Gary’s daughter left her phone on the kitchen counter, screen glowing with a TikTok dance challenge. The caption: ‘Try this at your own risk.’ Gary, 52, squinted at the video—two teens in neon leggings, limbs flying like windmills. ‘What’s the deal with this?’ he grumbled, thumb swiping to the audio: a lo-fi beat with a suspiciously high-pitched whistle.
Three hours later, Gary stood in his living room, sweats clinging to his back, rehearsing the dance. The first move—a ‘slay drop’—required him to bend backward until his nose touched his knees. He managed it, then immediately sat down. ‘I’m a god,’ he whispered.
At the family picnic, Gary busted out the routine. His niece snorted into her hot dog. His sister-in-law filmed it. The beat dropped. Gary launched into the ‘windmill’ phase, arms whirling like confused propellers. His cousin’s poodle yipped. A lawn chair collapsed.
The video went viral. Comments flooded in: ‘This is the best thing ever,’ ‘Gary’s a legend,’ ‘Why is he wearing socks?’ Gary’s daughter texted: ‘Dad, you’re a meme.’ He replied: ‘I’m a *meme*? I’m a *meme*?!’
That night, Gary danced in front of a mirror, perfecting the slay drop. His reflection winked. ‘You’re welcome,’ it said. Gary paused. ‘Wait—am I… trending?’ The mirror didn’t answer. It was too busy laughing.’,
