I'm walking on sunshine.

Several weeks ago, I stopped by my buddy Ryan's house to drop something off. He was sitting on his couch, broken leg propped up on the table, chain-sucking Otter Pops. Naturally, the TV was on, for this is what you do when you've broken your leg hopping a fence after an all-day beer festival.

Though feeling sympathy for his injury, I'll admit that I was slightly jealous of his uber-lazy new-normal. Intrigued, I asked Ryan what he was watching.

"It's Intervention on A&E. You're gonna wanna sit for this one."

It was a repeat... at least for the man who's done nothing but sit on his couch since cracking his tibia and fibula.

So, I plopped down next to him, grabbed an Otter Pop (which, as you'll find out, was humorously appropriate), and soon found myself glued to this hour-long program where, in each episode, some poor, sad bastard is duped into thinking he or she is being filmed for a documentary on addiction, but later learns that the entire thing is a clever ruse to lure them into an intervention. Yes. This is what it's come to.

On this episode, the addict of honor was a girl named Allison, who was tragically hooked on huffing computer dust remover... the spray stuff in a can. Ten cans a day had left her with just slightly more brain cells than the actual cans themselves, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think she had a stroke. I couldn't turn away.

Which brings me to the point of this conversation: Must we feel guilt from being completely enthralled and, perhaps, entertained, by the tragedy gripping this poor girl and her family? I'm not going to lie. I laughed my ass off, only stopping to remind myself that I was going to hell. Luckily, Ryan would be there with me. And, for what it's worth, so will everyone I know who has seen it on TV or on YouTube.

Deep down, without question, I hoped and continue to hope that Allison makes a full recovery and enjoys a healthy, substance-free life. But, as a spectator, I sat on the edge of the couch, anxiously awaiting her next huff and the cartoonishly funny pppppffffffftttttttt of compressed air passing through her drooping, oxygen-starved lips. Again! Again! Again! I was like a child hearing his dad fart for the first time. Again! Again! Again!

Of course, anyone who doesn't feel some level of deep sadness from watching this downward spiral of a human life is likely lacking that special something deep within which prevents us from growing a thumb-sized moustache and killing millions of people. On the other hand, speaking of Germans, we can actually thank our good-humored European friends for allowing us to have a word that enables us to understand our strange amusement at Allison's expense. That word is schadenfreude.

Roughly defined, schadenfreude is pleasure taken from observing the misery of another. So, for those of you who have been feeling guilty about laughing at poor Allison... relax. There's a word for it, so it must be OK. Besides, you're not alone. And, really, you're only laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing... the sound of the air reminds you of a fart (which is ALWAYS funny) and her manic behavior reminds you of the unique human potential to, quite simply, go completely bat-crap crazy.

Yes, we are a rather strange species, so sometimes you just have to sit back, take it all in, and suck down an Otter Pop.