Ever heard the phrase “money is a good servant but a bad master”? Well, in the United States it turns out that the servant is a baby‑boomer, the master is a private‑equity firm, and the master’s job is to make a killing while the servant is just… eating a thank‑you card.

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The Story So Far​

Picture this: a group of boomers holding a staggering $17 trillion in assets. Not the kind of money that goes on the “richest people in the world” list – we’re talking about the kind that sits in savings accounts, 401(k)s, and the occasional offshore shell that makes a family lawyer’s hairline look full again. The question on everyone’s lips? What happens to that treasure trove once the boomers finally kick the bucket?

The answer, as it turns out, isn’t the heartwarming tale of grandchildren inheriting a golden goose. Instead, it’s a nursing‑home‑cooked drama featuring private‑equity firms, assisted‑suicide debates, and a very pricey thank‑you card.

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Private‑Equity, the New Generation’s Best Friend (or Worst)​

When boomers decide to retire (or simply die), the bulk of their assets doesn’t just vanish into the ether. It finds a new home: private‑equity firms that specialize in elder‑care. These firms run nursing homes with the same zeal as a fast‑food franchise, but with a twist: the goal is to keep the lights on and the profits high.

“The vast majority of that wealth isn’t making it to us. It’s gonna end up in the hands of the private equity firms that run the elder care industry.”

So if you’re a kid in the 90s dreaming of becoming the next tech mogul, the real legacy you’re inheriting is a chain of nursing homes that will probably charge you an arm and a leg for a thank‑you card.

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Assisted Suicide: A Business Strategy (or Moral Dilemma)​

There’s a side conversation that pops up in the corner of this whole mess: “Assisted suicide is a symptom of late‑stage capitalism.” The counter‑argument? If you’re running a nursing‑home empire, you’d actually want to lobby against assisted suicide because it threatens your bottom line. “Dying with dignity is bad for business,” one comment muses.

“I wonder about the opposite. If I was the elder care industry and I wanted to protect my profits, I would lobby governments not to allow assisted suicide. Dying with dignity is bad for business.”

Because, let’s be honest, a good death with a doctor’s signature on the paperwork is cheaper than a full‑scale hospice care package.

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The Workers’ Tale​

You might think, “Hey, at least the workers get paid.” Nope. The grim reality? Senior‑care workers don’t get paid worth shit.

“Sad part is, senior care workers don’t get paid worth shit.”

And there you have it: a generation of retirees handing off their wealth to corporate giants, a thank‑you card that costs almost as much as a small car, and workers who’ll probably need a loan to afford the very card they’re supposed to be paying for.

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TL;DR​

• Boomers hold $17 trillion; it mostly ends up with private‑equity nursing‑home chains.
• These firms lobby to keep assisted suicide out of the picture so they can keep the cash flowing.
• Senior‑care workers get paid so little they might need a loan just to buy the thank‑you card.

“If you’re a kid in the 90s, you’re not inheriting a golden goose—just a nursing‑home empire and a thank‑you card that costs almost as much as a car.”

Enjoy the drama, folks!

It was a routine day of receiving Amazon packages when the drama unfolded. I opened a box full of 2026 calendars – all the usual nature clichés: national parks, winding trails, and a sleek orchid. The office’s “Calendar of the Month” had become a shrine of botanical serenity.

In the same aisle, a coworker was giddy at the prospect of claiming the next set before anyone else. I gave the purchasing person a quick call; “Sure, grab what you want.” That was the green light.

We flipped through the calendars – front and back, glossy and soothing. Then we noticed something that made us both pause. One of the back covers featured a mushroom that, when you squinted, looked suspiciously phallic. We stared at each other, then burst out, “It’s all dicks! There’s a dick cloud, a dick cactus, a dick flower!”

The laughter was contagious. The other workers begged to see the “special edition” calendars. Naturally, we all converged on the one with the unmistakable mushroom.

I marched up to the purchasing person, triumphant, and proudly presented the “majestic” mushroom calendar, explaining its artistic merit. They realized their mistake, and the higher-ups swooped in, confiscating both calendars and issuing a stern warning: never speak of this again.

I’ve never felt so proud of a joke in my life. The office never looked the same.

Picture this: you’re a hardworking employee, a contractor with a “no‑business‑to‑be‑in‑the‑office” badge, and an office assistant who thinks she’s the unofficial IT department. Your boss, the COO (who has probably seen more corporate hand‑shakes than a bartender), invites you both to lunch. The contractor starts talking… for two whole hours. You try the classic “office emergency” line, only to hear your boss whisper “I hate you” into the lunch table. The contractor has already left the building, but you’re still stuck with a long lunch and a boss who’s half‑dead inside his mind because he knows you’ll lose his most valuable asset.

The Problem​

• Contractor: “I’m here for a reason!” (He actually has decades of experience. If he leaves, your company loses money. He’s like a rare Pokémon—hard to find and even harder to replace.)
• Boss: “I’m the COO, so I’ve got a million things to do, but I still have to accept this lunch. I’ve been dreading it for two weeks.”
• You: “I’d like my lunch back. I’m not a hostage.”

So, what’s the best excuse to get him out of the office without causing a full‑blown HR incident? The comments below suggest some creative options. Let’s break it down, Reddit‑style.

The “Classic” Tactic: The Emergency Call​

The original poster tried the “fake emergency” method: texting the office assistant, pretending it’s a crisis. The assistant calls, you act shocked, and the boss whispers a sad “I hate you” to you. Classic. But we can do better.

1. The “Diarrhea” Excuse​

You have diarrhea.
Commenter 1

That’s the quick‑fix approach: you’re in the bathroom for fifteen minutes, you’re out. The contractor thinks you’re on a break and leaves, and the boss finally gets the hint. Works for a quick exit, but it’s a little… stinky.

2. The “Emergency Meeting” Strategy​

Set an “emergency meeting” with your boss.
Commenter 2

Schedule it right after they return from lunch. The contractor gets called back to the office. You’re in a meeting room, pretending to be busy while you do your real work. It’s a classic “let’s pretend we’re doing something important” move.

3. The Remote‑Co‑Worker Angle​

Meeting is set. I called another co‑worker that’s working remote to set up the meeting and have some sort of “brief” ready!
Commenter 3

If you’re worried about the meeting being “just a meeting,” involve a remote colleague. It’s like a fake press conference: “We’re launching the new project, but first, we need to discuss the contractor’s… availability.”

4. The Straight‑Up “Work” Excuse​

“We have work to do,” should be all you need.
Commenter 4

Sometimes the simplest answer is the best. Just tell the contractor (and your boss) that you’re all tied up with deadlines. You can even pretend to be a spreadsheet wizard: “I’ve got to finish the budget report before we can let the contractor go.”

The Reality: The Contractor Leaves, The Boss Remains​

In the end, the contractor left the building. But the boss didn’t cut the lunch short. Why? Because the contractor is irreplaceable. In an industry where people earn $100k+ straight out of trade school with only 2–3 years of experience, losing one seasoned contractor can mean a financial disaster. The COO, being the pragmatic type, realized that even a lunch break is worth keeping that contractor in the office.

So next time you find yourself in a similar situation, remember: you can always use a bathroom break, a fake emergency meeting, or simply say “We have work to do.” And if all else fails, just remind yourself that you’re not the only one who can get a contractor to leave—just don’t make your boss the next victim.

Ever had a “quiet” job that turns into a full‑blown rom‑com? Meet our heroine—let’s call her Receptionista—who thought her biggest drama would be a paper jam. She was right… until the IT guy walked in.

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The Office Love Story (or How a Desk‑Side Romance Became a Full‑Scale Soap Opera)​

• The Setup
  Receptionista landed a receptionist gig in a new town. The job was as calm as a Zen garden, which meant she didn’t make many friends. The only exception? The IT guy who started dropping by her desk like he was on a secret mission.

• The “Friendly” Intrusion
  At first, he was just the guy who asked if she needed help with her laptop. After a few months, he started lingering, asking about her love life, and casually dropping details about his divorce. He even compared her to her husband—classic romantic irony.

• The Secret Communication Hub
  Teams chats became their new coffee shop. Receptionista would take the scenic route to the kitchen just to catch a glimpse of his messages. Notes were exchanged like secret love letters, hidden in drawers that suddenly became treasure chests.

• The “Best Friend” Phase
  When he left for a new job, Receptionista was devastated. He’d become her best friend, her daily highlight. After his resignation, he showed up at her house with breakfast, a tour of the place, and a heartfelt hug. “If I pulled my head away, we would have been close enough to kiss,” she confessed—though we’re not sure if she meant that literally or metaphorically.

• The Long‑Term Aftermath
  Five years later, he’s gone. He’s remarried, has kids, and she’s settled with her own husband. But the “what if” keeps flashing through her mind like a pop‑up ad: “Would fireworks feel the same today?”

• The Bottom Line
  She wonders if this “true love” was ever real, or just a story she’ll tell herself whenever the office Wi‑Fi drops.

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Readers' Reactions (in the style of a Cheezburger comment section)​

Comment 1
“Everyone has what‑ifs, especially when life feels like a bad sitcom. But if it’s an affair, it’s not just inappropriate—it’s a plot twist that kills the main character. Get your marriage in order first, or else you’ll just end up in a tragic comedy.”

Comment 2
“If you’re still thinking about this coworker, maybe you’re overdue for some date nights with your husband. Or at least a couples’ counseling session. The drama is real, folks!”

Comment 3
“You’re risking the lives of three people for a ‘what if.’ I bet he left because he had the same feelings for you but didn’t want to destroy your life. If your husband found out, he’d probably be in a full‑blown soap episode.”

Comment 4
“So you emotionally cheated on your husband? Take the win of not losing your family—this isn’t the sweet fruit you think it is.”

Comment 5
“May this love never find me again.” (And I’ll be the one who can’t find my own love story.)

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This was one of my first Service Desk jobs as an 18‑year‑old smartass.
The ticket that landed in my inbox read:

Subject: MY [Company name] LAPTOP
Description: CAN YOU HELP????????

That was the entire ticket.

I fired back a perfectly polite reply:

Hi [requester]

Yes, helping with [Company name] laptops is within the scope of the Service Desk.

Regards

Speddie23

And then, as the automated system prompted, I closed the ticket.
A standard “If you feel your ticket has not been completed to your satisfaction, please reply back and it will be re‑opened” message floated out into the void.

So the requester shot back:

Why was this closed?

My response was a textbook case of “I answered the question, so the job is done”:

Hi [requester]

You asked if we can help with [Company name] laptops. I have replied confirming that we are able to help.

As I have answered your question, I closed off the ticket.

Regards

Speddie23

The requester complained, the manager was pretty cool with what happened, and I didn’t get reprimanded at all.
He just mentioned that if people are asking for help with a laptop, they probably actually want help with something.
He probably found it amusing himself but had to keep a professional face.

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Ever wondered where the line between “just a harmless prank” and “a federal offense” actually lies? Reddit’s own court of public opinion just handed out a verdict in the form of five delightfully absurd comments. The original poster’s question—“What is truly a victimless crime?”—prompted everything from questionable mail tactics to Texas’ bizarre dildo limits. Below, we unpack the hilarity, add a few extra jokes, and then let the comments do the heavy lifting for themselves.

The “Crime” That Isn’t Really a Crime​

1. Illegally recording a football game
   “Taping a football game without the written consent of the NFL lol”
   If you think the NFL is watching, remember that every time you film a Sunday afternoon, you’re just one legal clause away from a lawsuit that could end your career—and your weekend.

2. Mail‑in mischief
   “Placing an unposted letter or thank‑you card in your neighbor’s mailbox rather than sending it through US Mail.”
   Nothing says “I love you” like a surprise card that never actually makes it to the mailbox. The USPS will never know, but your neighbor might.

3. The Texas dildo dilemma
   “Owning too many dildos. It’s an actual crime in Texas to own more than three dildos or something like that – but who are you hurting? Oh no, somebody might pleasure themselves with silicone and glass, oh no, the horrors!”
   In a state where even the furniture is built to last, owning a fourth silicone toy could land you in a courtroom. The question isn’t why it’s illegal—just how you’ll get out.

4. The “seventh” dildo saga
   “They can have my seventh dildo when they pry it from my cold, dead, ass!”
   If you’re a victimless crime enthusiast, you’ll want to know that the law doesn’t care about your personal storage space. Just bring a bag of legal excuses.

5. The legislative session of the “four or more dicks”
   “This is likely due to sunshine laws since in Texas the gathering of four or more dicks in one room constitutes a legislative session.”
   If you’re planning a party with a lot of “dicks,” you might need to file a formal request with the state.

TL;DR​

When you think you’ve found the perfect victimless crime—like taping a football game or sneaking a thank‑you card into a mailbox—Texas will step in and remind you that owning too many dildos might be the real offense. The universe loves a good punchline.

We’ve all grown up in a world where the word shit can be dropped in a sitcom without a fine, where “weed” is a buzzword for both a snack and a state‑of‑mind, and where talking about mental health is as common as ordering coffee. But how far did we really travel from the days when a single curse could earn a TV ban and a family’s Sunday dinner was all about avoiding the word fuck?

Fast‑forward to the present:

• Legal weed: The only thing you can’t weed out of your memory is a good joke about it.
• Cursing on TV: “S” words are now part of the soundtrack of our lives.
• Mental health awareness: We’re talking about it so much that the phrase “I’m not okay” has become a badge of honor rather than a confession.
• Action figures: Kids are building their own Terminator and Predator armies—no need to censor the “sh**t” in the movie titles.

It’s a wild ride, but we’re all laughing (and crying) along the way.

It was a typical Midwest winter – the kind where the wind whips around your face and you wonder if you’re living in a giant freezer. Our family was in the middle of the chaos when our daughter, freshly back from college, barges into the kitchen and declares that the twins (who’ve been crashing on our couch since September) are not equipped for the weather. One is rocking a hoodie, the other a jean jacket that looks like it survived a summer in Arizona. Cue the heroic heroism: we trek up to the attic, rummage through a treasure trove of vintage coats, long‑sleeve shirts, and a pair of snow boots that practically scream “fashionable winter survival gear.”

We decided the twins deserved these goodies more than our youngest, who is still growing into them. “We can always buy her new stuff,” we thought. “These girls are poor, let’s give them a taste of the good life.” My son, who apparently knows the twins share one wardrobe, agreed. My daughter happily handed the clothes over, announcing they were “theirs” (or at least that we were going to toss them). The twins, the eternal rebels, accepted the donation with a subtle “thank you” that could have been a dramatic sigh.

And then, the plot twist: the twins’ stepdad arrives, clutching the box of clothes, and declares that “we don’t take donations in this house.” He drops a line about keeping my nose out of his business and acts like I ruined his day. The punchline? He thinks toughness means the girls don’t need to feel the cold. My husband is like, “You should have known that.” I tried to call the mother but got lost in the cold, call‑waiting line. So, is I the villain here?

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Comments (the internet’s verdict)​

• NTA. Contact CPS.
  Because when you’re handing out winter coats to kids who are literally cold, the only logical next step is the child‑protective services hotline.

• I agree. Call the school too: because they're likely obligated to do something if kids are coming to school during a polar vortex in hoodies.
  School staff are basically the “free coat dispensers” of the 21st century. If the kids are shivering, they might just have to intervene.

• Could you maybe take the coats to the school for them?
  “I know our elementary schools are always asking for winter gear.”
  The school might even have a policy that requires coats to go outside when it’s bitter cold. Kids shouldn’t have to miss recess because of neglectful parents.

• NTA. That stepdad is a monster.
  The only thing this stepdad lacks is a sense of humor. He’s a “monster” for refusing help and ignoring basic human decency.

• Honestly not providing winter clothes/coats in the Midwest and refusing free ones, is a reason to contact CPS.
  Those children are being neglected from that fact alone.

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TL;DR​

You handed out winter coats to two cold‑craving twins, got a stepdad who acts like you’re a villain, and now the internet tells you to call CPS. Bottom line: NTA (Not the A‑I‑T‑A), but maybe get the school involved.

Ever tried to launch a fresh Instagram page while your coworkers are still figuring out how to pronounce “creative” without sounding like a robot? That’s exactly what happened to our hero, who decided that life was too short for boring office décor and launched a graphic‑design page. The office reaction? A mix of “Why?” and “Can we use your username?” that left our protagonist feeling like they’d accidentally opened a portal to a world of judgment and unsolicited suggestions.

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The Dilemma​

Picture this: a creative agency, a handful of tight‑knit friends, and one person with an unstoppable urge to grow their design chops. After a while, the idea of a side hustle took root. The Instagram account was born, and the first post was a triumph. But when the coworkers saw it, the office turned into a full‑blown brainstorming session:

“Why did you start a new page?”
“Can we help you pick a cool username?”
“What should the profile pic even be? And why are you using the same account?”

Our hero felt a strange cocktail of fear and sadness, thinking, “Did I just let my own friends turn into a swarm of copy‑cats?” They worried about being judged, about the possibility of being “stolen” or duplicated, and about how this would affect their standing at work. The emotions were real, and the uncertainty was… well, a little ridiculous.

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Picture this: you’re a badass female doctor who’s become best buds with her barber because you both love shiny clippers and the sound of hair cutting in the early morning. One night, over greasy pizza and a few beers at a loud gastropub, your barber (who happens to be a woman in her twenties, sexually active, and currently nursing a mysterious pelvic ache) asks you, “Doc, what do you think might be going on with my pelvic pain? The urgent care told me I had a ‘pelvic infection’ and gave me a shot in the butt.”

You, in true “medical school test question” mode, instantly diagnose her with pelvic inflammatory disease caused by a classic STI—gonorrhea, chlamydia, or even syphilis. She laughs, says the guy she’s seeing might be cheating, and you all enjoy the rest of the night.

A few weeks later, you’re trying to solidify that budding friendship with a casual hangout. She keeps canceling. You finally book a haircut appointment. She cancels again—this time citing that your “STI diagnosis in a crowded restaurant left me feeling pretty uncomfortable.” You’re blindsided, apologize, explain it was a quiet conversation, and try to salvage the friendship.

The moral of the story? You were technically answering a question she asked, but the delivery (and the content) might have been a little… too professional.

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TL;DR​

A doc gives a friend an STI diagnosis in a noisy bar. Friend feels uncomfortable, cancels the haircut, and you’re left wondering if you should’ve just said, “See a doctor.” The comments say: NTA, you were just following medical etiquette.

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