As I am the most awesome person I know – which is really saying something, believe me – I am required by law to engage in extreme sports. You may say this is an odd law, but isn’t it against the law in Pepperbox, Delaware, to ride mice through the city streets while simultaneously singing the Bill of Rights and yelling the Star Spangled Banner? It isn’t? Well, I guess that makes sense. I mean, who’s ever heard of mice in the street?
The sport I have chosen may well be the most extreme sport of all. No, not listening to “Justin Bieber Sings Metallica Live” – available at your local K-Mart. No, I go all out and engage in extreme empathy. Yes, you heard me right. Read me. Saw me. Whatever. You —- me right – extreme empathy. It originated as torture for gladiators in the Coliseum. Romans went to see these warriors battle to the death as they felt each other’s pain and planned quote-unquote support groups. (I have to write out quote-unquote, because the apostrophe keys on my Internet-enabled typewriter are on strike after being forced to surround the Bieber album title.)
I get so extreme that I actually become one with the Force of Actual Kinetic Emotions (Really), or FAKER for short. This universal human force, with which, to achieve Enlightenment, one must submit one’s body to in the form of a three-page application, resides in a hydrogen isotope found in small amounts in the atmosphere and lower stratosphere. By becoming one with this quasi-/semi-spiritual force, I allow myself to feel the burdens of every human being who ever lived. Or, at least, who ever lived and actually believed in the FAKER. By which I mean myself and the guy who discovered the force. By which I mean myself. But that is no matter, because I’m the world’s most famous extreme empathy athlete, out of all the world’s extreme empathy athletes. Similarly, by which I mean myself. But it’s good to be the best at something. It looks good on the FAKER application or a résumé for Burger King.
Until next time, this is Xavier Yes. Stay classical. I’m going to go to my room and sulk in a corner about my own miseries.