From the moment I stepped foot inside the wretched classroom, a deep well of sadness within me began to spill over. I studied the visages of the individuals who would be my classmates for the next eight weeks and felt nothing but terrible despair. They were all too nubile, too unacquainted with mankind’s merciless destiny of permanent suffering. Had any of them read “Truth in Comedy”? How could I “yes, and” those whom I did not respect?

I stared at each of them in turn and ascertained their backgrounds simply through their postures. A struggling actor desperate to discover something that simply did not exist within him. An inept comedian who lacked the unique point of view necessary to distinguish himself from countless identical mediocre voices. A woman named Yvonne who actually seemed quite funny.

Our instructor’s plaid shirt looked like graphing paper upon which someone had graphed a forlorn man. He said that his name was Greg. Or perhaps it was Phil. I wasn’t listening when he said his name because I was too busy thinking of all the people who have ever drowned in the ocean.

I did not trust this recreant to lead us to salvation. The improvisational-comedy journey is a treacherous one. If you stop to help the fallen, even for a fleeting moment, you, too, will become lost in a thick fog. As I mentally organized the class into perishers and survivors, we were told to stand in a circle and participate in an icebreaker name game.

The name game may have cracked the room’s topmost layer of ice, but there remained a colossal glacier between my classmates and me. I was now known as “Wacky Werner,” the mnemonic name I had chosen for myself in the name game. But I felt far from wacky. I felt overwhelmingly indifferent. Yvonne named herself “Eerie Yvonne” and said her mnemonic in a spooky ghost voice, which received a large laugh. It was a very bold choice that paid off. Yvonne kicks ass.

The hour had finally come to do some improvisational scenes. I was selected to perform a scene with the overeager struggling actor. I have lived through a great number of catastrophes in my life, but this display of fate’s wrath seemed particularly cruel. The suggestion to inspire our scene was “hula hoop.”

The actor began to spin a hula hoop around his body. It was a hula hoop that did not exist. I knocked on a door that, much like the apparition of the hula hoop, also did not exist. “Telegram for you, sir,” I said to the disgusting actor, although I was well aware that such a telegram would not appear in this realm, or any other. I knew that we were building a world of lies and make-believe, a kingdom of deceit.

When the actor inquired as to what the telegram might say, I paused for a moment. I then began to tell the story of the inland taipan snake, the most venomous snake in the world. It is a specialist mammal hunter. While most animals evolved over time to hide and survive more effectively, this snake has focussed on becoming a more and more brutal killer. Its entire existence is driven by a need to kill.

After concluding my half-hour monologue about this incredibly dangerous snake, I was told by Greg or Phil to try to better engage with my scene partner in the future. This did not make sense to me. Do we not all already engage with one another simply by marching side by side toward death? I’ve had visions of my own death. I am drawn to death. It does not make me nervous. I welcome death with open arms.

Yvonne stood up next and began her scene by loudly shouting, “Who ate all the pancakes?!” It was extraordinarily funny. Yvonne continues to impress me.