When Solomon Becomes Editor Two
I did what I vowed to never do: spend more than 15 minutes editing a video. For two hours, I slaved away at stitching together scenes to make a pleasant Frankenstein monster. I think it’s my best video yet (sans Editor One).
This edited video looks (relatively) more polished, and the jokes have some level of timing. My ICDIB entry for a Gummy’s Life looks amateurish by comparison, as if a completely talentless person was given a microphone and a controller. My newest video looks slightly less amateurish, as if a completely talentless person was given a microphone, a controller, and editing software. It’s like I went for the second lowest hanging fruit instead of the first, and that level of mental exertion makes me uncomfortably sweaty.
This experience, admittedly, is a gateway drug. Now that I’ve tasted such refinement, I will no longer be satisfied by simply recording and posting. I’ll need to chase the high. I’ll spend more time in Vegas and more energy in creating scripts. My articles will grow sparser until I barely post any writing at all. All of my creativity will be siphoned into videos, harnessed into well-timed jump cuts and desperate pleas for likes and subscriptions.
By the time I’ve plastered my over-animated face onto thumbnails for reaction videos, it’ll be too late. The video drug will have destroyed all of my humanity. My family and friends won’t recognize me. Instead, if I’m discovered, I’ll forever be known only as that guy that kind-of, sort-of, sometimes sounds like Markiplier.
No, I don’t hear the similarities, but somehow others have.
Regardless, I’m intoxicated on pride now. Offer me your criticism so that I may binge on self-pity or arrogance.