[Title: Where’s My Ferrari Already?] [Male and Female Duet] [Intro — Male, spoken impatiently] Oh, come on. I feel sad for the smalltubers staring at their subscribers, staring at their views, refreshing the page like numbers grow when properly supervised. Leave it alone. It’s over. It’s posted. It’s set in stone. [Female, hopeful] But what if I change the thumbnail? [Male] Shut up, nerd. Nobody’s going to see it anymore. Its little moment came, looked around, and left without you. Your new thumbnail is beautiful. The funeral was lovely. [Verse 1 — Male] I say that as a smalltuber, so don’t come crying to me. We’re sitting at the same tiny table; I’m just not shaking the vending machine because my video got stuck at three. Be realistic, fellas. Your analytics are not a Ouija board. You cannot summon an audience by whispering “impressions” and dragging your finger downward to refresh the screen. [Female, increasingly desperate] But which Short does this? How many hashtags? What color should the arrow be? Should my mouth be open wider? Should I circle absolutely nothing? [Male] I don’t know much about Shorts. [Female] Oh. [Male] I know what kind I make. Mindless little stupid things I wouldn’t watch from anybody else. [Female] You’re a prick. [Male] I’m kidding. I’ve watched a handful. [Both] A handful! A beautiful, meaningful handful! [Chorus — Both, huge and theatrical] Where’s my Ferrari already? I’ve been doing this a year! Where’s my mansion in Miami? Where’s my automated career? Wha-wha-wah-waaaaaa! The algorithm has betrayed me! I copied everything correctly— why won’t anybody pay me? Where’s my Ferrari already? I posted nearly every day! I deserve a marble driveway for arranging clips this way! [Post-Chorus — Female, spoiled and operatic] I followed all the instructions! I used the popular sound! I drew a yellow circle and pointed the arrow down! [Male] Congratulations. You have successfully made the other guy’s video again. [Verse 2 — Male] Me? I just post what I drive. I’m not creating the moon. I’m not rebuilding cinema. I’m taking something I recorded in the past, making sure it looks good enough to present to the world, and putting it in the filing cabinet. There it is. Another road. Drive it or don’t. I’m not outside in the rain screaming, “WHY ISN’T THIS ROAD BUYING ME A FERRARI?” [Female, screaming] WHY ISN’T THIS ROAD BUYING ME A FERRARI? [Male] Because it’s a road. [Breakdown — Female, Reddit confession] Hello, fellow creators. I am thirteen years old. I live in St. Martins Land. Yesterday I copied a man with sixty-five million views. My version has seventeen. Is my channel shadow-banned? Should I sue YouTube? Which thumbnail will purchase my new house in Miami? Please answer quickly. My parents say bedtime is at nine. [Male, contemptuous] You know why. Here’s the truth you don’t want delivered because the truth didn’t include a coupon for immediate fame: Those sixty-five million people already saw it from the other guy. They liked his. They engaged with his. Then they moved on to another Short made by somebody who was not you. They are not standing in a warehouse waiting for your duplicate to arrive. [Female] But mine has different captions! [Male] Nobody cares. [Female] Mine is cropped slightly worse! [Male] We noticed. [Female] I added a robot voice! [Male] Call the Ferrari dealership immediately. [Chorus — Both, faster and meaner] Where’s my Ferrari already? Where’s my mansion by the sea? Sixty-five million watched his version— why weren’t they assigned to me? Wha-wha-wah-waaaaaa! Please validate my art! I copied every visible piece but somehow missed the interesting part! Where’s my Ferrari already? I have suffered long enough! I pressed upload twice this weekend— being famous shouldn’t be this tough! [Bridge — Male, accelerating rant] You are not the only Short on the Shorts page. There are at least three others sitting there beside you, begging to be chosen, and once somebody clicks one, it’s game over, man. They don’t choose anymore. The screen starts feeding. One after another after another, and yours is somewhere in the machinery wearing its brand-new thumbnail that nobody requested. And that’s true for everybody, which makes me wonder how any of this works. [Music suddenly thins] Actually— you probably shouldn’t listen to me. I have absolutely no clue how any of this works works works. [Female] You sounded very confident. [Male] That’s because I’m a prick. [Instrumental Solo — ridiculous antique instruments arguing] [Final Verse — Male and Female alternating rapidly] [Male] I lost track of what I was saying. [Female] You were insulting children on Reddit. [Male] Before that. [Female] You wanted a Ferrari. [Male] Before that. [Female] You said your Shorts were stupid. [Male] That sounds like me. Am I writing a song or is this a love letter? Should I write things down before I forge [male] before I forget, then switch them, then arrange them, then rearrange them? [Both, building] Arrange— rearrange— change the thumbnail— change it back— refresh the page— attack the stats— Range, range, range, range— [Final Chorus — Both, enormous] WHERE’S MY FERRARI ALREADY? I HAVE GIVEN YOU A YEAR! I HAVE OFFERED DAILY CONTENT! WHY IS MY SUPERCAR NOT HERE? WHA-WHA-WAH-WAAAAAAA! HEAR THE SMALLTUBERS CRY! “WHY DID MY COPY OF A COPY NOT IMMEDIATELY MULTIPLY?” Your thumbnail is gorgeous. Your hashtags are art. Your video’s lying peacefully now. You did your part. So shut up, nerd. Close the page. Go make another one. [Outro — Male, suddenly calm] Or don’t. I don’t know how any of this works. [Female, distant] Refresh it once more. [Male] No. [Female] It might have changed. [Male] …Fine. [Both, whispered] Range. Range. Range.
