My Week: Conor McGregor*
Monday: I wake up. Although, of course, I have not actually been asleep. No, no, my friend. Not in the way that other, mere mortal people sleep. Instead I have trained myself to metaphysicise; I have transmorgorified, I have metamorphisitised, I have fundamentally reimagined a way of resting my body, so that I am consciously wrestling with the inner movements of my muscles, even as my body believes it is sleeping. And while I do dat, my amigo, I am also full of the most beautiful feelings and emotions. My woman, my girl, the future first Lady of Ireland and myself, did go and promenade the town last night, with a pint of Guinness and my very good friend and training partner, Artem "The Russian Hammer" Lobov.
And, because I am always thinking, yes thinking I am, of my many fans and supporters and the people who love me because I am no mere mortal but a butterfly working against the wheel, and because I am such a very proud and successful Irishman I posted my experiences and feelings on the Instagram I did, saying: "Just a young free man in his prime. Shout out to the troops. Baby we did it". Although of course, I mean "I" did it. Me. On my own. Totally.
Tuesday: My friend Batman, aka Ben Affleck, calls me again to thank me for inspiring his fighting during the making of the Batman V Superman. I have told him that he needs to keep the faith, and if he can constantly visualise, if he imagines and believes that he is beating the shit out of Superman, then that is what will happen. Of course as Affleck is only Batman and not The Notorious he cannot whoop ass or look good, not like I can whoop ass and look good. He is not like me, a proud, fighting McGregor, whose Scottish and Irish ancestors were on battlefields, swinging pickaxes and defending our nations and our women. He is only a mere Hollywood superhero, a dilettante; he is not a fighting Irish McGregor, but if he believes, and if he listens to what I tells him to do, he will be a better fighter, a better man, a better superhero.