The Accidental Rise of Barry McFluster

I never wanted to be famous.

They call me Barry McFluster—a name born out of the chaos created by my many, many fans. The irony? My real name isn’t even Barry. How Jared Parsons became Barry McFluster? Who knows. I've tried running away. No use. The videos never go. So no point but to live each day knowing you are officialy The Milk Man.

And it all started on a mundane grocery run.

Eggs, milk, cereal—just the usual. I should have seen trouble coming. It was that snot-nosed iPad kid in the Minecraft shirt. His mother was too busy with her own affairs while he, glued to his screen, was deep into a PEGI-18 game, yelling “Die!” every few seconds. The grannies shot disapproving looks, but his mother remained oblivious.

As I searched for Lucky Charms, (I know its literal E numbers) I spotted the bright packaging and reached for the box,—only to find Minecraft Kid standing right next to me, now watching a YouTube video of some guy devouring food like the apocalypse was coming.

"You got a problem?" I asked.

No response. The kid just snorted at the screen, entertained by the spectacle of the fat guy now inhaling a Big Mac.

Whatever. I grabbed my cereal and moved on to the milk aisle, hoping—praying—that skimmed milk was in stock this time.

It had become a tragic pattern: a gang of teenagers knocking out only the skimmed milk, spilling it across the floor like some kind of prank. I hated kids.

Minecraft Kid was still trailing me, his tablet speakers blaring. I turned around. No sign of his mother. He was alone, still nose-deep in his screen.

"Look at this," he said, wiping away a small puddle of drool.

I glanced at the screen. Some guy dressed as a cat was singing one of those idiotic trending songs.

"What about it?" I asked. The internet was full of morons.

The kid stepped closer. "This is BigBoi123. He’s famous."

"So you're telling me," I said, reaching the dairy aisle, "if I act like an absolute moron, I can make money?"

The kid nodded, oddly sincere.

But I had bigger problems.

The skimmed milk was gone. Again.

I hyperventilated, completely losing my patience. The kid burst into laughter, his tablet held up. I stormed over to a security guard, demanding justice.

"You!" I barked. "Where is the skimmed milk?"

The guard blinked. "Uh...what?"

"You know what I mean! The teenagers! The milk sabotage! Why hasn’t anyone done anything about it?"

The guard—"Tony," apparently—shuffled awkwardly. "I'll, uh... check the storeroom."

I looked like a complete lunatic.

And then, Minecraft Kid pressed a button on his tablet and laughed even harder.

"What?" I groaned, marching over and snatching his device away.

"Hey!"

I stared at the screen. He had recorded the entire meltdown.

"Delete it," I demanded.

"No," the kid said smugly. "It's funny."

"Maybe to you, but not to me."

I stormed off, Lucky Charms clutched in my hands.

"But people love this kind of stuff!" he called after me. "Please let me upload it!"

"No."

I left the store, unaware that my life was about to change forever.

Back at my apartment, I tossed my keys onto the desk and kicked off my trainers. My dog rushed over, greeting me with enthusiastic licks.

Dinner was pizza. A miserable, limp excuse for a meal. The toppings looked like they’d been stolen from a school cafeteria.

"I'm filing a complaint," I muttered to my dog, genuinely serious.

I pulled up the restaurant on Google and started typing:

Never before have I tasted something this disgusting. Who are you hiring? Three-year-olds? Seriously, who are the people giving this four stars? The homeless? I don’t even think my dog would touch it.

I snapped a picture of my half-bitten slice, my dog’s disapproving face looming in the background, and sent the review without a second thought.

Flipping on the TV, I cycled through channels. News? Depressing. Reality TV? Fake beyond belief. Who actually believed these plastic-injected humans were that beautiful?

Enough. I shut off the screen. Silence filled the room.

And I was still hungry.

So I decided I would go out and order from my favourite place. The restuarant owned by Luigi, a middle-aged italian man with a heart of gold. I was his number one customer and he used to know me by name, until it happened.

"Barry Mcfluster?" He called his accent heavy. "Bonjourno."

"Hey." I say my face dubious from what he just called me. "Just one of your pesto pastas to go."

"Extra cheese?" He grinned one of his silver toothed smiles.

"Urm, yeah sure whatever."

He left to tell his chefs the order.

Meanwhile I came to a seat whilst I waited. His Italian opera music granting me peace I very much needed from the day. I pulled out my phone and checked my social. The first video was one I could agree deserved fame. Something that was actually funny.

I scrolled a few until I saw it, a video of me losing my mind over skimmed milk was making the rounds online. The caption read. "Man goes on milk rampage."

The comment section erupting into the thousands.

"Man went too far just too get his dairy."

"Bro just wanted his milk."

"Imagine explaining this to your grandkids: ‘Well, kids, I got famous because I lost my mind over dairy.'

"Social media in a nutshell: 1) Exist. 2) Get recorded. 3) Become famous overnight."

"The way he hyperventilated over skimmed milk like it was the end of the world deserves an Oscar."

No. The memes would be platsered everywhere. I could picture it in my head. I watched the video more than ten times. The faint cheesy music of the market make it all the mor enraging. I can't lose it here. Wait until I get home.

I check the creators profile glancing upwards to expcet Luigi

A kid with a poorly digitiolzed background. His username CODmaster99. That freaking kid. I scroll few some of his posts. His likes are insane. How can a nine year old picking his nose be entertaining?

The milk aisle was going to be immortilazed in history and Lucky Charms are never going to be looked the same way.

And just like that, Barry McFluster was born. This is my worst nightmare!