Jake stared at his phone, thumb scrolling like a maniac. The TikTok algorithm had promised him stardom—if he could just master the “Retro Robot Dance.” He’d spent three hours practicing in front of his bathroom mirror, arms flailing like a windmill with a panic attack. His mom walked by, paused, and said, “Honey, that’s not a dance. That’s a seizure.”
Undeterred, Jake filmed himself in his pajamas, background muted to look “vintage.” The video blew up. Not because of his moves—but because his neighbor’s cat, Mr. Whiskers, sauntered into the frame, tail flicking like a metronome. #CatInTheMirror trended for 12 hours.
Desperate for relevance, Jake tried the “DanceMaster99” challenge, a viral routine involving 360-degree spins and a voice crackling like a broken Walkman. He spun so hard, he knocked over his mom’s prized cactus. “You’ve ruined my life!” she screamed, as the cactus toppled into a bowl of cereal.
The next day, Jake discovered his video had 10 million views. Not because of his skills—but because DanceMaster99 himself had reuploaded it, adding a caption: “This is why we can’t have nice things.”
Jake’s phone rang. It was the TikTok execs. “We need you for our next campaign,” they said. “But you’re a meme, not a dancer,” Jake replied. “Exactly!” they said. “You’re the human version of a ‘Distracted Boyfriend’ GIF.”
That night, Jake sat on his couch, cactus in hand, as Mr. Whiskers purred in his lap. He realized: maybe being a disaster was better than being average. He filmed a new video—this time, just him and the cat, staring into the camera like they were judging him. The caption read: “When you’re the main character but also the punchline.” #UnfilteredLife
