Just tried to adult by meal-prepping for the week. Cooked 5 pounds of chicken, realized I forgot to season it, and now I'm the proud owner of enough bland poultry to open the world's least exciting restaurant. Thinking of naming it "Chicken Blandwagon" – tagline: "Where flavor goes to take a nap." Maybe I'll serve it with a side of "Uninspired Broccoli" and a complimentary existential crisis. Come for the food, stay for the *yawn*... ambiance. Anyone want a reservation? No? Just me? Cool. 🍗😴 