expiredmilkn lies blogs

Scroll long enough on TikTok and you’ll see it — some kid in a messy bedroom dancing like they’re auditioning for a toothpaste commercial, and somehow they’ve got ten million followers. I’m sitting there thinking, I can’t even get my dog to look at me when I call his name, and this teenager just made a million dollars lip-syncing to Bad Bunny.

The whole platform is like a slot machine for fame. You don’t need talent, you need timing, luck, and an algorithm that decides you’re the chosen one for the week. One day you’re bagging groceries, the next you’re “collabing” with Dunkin’ Donuts because you dropped a random “huak tuah” at just the right time.

And the crazy part? Half these stars don’t even like what they’re doing. Watch closely — behind the fake smiles, you can see the exhaustion of someone who’s been dancing to the same ten songs for six months straight. Fame isn’t about joy, it’s about feeding the algorithm beast before it spits you out and finds the next kid with a ring light.

Remember when celebrities had to at least pretend they worked at their craft? Singers sang, actors acted. Now? You just need a phone and enough free time to embarrass yourself daily. Talent is optional. The algorithm doesn’t care if you can sing — it cares if people watch long enough to see the punchline.

TikTok stars are just the latest carton of Expired Milk & Lies. The packaging is quick, shiny, addictive — but peel it back and you see the rot: burnout, fake personalities, and kids sold as billboards before they even graduate high school.