Werner Herzog Bogarted My Dinner

Wonderful fabulous awesome guy Werner Herzog is down here at McMurdo and tonight he is giving a speech titled "Ecstatic Truth in Cinema" which should probably have been titled "How I Make up Shit in the Name of Good Storytelling". He's giving this speech in the dining facility and I suspect there was some manipulation of the dinner schedule so that he could do his presentation. I don't remember dinner ending so early. I showed up to dinner at 6:50 expecting braised beef short ribs and instead I got to watch the cooks putting the food away in anticipation of wonderful fabulous awesome guy. Could I be wrong? Is Werner Herzog really the reason I am hungry right now? It all seems too stupid so it fits in the bizarre Rube Goldberg machine of stupid that is my life.

This is all very fantastic for Herz and his fans but I showed up to dinner late and I ate nothing. Fuck. I guess I should stop showing up to dinner late. It is easier to blame Werner Herzog than to accept responsibility for my famine-tasticness. He is after all a super cool cinematographer dude of some sort but I'm too much of a retard to comprehend even the opening credits of his movies. His storytelling greatness is nigh incompreshensible to someone like me whose idea of good character design is a talking rain gauge.

Speaking of which, I decided I will kill myself at 50 years old and here's why you should, too. I hear that suicidal people experience an overwhelming wave of calmness and peace once they've decided to do it. The trivialities of this pointless existence all fade away once you have the peace of mind that comes with knowing you are in control of your own demise. No more worrying about the horrible future or those damn regrets about wasted potential or all the girls you could have banged but didn't because you were afraid of what exactly is inside a vagina. It's all gone once you have the guts to take control and off yourself. By putting a distant future cutoff deadline on my life I effectively cap the shitstorm of shittyness my twilight zone of a life is.

Plus there is no greater legacy than the unrealized expectations that everyone has for you once you've splatted your brains all over the mirror in the ladies room at McDonalds. I've heard Jimmi Hendrix wasn't really all that great a guitarist but he died young and now his fans ponder the potential wonderfullness he had yet to achieve. Same thing with Buddy Holly. Who cares if they would have actually made shitty music if they really lived, it's the fabulously overblown expectations others have of these ghosts that generates their post mortem fame.

Me, I have no fame but to my soon to be born kid I will be the most wonderful dead father in the universe. No parent is so beloved as a dead one. Trust me. Ask anybody whose now deceased mom or dad anal raped them with Pokemons. They'll just remember all the happy times their parents took them to McDonalds and bought them the McNugget Happy Meal in the plastic carton shaped like Pikachu or whatever passes for acts of kindness with the kids nowadays. Plus killing myself at 50 offs me around the time my kid is in his late teens and he hates me anyways. It's easier to say goodbye to your embarrasing waste of a life dad and all that.

All in all my last 18 years should be pretty good. I'll start playing guitar and will no doubt do shittily at it but my kid will grow up thinking I would have been the next Hendrix. Plus thanks to my self imposed death sentence I won't sweat it too much when I see a movie poster for a Werner Herzog film and my stomach starts grumbling uncontrollably.