Titanic Informative Speech

Something about the name, "The Andrea Doria", compelled me to meet my faux demise aboard her. The Titanic was before my time, and I never did like the name. It conjures visions of Toughie Brasuhn of Roller Derby fame, crashing through a mountain of cottage cheese, consuming it, and turning to stone for her efforts in an Old Testament admonition for gluttony.

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"Hey, Earl. What do you call that stone statue thing?" "Titanic." "Is that the name the city council gave it?" "No, sir. They call it, Cottage Cheese Angst. Titanic is my secret tribute to Kate Winslet." I realize some will take my vision
Pods of extinct whales haunted the horizon resembling rain clouds portending storms on islands heretofore undiscovered on the ocean's bottom. A shy island feels no pain and an ocean hides its tears they sing. Romantic balderdash I say. It's the salt, always the salt. Ask a slug if you're not so damn busy focused on the all-important living of your OWN life that you feel a slug beneath you. The course set, the plan in motion, it was time for a little Mott the Hoople. I admit, pissed was an understatement. Every song sounded the same to me. Forty bucks is a lot for a private concert if it isn't good. Their groupie clearly wouldn't leave them for some ordinary fan. She was a Mott Slott through and through, lucky bastards. I tossed them overboard if you're ever wondering what happened to them. The shock of rejection caused their break up and retirement from the entertainment business. I think about them from time to time by myself here at the bottom of the sea amidst the wreckage of the Andria
They navigate the waterways of the world. They enter rivers and streams ... even creeks and ponds. They are without dimension or substance. They fit in a drop of water and they span a lake. It makes no sense. It isn't intended to make sense. It will give you pause though the next time you shed a tear .... Fish don't care. Why would they? Those blasted things bobbing and bouncing around on the ocean's bottom might care. Who would know? Could the submarines swoop them up and whisk them away to a little pond by a quaint library? Perhaps they could hang out under a lily pad and watch pollywogs squirm to the surface for gulps of air. Would that amuse them? Maybe it would be an improved existence. I can't truly say, but it seems better than bobbing and bouncing on the ocean's bottom. Yes, it's judgmental on my part. I realize as much and can't say I'm proud of it, my own bobbing and bouncing on a bottom notwithstanding. One might look at me and say, "Who are you to talk. You live alone with no hope of encountering your own kind ever again. Your home is the wreckage of the sunken ship, the Andrea Doria. Yes, it has a cool name, but other than that, what is the attraction? In a word, what in the world do you have that is so darn cool you'd consider your existence superior to those bobbing, bouncing sea-bottom