“That’s napalm… I love the smell of napalm in the morning.”
I was watching Apocalypse Now on the American Movie Classics channel. Not just the normal two hour and thirty-three minute version. No, it was most definitely the Redux. Also known as the version that Francis Ford decided to add twelve more hours to the already somewhat lulling film. Don’t get me wrong, I love the film, but it does seem like a somewhat moot attempt. He might as well have made a third Godfather film.
Whilst laying on my blue, pet-hair covered couch, with a pillow that may have very well been given as food to Jews in concentration camps, I came to the following conclusion. Big Duke, played by Robert Duvall, loooooooved the napalm and it was funny. But my thoughts soon turned to the villagers, the victims of the militant surfer’s glee. I guessed that their favorite smell was probably something other than napalm, especially in the morning.
It was this train of thought that got me thinking about what my favorite smell in the morning was and I deduced that it was most likely corndogs. Actually at any time of the day cordogs would probably be my favorite smell. Oh what glory thou be, corndogs. The majestic corn batter that makes you so soft and smooth to the touch and the fantastic flavor that smothers my taste buds with the utmost pleasure. This is the smell that I love so dearly in the morning.
Once that thought crossed my mind it was inevitable that I grill up a few. That’s right, grill. I don’t find the microwave to be a machine capable of preparing the awesome delicacy that is a corndog. A grill on the other hand is a much more adequate device. With a low flame, a frozen corndog can be transformed from a cold log of pig and corn (with the occasional addition of mechanically separated chicken) to a cylinder of delight with which only a thirty minute orgasm can compare.
It was in this revelation of hunger that I found my dilemma: I hadn’t any corndogs. Not a solitary one. This was a problem. I fruitlessly scavenged the freezer but swiftly moved my attention to places no corndog would be caught dead. I found myself searching desperately in the silverware drawer which was overflowing with butter knives and forks but none looked to be battered in cornbread. Next I tore apart the couch cushions and then the medicine cabinet.
I had to take a step back when I realized that I was searching for a corndog in the bottom of a bag of cat food as if it were some sort of children’s cereal prize.
“This is ridiculous.” I thought to myself as I stood up and wiped my hands on my pants, transferring the greasy crumbs from skin to denim.
“Who the fuck do I think I am? I am not God.”
This was a very humbling conclusion. I had no power to wake the deceased nor was I capable of impregnating a woman whilst maintaining her virginity. If I was unable to perform either of these tasks, why would I believe I could deliver the most holy of consumables from my hair clogged shower drain?
I sat defeated on the somewhat crusty floor of the small, ironically lit, mustard yellow area that served as my bathroom. I sat and waited for what life would bring me next. Perhaps my cat would find the anti-freeze that I suspected was leaking from the engine of my car. What an adventure that would be. I have been waiting for another funeral.
It may have been the thought of death, or just the overwhelming hunger that was burning inside my gut, but I decided then and there that I was going to take control of my life. Fuck waiting for the shit to be thrown in my face. I would scamper up the tree of life and throw my own feces at the screaming monkeys instead.
It was with this sense of self-empowerment that I jumped into my dented Camry and soon broke both of my legs.
[to be continued]