10 Things Every Human Being Secretly Agrees On

I know, saying things everybody agrees on is a bold statement. Especially since I’ve seen people argue over the color of the sky before. I’ve seen people practically get into a fist fight about whether a hot dog is technically a sandwich; nobody cares, just pop that big ole glizzy in your mouth hole.

Online arguing has become not only a competitive sport these days, but also some people’s favorite hobby (or only hobby).

I’ve seen arguments over practically everything. I overheard one about fat people being harder to kidnap. It makes sense; they’re heavier and therefore harder to pick up and run away with. But some may run slower, and can be lured by Taco Bell. For the record, I also can be lured by a Doritos Loco Supreme.

But while we’ll fight over things like ‘Are you naked if you’re wearing socks?’, there are a few things that even our chaotic society full of keyboard warriors and online trolls can agree on…

A microwavable bag of popcorn says it contains seven servings. Ah yes, my six friends and I will thoroughly enjoy four kernels of popcorn each. Mhmm, I can finish an entire bag myself before the commercials for the movie finish.

A single pack of ramen is not two servings. I’ll die on this hill.

But I’m on to you, food-marketing hoes; you artificially deflate the serving sizes so that people think they’re eating fewer calories. But I can do basic math. Also, fuck calories.

I get it, beef is expensive. But at the current price of it, it’s like the cows are putting their kids through college. I love a good jerky snack, but paying $14 for a bag of six pieces (that I then need to split with nine friends to afford, turning our friend group into Feral Friend Fight Club) ain’t happening.

We don’t appreciate air enough, but go without it for a few seconds, and you immediately remember its value. If anyone argues with you about this, put your hand around their throat and say you’ll release it if they tap out and agree with you.

If you do this, you’re a psychopath who is clearly trying to bend physics to your will. I appreciate that in 2026 you’re trying to reset the timeline, Butterfly Effect style — but don’t; you could make it worse.

Although I appreciate your confidence in gastronomical mathematics that you know exactly how much cow titty juice you need to cover your Cappy Crunch.

We’re not farmers. We know we’re not time travellers. And the time change just messes up our circadian rhythm like it’s doing a drunken chicken dance.

Plus, about 20% of us forget that it happened and then we’re an hour off for all of our activities. Although automatically updating clocks has helped out a lot with this one.

Except all our microwaves are still off. And the clocks in our old school manual cars. Me, I just leave it that way until the next time change because I can’t remember how to change it. The only code my mind remembers is the Konami Code (Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, (Select), Start.)

Note: the Konami Code doesn’t work on the microwave. Try it, and you’ll blow yourself up.

Everyone hates burpees. It’s the hellish combination of a squat, a plank, a push-up, and a vertical jump — designed to set your lungs on fire. Even the fittest people that I know, the ones who eat a Pilates class for breakfast, hate burpees.

Burpees were designed by Beelzebub himself.

I’d rather speed-chug a slurpee and get the biggest brain freeze of all brain freezicles than do a burpee.

We agree on this…even if it’s only because it’s the thing we remember from high school science class and it lives rent-free in our brain’s RAM.

They suck. Both figuratively and literally. I know, I know, mosquitoes are a vital food source for fish, birds, bats, and frogs, and they pollinate plants, blah blah. We still all wish a pox on their bloodlines. Which are our bloodlines, since they’re teeny tiny vampires.

Those Sir Bites-a-Lots suck the big one.

I’m talking about the kind of flatulence that activates the farticles, and gives you a boost like catching a star in Super Mario.

The type of fart that makes your pants looser.

Even though we all agree that letting those kinds of sphincter supernovas rip feels amazing, we’ve also, for some reason, all collectively agreed (except for like 12 dudes, probably all named Chad) that we won’t do it in front of each other.

We have artificial intelligence in the palms of our hands, but apparently haven’t figured out how to get rid of that bit of water that lives at the top of a ketchup or mustard bottle. It soaks into the bun, creating a soggy hot-doggian experience.

It’s ketchup precum.

And it’s just impregnated your bun.

There you have it. So the next time your family starts arguing over something silly, like ‘whether Cheetos are chips’ or ‘how almond milk shouldn’t be allowed to be called milk and should be called nut juice instead’ — break the tension by popping in one of the above.

Who cares about your nut juice nomenclature, let’s just all agree that mustard precum blows.