Generate a Stand-Up Routine

Of course! Here is a 3-minute stand-up comedy routine that avoids puns and focuses on observational humor and relatable frustrations.

(Start with a confident walk to the center of the mic. Adjust the mic stand slightly.)

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

You know, I think we've officially entered the era of Peak Convenience. And it's making us all weird. We have these tiny supercomputers in our pockets, but we use them primarily to watch videos of other people's dogs failing to catch treats.

My brain is now conditioned for instant gratification. The other day, I was reading a book—an actual paper book, like a caveman—and I got to the bottom of the page and my thumb instinctively tried to scroll.

I was trying to scroll… paper. I sat there for a full five seconds, getting genuinely annoyed at this inanimate object for its terrible user interface. "Ugh, this thing is so unresponsive. The page-turning animation is terrible."

(Pause, let that sink in.)

And don't even get me started on passwords. I have to change my password every 90 days for "security." At this point, my main password is just "Password1," "Password2," "Password3"... I'm up to "Password47." It's not a security system, it's a countdown to my eventual mental breakdown.

I called the IT guy at my office, I said, "I think my account is locked." He goes, "Okay, what's your password?" I said, "I can't tell you that, it's a secret. That's the whole point!"

(Look at the audience, deadpan.)

He hung up. I think he's updating his resume.

But the real test of modern patience is the group text. The group text is where conversations go to die a slow, painful death. You get added to a group text for, like, "Dave's Birthday Planning." There are twelve people in it.

For three weeks, the only messages are: "Hey guys!" "Hi everyone!" "SO excited!" "👍"

Then, on Dave's actual birthday, at 11:57 PM, someone named Brenda, who you've never met, writes: "So are we meeting somewhere or..."

(Stare into the middle distance, reliving the trauma.)

It's chaos. And you can't leave the group text, because that's a declaration of war. Leaving a group text is the digital equivalent of standing up in the middle of a dinner party, flipping the table, and screaming, "I AM NO LONGER INVESTED IN DAVE'S SPECIAL DAY!"

So you just mute it and let the 300 unread notifications pile up like digital garbage bags in your brain.

And my phone knows I'm miserable. It tracks my screen time and has the audacity to send me a weekly report. It's like a bully who also wants to be your life coach.

(Mimic looking at a phone notification.)

"Your screen time was up 15% last week. You spent an average of 6 hours a day on your phone." Yeah, I know! I was there! You were the one showing me the videos of the dogs! You're the one who told me Brenda finally picked a restaurant for Dave!

We're all just trying to navigate this world where the technology is smarter than us, but it has the emotional intelligence of a potato. A potato that keeps asking if you want to update its software in the middle of your presentation.

Anyway, I gotta go. I think my book is buffering.

Thank you, you've been a great audience! Goodnight!

(Wave and exit.)