The sun isn’t up yet, and somehow, I know Jimmy Versorpining has already finished his tasks for the day. On a sleepy road in Fox Chapel, Jimmy sharpens his focus with a game of Madden.

“I just like to start my day with a little victory before taking on what lies ahead. It really helps me center myself and stay calm.”

Jimmy lost today’s game 56-3.

“My wifi was all over the place this morning, and the refs just hated me today. I almost threw my monitor. Complete bull,” he muttered.

I first met Jimmy while exploring an unfamiliar neighborhood that was being slowly gentrified by a spate of pop-up beet boutiques. During a crisp October morning, I noticed a small brown man at a mini-teaser awareness extravaganza, throwing ruby-red fruits at a young man in a Bernie hoodie. I knew immediately that my life would change forever. The disaffected Desi saw me staring and charged at me with a beet in hand. He gave chase for half a block before slowing to catch his breath and whispering between heaves “I didn’t realize I was chasing the Insane Colt.” I bought him a Pistachio creme frappuccino, which was being sold alongside the beets to expedite the gentrification process, and listened while he talked about what had led him to that beet stand.

Speaking of saving, print journalism is dying. The only reason we’re running this article is because Jimmy’s parents are very rich, and to make money, we’ve resorted to selling our press passes to anyone who turns off their ad-blocker, which is a terrible business strategy. We hope you cherish these articles while they’re still here. Because they won’t be for long. But oh, I’m sure you were on the edge of your seat reading some terrible fluff piece about a rich kid who overcame adversity involving a kind of indie fruit. Because that’s all we write. Ohhhhh, maybe that’s the problem. Wait a second, don’t leave me here with these—

The youngest Versorpining quickly discovered the medium through which he would inspire the world: filmmaking. As a child, Jimmy was raised on cinematic masterpieces like Pulp Fiction, the Godfather, and Django Unchained. Although his occasional tendency to re-enact scenes during preschool naptime left him isolated from his peers, the time he spent alone sculpted Jimmy Versorpining into the magnificent phoenix the world now embraces.

“Everyone wants to be me. But at the same time, everyone wants to let me be. That’s because they know they couldn’t do everything I do. But they wish they could. And they lash out in unproductive, nonsensical ways. Like, if another person tries to slash my tires, I’ll have lost all four. I have a very strict four-strikes-you’re-out policy. It would’ve been three, but my dad said I couldn’t have one of those cool, motorbike-tricycle looking things. Pretty lame of him, but I don’t cast blame. If I had that bike, I just would have been too sexy for this world. Lord knows what the priests would have done to me.”

To capture the scope of his struggles, the Indian Iverson has shot a docu-drama about his life. He says it’s like if the Tiger King went on Indian Matchmaking but found out that the whole time, the only person he really needed to love, was himself.

“I’m kinda just like a lone wolf. Like, I’ve tried the whole wolf-pack thing. I really did. I put my ego aside and tried the “never hunt alone” mentality. But my lone wolf identity got in the way. I’m just a lone wolf. That’s how lone wolves are. There’s nothing a real lone wolf can do about that. And, to be honest, there’s nothing a real lone wolf should want to do about that. That’s just how the lone wolf lives.”

Reviews of his movie, entitled I Think Little of Myself but I Think About It a Lot, reflect a culture divided. Some critics, such as New York Magazine’s Cathleen Thompson, simply wrote, “I’m not sure if you can legally call that a movie. This isn’t an opinion or a bit. I’m honestly not certain what I just watched is technically a feature film. It’s twenty five minutes of Versorpining yelling into the camera while doing the macarena. No credits. No effects. No nothing.” Yet others raved of Versorpining boldness in a somewhat unorthodox way, such as the LA Times F.A. Oh-Schoortz, who reflected that “the movie changed me. It changed me in a way I had never been changed before. It changed me in a way I don’t entirely understand. I’m not sure if I’m a better person now than I was before I saw I Think Little. But I’m a more complete person. And I know more. At least I know more in knowing that I know less than I thought I had known. And that’s a special feeling I didn’t get watching Don’t Look Up.”

“You can say that some people thought my movie was a masterpiece because I am someone and I say it was a masterpiece,” Jimmy told me. “Just, when you’re quoting it, don’t put the before part of what I just said in. Just put in the part about it being a masterpiece. Don’t put in that I was the ‘some people’ or this part now about me explaining it to you.”

His instructions were very confusing to me, so I left it in here and decided to let you, the reader, figure out what he wanted and interpret it as such. 

“Yeah, just have the quote be ‘some people thought my movie was a masterpiece’ and don’t have anything else. Actually, scratch that. Make it ‘some people thought the movie was a masterpiece’ but don’t say that I was the one who said it because that would ruin it. So just the line ‘some people thought the movie was a masterpiece’ and then have that be the whole quote. Like this sentence that I’m speaking right now shouldn’t be in the article. If you’re writing this right now and it’s in the article, something went wrong.”

Oh, and some people thought my movie was a masterpiece.