It’s not editing—it’s digital self-immolation, a pyre of secondhand tricks lit to distract from the yawning void where talent, vision, or basic human authenticity should be. The algorithm loves it? Of course it does. Roaches also thrive in garbage.

The overlayed “hilarious” emojis? They’re just hieroglyphs for “I have no faith in my jokes.” The fake gasp cuts, the looped ear rape “music”, the green screen chaos—all of it reeks of a creator who’d rather juggle lit dynamite than sit quietly with the horror of their own creative bankruptcy.

These edits aren’t clever; they’re the flop-sweat of mediocrity, a strobe-light barrage to disguise the fact that your “video” is just a landfill of other people’s charisma, Frankensteined into a monstrosity that mistakes motion for momentum.

The stock “suspense” stingers, the slow-mo bites of nothingburger reactions, the obnoxious arrow clickbait thumbnails—each one a confession that your “content” couldn’t hold attention if it stapled it to the viewer’s forehead.

And the "funny" distorted reverb on every third syllable? That’s not comedic timing—it’s the death throes of a creator who thinks volume is a substitute for wit.

The subtitles—oh, the subtitles!—as if your audience is too lobotomized to hear words without them ricocheting across the screen like a screensaver from hell.

This lol!
Replace “true love’s kiss” with ”true loyalty’s NDA”.

..Disney’s new gospel:

Love: “A relic! Beneath you!” (But dying alone with a “Boss Babe” mug in a studio apartment? Peak enlightenment.)

Hustle: “Your real soulmate is a 90-hour workweek! Date your Excel sheets! Marry the grind!”