Diabolical intelligence and the bliss of being evil


There are some people who are always for half-measures. People who are scared shitless of the consequences. People who think they are better than me. People who offer half-baked advice and housewifish opinions. People who want to tell me what to do. What they don’t know and what they cannot understand is that they must learn from me. But they are not doing this, because they think they know better. These people are beginners and dwarfs in comparison to me. They cannot insult me even if they tried. These people can lick my ass. I will smack them in their face if they tell me what to do. These people are mad. They are a bunch of idiots. They deserve to be treated as pieces of shit. They are lunatics who belong in asylum. Assholes and fucking idiots who should be locked up for life. Somebody needs to hit them in their face. These madmen should be put in their place where they belong. They should stop bothering and interrupting me. They are so stupid and ignorant that they don’t care about anything and they care even less about me. Their questions are meaningless and not my answers. These people don’t exist for me.

Klaus Kinski, the Polish-German actor of some renown, thought somewhere along these lines as evidenced by these short video clips.

In a recent interview with Werner Herzog, best known as a German film director, Paul Holdengraber presented and read aloud in his usual overly intellectual and therefore slightly annoying manner, a small snippet from Kinski’s autobiography. Herzog, being a true friend, was characterized by Kinski with following warm, glowing and loving words:

Although I constantly try to keep out of his way, Herzog sticks to me like a shithouse fly. The mere thought of his existence here in the wilderness turns my stomach. When I see him approaching in the distance, I yell at him to halt. I shout that he stinks. That he disgusts me. That I don’t want to listen to his bullshit. That I can’t stand him! I keep hoping that he’ll attack me. Then I’ll shove him into a side branch of the river, where the still waters teem with murderous piranhas, and I’ll watch them shred him to bits. But he doesn’t do it. He doesn’t attack me. He seems unphased, when I treat him like a piece of shit. Besides he’s too chicken. He attacks only when he thinks he’ll keep the uperhand. He should be thrown alive to the crocodiles! An anaconda should strangle him slowly! A poisonous spider should sting him and paralyze his lungs! The most venomous serpent should bite him and make his brain explode! No panther claws should rip open his throat-that would he much too good for him! No! The huge red ants should piss into his lying eyes and gobble up his balls and his guts! He should catch the plague! Syphilis! Malaria! Yellow fever! Leprosy! It’s no use; the more I wish him the most gruesome deaths, the more he haunts me.

Herzog’s reaction to Kinski’s compliments and the rest of the interview can be seen here:


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