In this desolate age of vanity, I behold a new cast of players—self-proclaimed champions of 'Gen Z,' each parading their hollow titles in the marketplace of identity. Leading them is the 'Gen Z Boss in a Mini,' draped in the defiance of youth, wielding her perceived authority like a child with a sword, blind to the true nature of power.

Beside her stands the 'Itty Bitty Titties and a Bob,' flaunting her insecurities as though they were virtues. She revels in her perceived authenticity, unaware it is but a mask in this theater of deception. And then, the '5'3 and an Attitude,' a small creature with a loud bark, convinced her stature means naught when her voice is heard. She is the underdog, a role she embraces with delusional pride.

'Secret Product and a Trench' lurks nearby, the keeper of mysteries, cloaked in secrecy and subterfuge. She plays the game of shadows, believing herself wise, yet all too unaware of the emptiness behind her secrets.

Then, 'New Frank Green and a Sneaky Link,' a figure of contradictions, balancing the veneer of righteousness with a hidden penchant for folly. She is both saint and sinner, embracing the duality with a careless grin. Finally, the 'Fake Tan Hands and a Hoop,' the self-made icon of artifice, who paints her illusion with every stroke of vanity, her rebellion nothing but a hollow echo in this empty age.

And so, I watch, not merely as an observer, but as one who understands the futility of this performance. These 'Gen Z Bosses' are but shadows of a once-great civilization, jesters in a farce, their laughter born of ignorance, not joy. Are they truly the masters of this dying world, or simply its last jest? We are left to ponder whether it is their folly we deride... or our own.