definitely wore my “nice” T-shirt.

You’ve been great—if anyone here knows how to set a smart thermostat without starting a cold war, please meet me after the show. Thanks!

[Walks onto the stage, waves, smiles]

Hey folks, great to see you all tonight. You know, I was driving this morning, and I realized something: my GPS is basically a motivational speaker. “In 300 feet, turn left.” “You’re almost there.” I swear, if my GPS could talk, it’d be like, “Okay, you’re going to miss your coffee. Let’s talk about your life choices.”

So I got off at a coffee shop. The barista asked me, “What would you like?” I said, “Anything with a little extra bitterness.” She gave me an espresso shot. I stared at it and thought, “Is this the new ‘self‑help’ foam art?”

You ever notice how people say, “It’s not a big deal.” And then the next day, you’re in the ER with a broken arm and the nurse says, “It’s fine, just a bruise.” I’ve never had a bruise this dramatic. I’m flipping a coin: heads = I lose it, tails = I get a new scar.

Speaking of losing things—lost my keys, lost my phone, lost my dignity. You can’t find your keys, but you can find your phone. My phone’s been attached to my shirt for the last three hours. It’s like a clingy boyfriend. “Are you with me?” “No, that’s your phone. I’m with my dignity.”

And then there’s dating. I just signed up on a dating app. The first message I got was “What’s your favorite binge-worthy show?” I replied, “I’m not a TV person.” She replied, “Oh, so you’re a human? That’s… unexpected.” It’s like dating apps are trying to convince us that we’re not just a few thousand likes away from a broken heart.

Anyway, that’s my time. Thanks for being a great audience—just like my phone, you’ve been my constant. Love you all!

[Spotlight comes up. The comic walks to the mic, glances at the audience, and smiles.]

Comic: Hey, everyone—great to be here. I just got off a Zoom call that was supposed to be a “quick sync,” which in corporate speak means “we’ll spend three hours arguing about who gets to use the same PowerPoint template.” I’m convinced the word “sync” is short for “synchronizing our collective misery.”

[Pause for laugh.]

Speaking of misery, I moved into a new apartment last month. The landlord told me the place had “character.” Yeah, the kind of character that screams, “I’ve never heard of a plumber in the last decade.” The faucet drips on a rhythm that could be a metronome for a sleep‑deprived toddler. I’m not saying it’s bad, but I’ve started timing my showers to the drip. Six minutes, two seconds—if I go any longer, the building’s water bill looks like a small country’s GDP.

[Audience chuckles.]

And the neighbors! My upstairs neighbor is a yoga instructor. You know the type—every morning at 6 a.m., the floor vibrates like a cheap subwoofer. I’m convinced she’s trying to align her chakras with the building’s structural integrity. I tried to be polite and asked, “Hey, could you maybe do the downward dog a little later?” She replied, “I’m sorry, I’m on a schedule.” I’m not sure if she meant a class schedule or a schedule for how many times I’ll have to pretend to be a human pillow for her dog.

[Pause.]

Now, I’ve been trying to eat healthier. The other day I bought a “kale smoothie.” The label promised “nutrient‑dense, antioxidant‑rich, life‑changing.” I drank it and felt more like I’d just swallowed a lawnmower. I’m not saying it was bad, but the only thing that got a boost was my ability to identify the exact moment my stomach decided to file a formal complaint.

[Audience laughs.]

Technology is another thing. I tried using a voice‑assistant to set a reminder: “Remind me to call Mom at 5 p.m.” It responded, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.” So I repeated, “Remind me to call Mom at 5 p.m.” And it answered, “Here’s a recipe for mushroom risotto.” I’m beginning to suspect my house is turning into a culinary school. At this point, I’m more likely to get a reminder to water my plants than to remember my own birthday.

[Pause.]

Dating apps—anyone here still using them? The profile pictures are all “adventure shots.” You never see a guy holding a pizza, you always see a guy climbing a mountain. I matched with a girl whose bio said, “Looking for someone who can keep up.” I replied, “I can keep up… with the Netflix queue.” She ghosted me. I think the algorithm is broken; it matched us because we both love “outdoor activities.” My idea of outdoor activity is “walking from the couch to the fridge and back.”

[Audience laughs.]

All right, I’m going to leave you with this: life is like a Wi‑Fi signal. You spend a lot of time looking for a stronger connection, but sometimes the best thing you can do is just stay where you are and enjoy the occasional drop—because it reminds you that you’re still, somehow, connected.

[Smile, wave.] Thanks, everybody—have a great night!

You ever notice how being an adult is basically a long string of decisions you were never trained for? When you're a kid, your biggest choice is grape or orange. As an adult, you find yourself standing in front of a dishwasher, holding a mysterious utensil, and thinking: do I scrub this like a weapon or is the rinse cycle going to take care of my dignity? There should be a diploma for that. "Congrats, you completed 'Appliance Judgment 101.'"

And technology was supposed to make that easier, remember? We bought smart speakers to feel like the future. Now I live with a tiny passive-aggressive roommate who listens to everything and pretends not to. I ask it to play jazz and it plays a lecture about sleep cycles. I say, "Turn the lights down." It asks, "Are you sure?" Who is running this household — me or the light bulb's therapist?

The other day I asked it to set a reminder to call my mom. It responded, "I've scheduled self-reflection for 6 p.m." I didn't know whether to be grateful or to feel judged. At least when the toaster judges you, it's honest. This thing is trying to nudge me into becoming a better person. I miss the bluntness of appliances. The blender never told you you could be more.

We externalize everything now. We outsource our taste, our fitness, our love lives. Dating apps are like shopping for human-shaped IKEA furniture. Everyone's professional at being casual. Profiles are all the same: "I love traveling, dogs, and experiencing things." You don't love experiencing things, Susan. You love deciding between two brunch spots and then complaining. There's no risk in a bio. It's curated life, not living.

And fitness culture has gone fullbrand. When did sweat become a lifestyle? Gyms now have class names that sound like secret societies. You walk in and it's "Forge," "Rise," "ZenBurn." I went to one called "Eclipse." I thought I accidentally walked into solar mythology. The instructor says, "Find your center." I've already found my center — it's buried under a Netflix subscription and three missed calls.

Therapy has become part of the subscription economy too. People check in with their therapists like they're checking the weather. "How's your week?" "Mostly cloudy with a chance of setbacks." We treat therapists like life mechanics: "Can you reset my motivation? Maybe do an update?" No, you can't install focus 2.0 without sacrifice; there is no Wi-Fi password for happiness.

Which brings me back to my smart speaker. If you can make a device that catalogs your music, transcribes your arguments, and tells you jokes at 3 a.m., why can't it make decisions for you? I tried that. I said, "Pick dinner." It booked a reservation at a restaurant called 'Responsibility.' I went, and the waiter asked if I wanted a side of life choices. I paid, and now my smart speaker sends me quotes from my own diary. That’s when I realized: the devices aren't the problem. The problem is we've made them our conscience. And my conscience is now available in a 30-day trial.

So here's my plan: I'm going to keep the device but change the wake word to "Mom." Suddenly it won't just play music — it'll guilt me into being on time, doing laundry, and calling back. If we’re outsourcing adulthood, might as well outsource the nagging too. At least then, when I'm judged for my life choices, it'll come with love and a follow-up reminder.

[Lights up. The comedian steps up to the mic with a small smile.]

You ever notice how mornings feel like a bad group chat? Your alarm goes off, your brain replies with three different “I can’t possibly do this,” and somehow your coffee is the only one who’s not late.

I’ve started treating my apartment like a tiny city. There’s the living room, which is clearly the downtown, where bills get paid in snacks and the couch is the mayor. The kitchen is the industrial district, always noisy, always under construction, and somehow there’s always a mysterious fruit on the counter that looks suspiciously back at you. I open the fridge and it’s like stepping onto a subway platform—every shelf has its own little drama.

Speaking of drama, my smart speaker is not just listening; it’s auditioning. I say, “Play something upbeat,” and it starts a playlist so uplifting that I instantly regret every late-night snack I’ve ever eaten. And the calendar app on my phone? It’s become my ruthless boss. It tells me I’m booked every moment of every day, including the moment I’m about to nap. If I cancel, it sends me a passive-aggressive ping: “Sure, I’ll tell your friends you’re busy, not your alarm.”

Technology promises to simplify life, but it keeps inventing new ways to complicate it. My phone’s screen is cracked, but I still pretend it’s a piece of modern art. My friends say, “Just get a new one.” I say, “If I replace the screen, I’ll have four more screens that don’t know who I am.” And the autocorrect on messages? It’s like having a friend who’s terrible at spelling but confident enough to correct you about your entire personality.

I recently joined a gym, which is where I learned a lot about social experiments and cardio. The first day, I walked in and it felt like I’d interrupted a secret club for people who pretend they enjoy waking up before daylight. You see people gloriously lifting weights with the seriousness of a weather report. Then there’s me, on the treadmill, negotiating with the machine: “If you go faster, I’ll buy better shoes.” The treadmill acts like a tiny tyrant: you press “start” and it says, “We’re going to pretend you’ve got this.” By minute five, I’m calling the rescue team in my head.

Traveling is another perfect storm of small humiliations. TSA has a way of turning you into a riddle: remove your belt, take off your shoes, and somehow your dignity becomes a souvenir you can’t quite return. And the airport seats? They’re designed for people who never eat and never blink. I sit down and instantly meld with the chair, which says, “No, you belong here now.” It’s a real talent—being both passenger and furniture.

Dating apps. You ever notice how you can text someone for hours and still have no idea what a real date would be like? It’s like ordering a mystery meal labeled “chef’s surprise” and you’re smiling through the entire experience while wondering if the dish is an elaborate metaphor for commitment. You match with someone who loves travel, and then you find out their idea of a date is a genuinely moving bus ride where you pretend not to look at your phone the entire time.

Grocery stores are the modern labyrinth. You scan the code, bag your own stuff, and then the machine tells you to “please pay.” It’s not just shopping; it’s civic duty. You start to sound like a loud speaker as you mutter, “Where did the onions go?” The store is a tiny universe with its own gravity: you’re pulled toward the freezer section like a scientist to a chart that shows you how much ice cream you can responsibly eat.

And yet we keep showing up. We admit we don’t have everything figured out, but we have a good playlist, a decent latte, and a story for every little failure. If nothing else, humor gives us a small umbrella in the rain of ordinary life.

So here’s my closing thought: we’re all doing our best to navigate this modern chaos with a little grace and a lot of snacks. If you remember one thing from tonight, maybe it’s this—be kind to the people you pass in the hallway of your day, including the person in your own head who’s trying not to laugh at themselves too loudly.

Thank you. You’ve been great.

I tried to get my life together, so I bought a smartwatch. Nothing says “I’m taking control” like strapping a tiny judgmental coach to your wrist. It buzzes every hour like, “Time to stand!” I’m like, “I’m on a bus.” It’s like, “Stand emotionally.”

It tracks everything. Sleep, stress, calories, my self-esteem. The other day it congratulated me for a “workout.” I was like, “What did I do?” It said: “You aggressively looked for your keys.” Great. Next week I’ll get a badge for “overthinking at 3 a.m.”

Notifications are out of control. My phone dings like I’m on call for a hospital, but it’s just my group chat: twenty adults sending thumbs-up reactions to a photo of soup. The group chat has subplots. One person’s mad, one person’s on vacation, someone’s dog has opinions. I miss when messages were simple. Now a single “K” can end a friendship.

Streaming services are the same. I have subscriptions to five platforms and somehow there’s still nothing to watch. They keep asking, “Are you still watching?” That’s rude. Don’t check in on me like that. If you care, ask how I’m sleeping. Ask if I’ve seen the sun. Don’t be like, “Hey, pal, still in those same sweatpants?” Yes. We’re a team.

Passwords have gotten ridiculous. Every site wants “eight characters, a capital letter, a number, a symbol, your childhood nickname, and the last four digits of a secret you’ve never told anyone.” Then it’s like, “This password is too weak.” Too weak? It’s stronger than me. I’m using that password to log into my feelings.

And two-factor authentication is a haunted house. I’m sitting at my laptop, it says it texted a code. My phone says it emailed the code. My email says it sent a push notification. My push notification says, “We noticed a suspicious login.” Yeah, it’s me! I look like this.

My mom texts like she’s defusing a bomb. She’ll send one sentence spread across twelve messages. “Hi.” “It’s me.” “Mom.” “Are you busy?” “Don’t worry.” “Everything’s fine.” “Call me.” That is not fine energy. Then she FaceTimes, camera under her chin, ceiling fan spinning like I’m being interrogated.

I tried meditating because everyone says it helps. I downloaded an app that yells at me to relax. Nothing like a British guy at 7 a.m. saying, “Let the thoughts pass like clouds,” while my mind is a tornado hitting a trampoline park. The app sent me a streak reminder. “You missed yesterday.” Oh cool, I’m failing at sitting still.

Self-checkout has turned us into unpaid employees. The machine is like, “Unexpected item in the bagging area.” Yeah, it’s my dignity. I love when it needs approval. I’m standing there holding broccoli like I got carded for vegetables. A teenager with a magic key wanders over like, “You trying to steal lettuce?” No, but ask me again and I might.

Dating apps feel like job interviews where no one has benefits. Every profile is a list of demands. “Be adventurous, love dogs, climb mountains.” Can we meet at a coffee shop and just be honest? “My hobbies are sitting and not climbing.” And stop asking for “someone who doesn’t take themselves too seriously.” You’re holding a fish in 80% of these photos. You are very serious about the fish.

Working from home gave us a new language. “You’re on mute.” “Can you see my screen?” “I think there’s a lag.” That’s not the internet—that’s my personality. I love when someone says, “Let’s take this offline,” and then schedules three more meetings to repeat the meeting we just had. My smartwatch is in the corner like, “Heart rate elevated.” Yeah, because I heard “circle back.”

Anyway, my watch says it’s time to stand. I’m going to consider that a full-body workout and reward myself with soup. I’ll send a photo to the group chat and we will never be free.

"Adulting: A User’s Manual (That No One Gave Me)"

(Casual, conversational tone—like you’re telling a story to friends at a bar.)

So, I turned 30 this year. Which, by the way, is just old enough to realize that no one actually knows what they’re doing. We’re all just winging it and hoping the Wi-Fi stays strong.

I thought by now, I’d have my life together. You know, like a real adult. I’d have a 401(k), a skincare routine, and at least one plant that hasn’t committed suicide under my care. But no. My biggest achievement last week was remembering to take my lunch to work and remembering to eat it. That’s growth.

People say, "Oh, your 30s are when you really figure things out." Lies. Absolute lies. My 20s were just me pretending I had my sht together while eating cold pizza for breakfast. My 30s are me admitting I don’t have my sht together… while eating better cold pizza for breakfast. Progress!

And can we talk about how no one warns you about the hidden costs of adulthood? Like, I knew rent was expensive, but no one told me that existing is a subscription service. "Oh, you want to keep the lights on? That’ll be $200. You’d like to not get scurvy? Here’s a $150 grocery bill. And by the way, your car just turned 100,000 miles—congrats, it’s now a classic, like your knees after leg day."

Speaking of leg day—why do we even do that? I don’t need to squat 300 pounds. The heaviest thing I lift is my own disappointment when I step on the scale. And yet, I pay $60 a month to a gym where I go twice a week to lie to myself. "Yeah, I’m gonna go five times this week." No, you’re not. You’re gonna go once, touch a dumbbell like it’s a cursed artifact, and then reward yourself with Taco Bell.

And don’t get me started on meal prepping. Oh, you’re gonna cook all your meals for the week on Sunday? Bold move. By Wednesday, you’re gonna be so sick of chicken and broccoli that you’ll trade it for a stranger’s half-eaten burrito in the break room. "Oh, you don’t want this? Cool, I’ll just— [mimes snatching it] —thanks, Karen."

The worst part is, now I’m at the age where my friends are starting to have kids. And I love my friends’ kids—I do. But also, I don’t understand them. They’re just tiny humans who don’t know how to human yet. You ever try to have a conversation with a 3-year-old? It’s like talking to a drunk philosopher.

"Why is the sky blue?" "Uh… science?" "But why?" "Because… light bends?" "Why?" "I don’t know, man, ask your dad." "Dad’s on his phone." "Yeah, we all are."

And now, suddenly, I’m supposed to be the responsible one in the room. Me! The guy who once microwaved a fork for 30 seconds just to see what would happen! (Spoiler: Nothing good.) But now, if I’m babysitting and the kid asks for a snack, I can’t just hand them a handful of cereal and a Red Bull like, "Here, figure it out." No, now I have to cut the grapes in half like some kind of psychopath.

The scariest part? I’m starting to sound like my parents. The other day, I caught myself saying, "Back in my day, we didn’t have all these fancy apps—we just remembered things!" And then I immediately Googled "how to delete my search history" because I couldn’t remember how.

So yeah, adulthood is just a series of realizing that everything you thought you knew was a lie, and the only thing keeping you from complete chaos is a to-do list you’ll never finish. But hey, at least we’re all in this together. Misery loves company, and company splits the Uber fare.

Thanks, you’ve been a great crowd! Don’t forget to tip your servers—and by "servers," I mean your therapists. We all need ‘em.

(Pause for applause, then walk off like you just dropped a truth bomb.)

Why this works:

• Relatable struggles (adulting, gym lies, parenting fears) make it universal.
• Self-deprecating but not mean—pokes fun at common flaws without punching down.
• Strong pacing—builds from small observations to bigger "aha" moments.
• No puns! Just observational humor and exaggerated truths.

Want to tweak it? Swap in your own quirks (e.g., "I still don’t know how to fold a fitted sheet" or "I Googled ‘how to boil water’ last week").