Taxi 2-Behind the viral smile

I was woken up by the sound of my phone. Not an alarm, not a message… but a sound like someone had put autofire on all my apps. Ding-ding-ding-ding, in a rhythm that destroys your brain before you even open your eyes. 07:03. Of course it’s early. Of course I’m not ready. Of course life has another joke at my expense. I reach under the pillow for my phone, half-blind from morning grogginess. The screen is blazing. Notifications pop up like I discovered the cure for baldness last night instead of driving Lexie Starqueen around Zagreb. Instagram: 947 new followers. TikTok: 2,700,000 views in 9 hours. YouTube Shorts: my face trending. Great. Just what I needed. Any second now, they’ll call me to “Married at First Sight” to be the sarcasm expert. Opening the first comment: “Bro is such a vibe fr fr 🔥.” “King carried the whole video, deadass.” “This dude has tired dad energy and it’s aesthetic.” “Slay dad, slay 😍.” I close the phone. Deep breath. I wonder—how did I become a global dad meme in 2025? Coffee is brewing in the kitchen. The aroma saves my soul. But I know if I tell my wife I’m a viral hit right now, she’ll go sleep until July. Phone vibrates again—a message from Lexie. LEXIE STARQUEEN 👑✨ Babes wake up rn. We’re blowing up. This is WILD. Call me ASAP. And of course, she ended with: “no cap.” Which I still have no idea about. My brain is 1995 vintage; it doesn’t update overnight. I sit at the table, take a sip of coffee, and say out loud: “f**k… I’ve become the Internet.” In the kitchen, Viktorija is making coffee. Not frying pancakes—no chance with a three-month-old baby, she barely has time to wash a bottle. The baby is in the crib next to her, murmuring “eee–uhh” and flashing a tiny smile when it sees me—that small reflex smile, but good for the heart. Viktorija glances at me and immediately notices something’s off. “You’re acting weird this morning,” she says. Not an accusation, more like: “Please tell me it’s not something that’ll ruin my day.” “The Internet attacked me,” I say, completely deadpan. She looks at me like I said a vacuum cleaner beat me up. “What?” I shove the phone toward her. On the screen, Lexie’s message and the video with 2.7 million views. She clicks. Her face shifts from “tired” to “what the hell did you do now, man?” “How many views is this?” “Enough to start warming the baby food under a ring light.” The baby grins with those tiny lips and immediately disarms me. Obviously, it’s not laughing because it understands—it’s a baby. But Viktorija still says: “Cute… our son’s laughing at you, and I’m crying.” At that moment, the baby lets out a “uuuuh” and waves its tiny hands like conducting an orchestra. --- Coffee finally arrives. Phone in hand, baby in the crib, Viktorija standing to the side, trying not to watch me turn into meme-dad in front of millions. Lexie is at her own place, sending GIFs, voice notes, and memes, laughing and yelling from afar: “Dad, deadass vibe check! Go live rn, fr fr, no cap!” My brain tries to decode: deadass… fr fr… no cap… Okay, deadass means no joke. Fr fr means… for real? No cap? No lie. Basically, I have to survive the live and act like I’m in control, even though it’s total chaos. Viktorija looks at me with a mix of pride and… jealousy. Yes, jealousy. “Seriously? t****k again? As if the whole world depends on how much sarcasm Dad can throw at Lexie. And while I try to calm the baby and keep the kitchen alive, he’s completely lost in the digital world. He loves that remote production, sending memes, laughing with Lexie—and I’m standing here feeling invisible. He’s here, but his mind is online, not with me and our child. How many times have I needed his smile or a simple ‘good morning’ and got only grimaces for the algorithm? And no, it’s not about being jealous of Lexie—but seriously? A 7 a.m. livestream while I’m trying to be a mom and a wife? Somehow, I feel like second priority, even under t****k and Gen Z sarcasm…” The baby opens its eyes and lets out a “uuuuh,” as if saying, “My dad is crazy, but at least he’s funny.” Lexie sends more messages: “Dad, guess the meme challenge! Your vibe is literally iconic. Guess the sarcasm, bro!” I take a deep breath and say: “t****k, watch as Dad survives viral chaos while his wife saves the baby and the kitchen. Literally content gold. And Lexie is at her place, I’m at mine—total remote production, vibe 100% authentic, deadass.” Comments explode: “OMG, iconic dad energy 😭😂” “Bro literally carried the whole vibe, no cap” “Dad, fr fr, slay the sarcasm 💀” “This is my aesthetic, tired dad energy on fleek 🔥” “Deadass mood, bro fr fr” “No cap, this dad energy hits different” Viktorija frowns, trying not to show how annoyed she is: “You know, you could devote at least half your time to the baby instead of staring at the screen and Lexie’s live feed.” “Ah, darling,” I reply sarcastically. “This is art. t****k art. Baby, this is peak Gen Z content.” The baby waves its hands again, laughs, and lets out “uuuuh,” approving my performance. Viktorija sighs: “If this turns into a whole career, I’m asking for a cut for my patience.” Lexie laughs from a distance: “Dad, perfect! Keep the energy, fr fr, peak content!” Over the next few hours, the phone explodes with notifications. People send memes Photoshopped of me as Gandhi, Beyoncé, a meme version of the baby bottle, even t****k dances. I try to balance grimaces and sarcastic comments while Viktorija throws me side-eye: “Seriously? This is my life?” Lexie types: “Dad, guess the sarcastic comment, fr fr. No time for meme slackin’!” I reply live: “Here’s the t****k fam, Dad showing how to survive meme chaos while Mom saves the kitchen and the baby. Deadass, this is peak dad energy. Slay or cry, fr fr.” Comments pour in instantly: “Bro, iconic 😭🔥” “Dad, your vibe is literally everything” “Deadass mood, king energy 💀” “This is so me fr fr, love it!” Viktorija rolls her eyes to the ceiling but can’t hide a smile: “You know, maybe you’re actually good at this, but this is seriously over the top.” The baby waves again and lets out “uuuuh,” while Viktorija thinks: “Frustrating. Jealous. But kinda funny. He’s here, and yet he’s not. Still, I love him. And the baby loves him. But hey, Lexie has him online, and I’m standing here counting views. Some days really are t****k versions of love. And how many more live streams until he realizes real life here, with me and our child, matters more than a million views?” And as the live goes on, I become something between a meme-dad and a t****k legend. Viral—but still at home. Every sarcastic glance, grimace, and comment is part of the story—a story that reminds me that real life with Viktorija and the baby is still more real than any t****k feed. My phone rings. Lexie. Of course. LEXIE STARQUEEN 👑✨ Yo, bro! Hit me up ASAP, we need coffee. Fr fr, I got some guidelines for your vibe. Deadass. I stare at the screen and sigh deeply. My brain tries to decode: fr fr, deadass… frfr? Okay, so seriously. Deadass? No joke. How am I supposed to survive this without sounding like a total fossil from 1995? “Great… just what I needed, to become even more viral while sitting at home sipping coffee,” I mumble to myself. Sarcasm is my only weapon. Viktorija gives me that look—“we know you’re crazy, but this is real.” The baby in her bassinet already senses the chaos. That little reflex smile—perfect contrast to my panic-fueled brain. “Okay,” I say out loud. “Lexie’s calling me out, which means it’s time for dad to step out of his comfort zone… and survive Gen Z slang.” I’m ready in the car. Lexie sends the location: Caffe Bar Zagreb, central terrace. Perfect. Morning Zagreb, people, traffic… and me, a dad in full panic mode, trying to balance sarcasm and seriousness. In my head: “Okay, Edis, just go. Don’t sound like a total grandpa in front of a Gen Z guru. Only sarcasm… but not too much. Deadass. Fr fr. No cap. Oh god, it’s suffocating.” I drive and text Lexie: “On my way, fr fr. Hope your coffee game is strong, no cap.” Lexie replies instantly: “Bro, deadass, just follow the vibe. Don’t worry, your sarcastic energy is peak content. Fr fr.” Sarcasm immediately kicks in: “Peak content? More like peak suffocation. Deadass. Fr fr. No cap.” Parking is a challenge. Zagreb in the morning, people running, cyclists zooming past, t****k influencers on scooters. I park, get out, and immediately feel the vibe crushing me: Lexie’s already on the terrace, phone in hand, 100% Gen Z energy, full smile. “Edis! Yo, finally!” she says, waving. “Deadass, dude, this is really WILD,” I reply, trying to sound cool without sounding like I just stepped out of a 1995 time capsule. Of course, the “vibe check” ritual starts immediately: phone on the table, selfie stick in the air, t****k camera ready. I think to myself: “Okay, Edis, this is real life + viral life now. A combination your brain doesn’t support. Fr fr, suffocating. No cap.” Lexie goes straight to business: “Okay, bro, first… you gotta understand the algorithm. Deadass. You can’t just throw faces and expect virality. Fr fr, your sarcasm has to be situational, relatable, but also… peak Gen Z energy.” As Lexie shows meme trends and viral videos, I think: “Peak content? More like peak stress. Deadass, dude, this is not normal. Fr fr, suffocating. If someone ever writes a book ‘How to Survive Gen Z,’ this chapter has to be about this. Grimaces, sarcasm, memes, algorithm, and real life. Okay, Edis, breathe.” Lexie laughs: “Bro, your sarcastic energy is actually an advantage. Deadass, fr fr, that’s the vibe people love.” Me: “The vibe people love… Great. Just don’t let anyone see me sweating trying to sound cool. No cap, this is digital jam.” Lexie pulls out the plan: 1. Content timing – when to post, when to go live, how long. 2. Engagement hacks – reply to comments, challenges for the audience, meme reactions. 3. Relatable sarcasm – how to use my “tired dad energy” in trends. 4. Collaboration cues – Lexie as mentor and remote partner in production. 5. Cross-platform synergy – i********: + t****k + Shorts, how to maximize reach. Lexie: “Fr fr, this is your blueprint. Deadass, if you follow this, the vibe check will be legendary.” I think: “Legendary… or total meltdown. No cap, suffocating. Fr fr. But okay, Edis, if you survive this, you can call yourself a digital ninja.” Lexie hits “Go Live.” Phone in hand, camera on me. People in the coffee shop watch: some laugh, some give cute side glances—typical reactions when dad becomes a meme in real life. Comments instantly: “OMG, iconic dad energy 😭🔥” “Bro literally slays sarcasm, deadass” “This is so me fr fr, love it” I try to balance grimaces, sarcastic comments, and gestures. In my head: “Okay, Edis, your life is now grimaces + sarcastic dad energy + Gen Z vocab + coffee shop live audience. Fr fr, suffocating. No cap.” Lexie gives instructions: “Fr fr, your sarcastic timing has to be perfect. Deadass, micro-expressions matter. No cap, this is peak content.” I think: “Micro-expressions. Great. If I survive this, I deserve a medal. Deadass. Fr fr, no cap, suffocating.” A little boy gives a thumbs up while his parent records. A girl with a laptop whispers to her friend: “This is total meme vibes.” The barista laughs and raises her eyebrows: “Deadass, dad in action.” I think: “Okay, Edis, this is real life mixed with digital chaos. Fr fr, peak experience. Deadass, your sarcastic energy is front page now. No cap, suffocating, but hey… this is content gold.” Lexie: “Bro, deadass, use sarcasm situationally. Fr fr, relatable. Peak Gen Z.” Me: “Relatable. Sarcasm. Grimaces. Micro-timing. Deadass, suffocating. No cap. If I survive this, I can teach a masterclass in digital survival.” Comments flood in: “Fr fr, iconic energy 💀” “No cap, this dad energy hits different” “Deadass mood, bro, slay the sarcasm” Me: “Yo t****k fam, dad is surviving meme chaos live, while wife saves baby and the kitchen. Deadass, peak dad energy. Slay or cry, fr fr.” Lexie laughs: “Bro, deadass, your vibe is literally everything. Fr fr, iconic.” I think: “Literally everything… or total meltdown. No cap, suffocating. Fr fr, if I survive this, I deserve a t****k Nobel.” Live ends, phones calm down, coffee shop returns to normal. Lexie: “Bro, deadass, this is peak. Fr fr, you saw the vibe. No cap, next level is at your home now. Remote content, peak Gen Z style.” I think: “Okay, Edis, survived the live test. Sarcasm + grimaces + Gen Z slang + viral energy. Deadass, suffocating, but fr fr, maybe this actually works. No cap, welcome to digital dad chaos.” The baby giggles in the bassinet. Viktorija shoots a look full of jealousy, but also pride: “Frustrating. But funny. Dad’s here, yet not. Viral chaos vs. Real life. Deadass, no cap.”