In the never-ending semantic struggle that is generational terminology (if one thing remains consistent from generation to generation, it is that a giant block of people never know what to call themselves), a new trend has started to emerge. Millennials, which according to pop historians William Strauss and Neil Howe denotes the huge swath of people born between 1982 and 2004, have begun to split into factions. “Older millennials,” those born in the early to mid 1980s, are an unusually lost and precarious group: not quite Gen X, but certainly aware of a world before the Internet controlled our lives. There is a wandering feeling among these thirtysomethings, who, according to a recent financial report, are the most stressed out age group.

As a member of this floating cohort, I get it; we were adolescents during Clintonian optimism, logging onto the web via our dial-up modems to gleefully surf GeoCities sites before the Internet became a deeply contested, and often treacherous and invasive, space. We weren’t born Very Online, we had to teach ourselves to become that way in order to remain relevant or at least informed. The careers some of us grew up wanting, at least those we saw in romantic comedies—magazine editor, bookseller, owner of a quirky video store—are going extinct. We aren’t as established as our parents, or as tech savvy as the generation zooming up behind us. We can’t afford houses and we don’t really “get” Tik Tok. So where does that leave us?

This murky, purgatorial zone is challenging for those who live in it, but it also makes ideal fodder for comedy. Comedy often thrives on uncertainty, in the in-between spaces where misunderstandings and confusion sprout like mold. While several shows have deftly portrayed millennial misadventures—Girls, Broad City, Insecure, Schitt’s Creek, You’re The Worst, Silicon Valley, Dear White People, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, just to name a few—many of them focus on the meanderings and hustles of the ambitious, younger end of the demographic, go-getters with lofty ambitions who can’t quite seem to bend the world to their hunger. But what about the exhausted, run-down older millennials, those who inherited Gen X’s weary Clerks-esque attitude but couldn’t settle into solid career paths like their elders? The Other Two, which is currently airing its first season on Comedy Central, may be the first great comedy to focus on the thirtysomethings who feel sandwiched between existential ennui and otter memes.

The Other Two comes from Chris Kelly and Sarah Schneider, who spent years writing for Saturday Night Live, working their way up to co-head writers before departing in 2016. As a duo, Kelly and Schneider wrote several of the show’s best musical numbers in recent years, many of which (“(Do It On My) Twin Bed” and “Back Home Ballers”) focused on the strangeness of being an adult, particularly one who still relies on their parents for financial or emotional comforts.

The Other Two may be the first great comedy to focus on the thirtysomethings who feel sandwiched between existential ennui and otter memes.

The Other Two extends this joke format into an entire universe. It follows three siblings, two of whom are much older than the third (they are, as it turns out, “old millennials,” a distinction they clarify in the pilot episode). Brooke Dubek (the very funny Heléne Yorke, previously of High Maintenance) is a former aspiring ballerina in her thirties who aged out of a professional dance career into a permanent malaise; when we meet her, she is squatting in an empty model apartment in Manhattan inside a building where she works as a low-level real estate broker. She oversleeps, wakes up with her face in a slice of cold pizza, and tries to hide the evidence of her presence when another broker walks in and finds her trying to stuff the pizza box into a dryer. She is summarily fired, back on the hunt for work again. Her slightly younger brother, Cary (Drew Tarver), is an actor in New York who cannot seem to book a role. He keeps auditioning for lackluster parts like “man who smells fart” in commercials, and even then, he falls short and falls back into his restaurant job until the next opportunity comes along.