Kevin stared at his phone, fingers twitching. The internet had declared 2023 the Year of the Strawberry Milkshake, and he’d already fallen behind. His feed was a parade of neon-green blends, turmeric shots, and something called ‘avocado-kiwi chaos.’ He needed to level up.
‘You’re gonna drink this?’ his roommate, Sarah, asked, peering over his shoulder. She’d already eaten three slices of pizza and was now judging his life choices.
‘This isn’t just a milkshake,’ Kevin said, pacing his apartment like a caged tiger. ‘This is a statement. A revolution. A… a *viral moment.*’
He grabbed a blender, hurling in strawberries, ice, milk, and a fistful of protein powder. Then—inspired by a TikTok—he added a splash of hot sauce, a handful of pickles, and a single slice of pepperoni. ‘For depth,’ he explained.
Sarah snorted. ‘You’re gonna taste like a salad bar with a hangover.’
The blender screamed. Kevin held the lid tight as the mixture frothed into a swamp-green vortex. When he finally pried it open, the smell hit him: sweet, sour, and vaguely industrial. He sipped.
‘…It’s… complex,’ he said, face contorted.
‘That’s a fancy word for ‘you’re gonna throw up,’’ Sarah said, already filming.
Kevin shrugged. ‘This is art.’ He lifted the glass—only to trip over his own feet, sending the shake flying. It splattered across the wall, the couch, and Sarah’s favorite hoodie.
‘My *vintage* hoodie!’ she wailed.
‘It’s… a statement,’ Kevin repeated, as the camera rolled. ‘A statement about… about…’ He paused, staring at the green muck. ‘About the fragility of trends?’
Sarah collapsed into giggles. ‘You’re gonna be famous.’
By noon, the video had 10 million views. Comments flooded in: ‘This is genius,’ ‘Why is this real,’ and ‘Is this a new cuisine?’ Kevin didn’t care. He’d made history. Or at least, he’d made a really good excuse for why he’d never left his apartment again.
The end.
