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)
