That section of hope-filled and sleekly gloved but identity-challenged arm you see in the photo above is all of us. It wants, it strives, it works hard, and deposits its paychecks. It shops for glam accessories and slips them on in earnest for photo ops. It impatiently rips open bags of Doritos and faps to hot people it hopes to one day meet. And yet all its best efforts are nothing but a cruel exercise in that humorless asshole we all know as futility. This arm, like all of us plebes, loses time and time again, and gets edged out by the will-breaking, dream-shattering bitch troll known simply as “My Parents Are Famous And Yours Aren’t.” All my arm has to show for years of striving is vexing winter dryness and a raging case of carpal tunnel. Look down and you’ll see the same. But we’re totally not bitter.