The Book of Rant - The Book of Rant - Full Form
"I am going to ransom the world for one million dollars." Yeah, right. I don't even need to ransom my brother's bedroom.
All I have to do is hold out a garbage bag as I'm walking, just collecting all the pennies, nickels, dimes that everyone
throws at me. Not bad for a half hours' work.
I heard that PBS is holding yet another telethon. Hourly, I think: 'We're so poor and pitiful because we can't make
good TV. Can you voluntarily give us twenty two million dollars? If you do, we'll go back to 'Fox: Inside the studios'.' I
think they spend their money on coffee and donuts. Their shows look like the same hundred dollars went into all of them. 'We
support law enforcement. And they can't support our pledges if we don't give them beer and donuts.'
I remember law enforcement back in the twenties. Well, my grampa does: 'Yeah, the police will get drunk all the time, they
were the ones responsible for prohibition. They always used to tell drunk talk: 'Hic, yeah, I want your dog. Can I have an
egg or a beer or a helicopter with my swimming pool?' If you want to hear anymore you'll have to go get me a beer. Don'juht
hic touch my wife, you carnie.'
That's just a bunch of drunk talk. 'Sweet, beautiful drunk talk.'
One day, my dad took me into a liquor store to buy some Pepsi. As I looked along the 140 aisles 200 feet long, I said:
"Hey, Dad. Who drinks all this beer?"
"All the kids with fake IDs."
To continue this column, I need a couple billion dollars so I can buy some lunch.
Today, before and after lunch was surrounded by finals. The finals that are either:
'What is 1+1?' or 'What is the standard for the IEEE interface in 1985 when Bill Gates first came up with TIA/EIA
569?'. They are either impossibly easy or impossibly hard. Finals can have you do lots of things. I have done everything
from filling out tax forms to making food to sitting on the john. Sometimes I have to think.
That's where a lot of people do their thinking. On the john. Good place to think. Bad place to read a book. Because when
you read for a while your legs go numb. Then when you stand up they get all hyperactive and you run everywhere, like you
have to go to the bathroom real bad.
* * *
As I remember, a lot of people had to go to boot camp. People in the military, people on Maury Povich, my father,
and a bunch of other people, like Michael Jackson. He should have gone on 'I rape children. Send me to boot camp!'. I think
that's a Fox special. Anyway, I think it goes like this:
"Chew! Chew! Swallow! Grab your gun! Not that gun! Turn that gun around! You don't want to shoot yourself, soldier? No!
Aim for the target! That thing down there with the bullseye on it! I give up. Join the Navy, why don't you?"
The Navy: most seamen are in little rooms under 5000 feet of water, with too much testosterone to be spent. That's why
they are always sinking fishing boats.
Where do Navy officers go after they get off the boat? To the bar. Or the movies. Maybe some restaurant. What I'd like to
see some more of is in-sub bars. Just mosey on up to the bar: 'Hey, gimme a cold one.' and the bartender'll say 'Did you
remember to put the boat on autopilot?' 'D'oh!'.
* * *
AOL. America's One Loser. Asylum On Line. America On Line. Where there is so much web filtering it thinks AOL.com is
inappropriate. Whatever you want to call it, there are mothers on there all day long, their kids 'When can we get some
dinner?' 'Go away. I'm looking at another Big Brother site.' the inexperienced with computers 'Power button? What power
button?' and the dumb 'AOL is the best! Go Macintosh!'. They have so much censorship that they nailed me on 'Tanis_Nikana:
Stop being such a boob.'.
Do you know what company owns AOL? Here's a hint: you're drinking their water, watching their networks, eating their food,
driving on their roads, buying their stuff, breathing their air, and living the life they set for you to live in their master
plan. Yessiree! AOL Time Warner, the company who owns everything on the monopoly board except 'Go!', but they're
working on that. Steve Case must be living the high life.
That would be cool. To have Steve Case(he was the guy who made AOL) and Bill Gates wrestle. In nerd wear, giving each
other paper cuts with all their money.
If the people who have invented wrestling have never been conceived, do you think that we could come up with a sport
like this? 'Yeah Mel, it'll be awesome. Everyone will flock to see our two huge guys in little tiny bathing suits beat the
crap out of each other. Don't worry, though. The whole thing will be fake. Unless Robert Deniro comes on stage. Then
we'll get him.'
Bill Gates is in deep shit. Just like I was a week ago. And the week before that. I think that he has his own private
Mafia. A private Mafia. Wow. If you have the money, they'll take it away from you.
Ever notice that the Mafia has a weird way of doing things? Sometimes they get a revolver and take turns shooting each
other. They call this Russian Roulette. Not a fun game. Just ask my left temple.
* * *
Humans are not meant to fly. That's why some people are afraid of flying and purchase outrageously priced flight
insurance. We're not supposed to be in the air, yet here we are. You ever stuck a fish in the driver's seat? 'Don't worry
about it. Just drive!'
So there I was, in the airplane, and the stewardess hands me a chocolate peanut:
"Uh, wow. Thanks. Could I have about 50 more, please? I haven't had lunch yet." And then she walks away. "How is man
supposed to live on chocolate alone?" Then I reach into the overhead compartments, get hit with a duffel bag full of bricks
and barbells, then I get my own bag: sweets and goodies. Like a full six-foot sandwich. Or a gallon of soda.
After I drunk that gallon of soda, I had to go to the bathroom. I needed to think. There was a little machine. It said
'50¢ please.' I didn't have any money. Damn. I ran along the aisle:
"Bag of chips for 50¢? Meal for 50¢? My luggage for 50¢? My credit card for 50¢?"
After I got in the bathroom at the expense of my first born child(boy, she got gypped!), I noticed one thing. Two
things. One: Little tiny toilet. Little tiny soap. Little tiny floor. Little tiny sink. Two: I'm stuck. I can't get off the
toilet. I can't get out of the bathroom. Then, I see on the inside of the door '$50 please.' Deep shit. So, as I was already
here, I thought on how to get out. I purposefully ate the ex-lax I had in my pocket.
Have you ever been pranked like that? Ex-lax brownies? One minute you're normal. The next minute you're sprinting. The
third minute you can't sit down because it hurts too much.
* * *
A vacation to Yellowstone Park: $50 for luggage, $10 for film, $350 for gas, memories, $1. Now, does $350 for gas sound
right? If you work your ass off on minimum wage, one hour of work can drive you to McDonalds. I heard Dubya ate another
fish taco. There go the gas prices, up another buck. Britney depleted the breast implant supply. Two bucks. I typed this
sentence. 50 cents.
Ever notice how the stars get all the special treatment? They’re people, too. Just make a game show: ‘Survivor III:
Newberg Suburbs’. Take any sixteen celebs, stick ‘em in a house together on a $25,000 per year salary, and watch them go!
Robert Deniro’ll be giving up drugs and booze any second now...
$25000. Reminds me of my debts. Couple hundred stupid bets, a few thousand drinks off of Ryan, police fines for public
urination(Nah.), and bodyguard fees, also called lunch money fees, food tax, and bathroom tax. Who would want to tax
people for going to the bathroom? I would. Make a million a year. Pay off a days’ of debts.
Food Tax. The tax for everything food related: ‘Want this taco? $1 and the $25 tax.’ Sort of like the breathing tax that
Microsoft and AOL Time Warner are getting together on.
* * *
Read your bible. Bible states: first, there were Adam and Eve. Two lovely naked people. Hangin’ out at the garden
together. Adam is the man. The man remains constant: ‘Yeah, yeah, what can I do for ya? Yeah.’. The woman remains constant,
too, but she’s always ‘Come here, come here, come here. Get away, get away, get away,’ And the guy is always ‘I’ll do
whatever you say.’ ‘Eat these mudpies.’ ‘Oh, yes, I love ‘em.’ ‘Here, eat this tree.’ ‘I do anything!’ She was fooling with
Adam, she knew what was going on, I know what was going on, I know women. She was running out of things for him to go around
eating. So she pulled the apple off, knowing she was out of line, bit it, ‘Crunch!’ She called Adam over, ‘Here, bite this
apple.’ ‘Crunch!’ Next thing you know there’s the Lord: ‘All right! Everybody get out of the pool! Get out! Everybody!’
* * *
A job interview is probably one of the most rigorous things you ever experience. More than the rope climbing in PE.
They have you sit in this little room, fill out perfectly this complicated form, come in here, get grilled:
“You ever work here?”
“Know how to work a handgun?”
“Do you know how to read?”
“What’s your name?”
“Um... Let’s see here... here it is.”
“Well, I don’t need to know. You’re hired.” Sort of like a date, except with a job interview, there’s no chance of winding
up naked at the end of it.
Blind dates could probably go a lot easier if everyone just spoke what they thought:
“Does he really have to say whassup like that?”
“Why do your armpit hairs penetrate your skirt?”
“Why are you throwing food at me?”
“Uh, thanks for the date.”
“Thank you. It was lovely.”
* * *
I was loaned a Volkswagen. I can’t drive. I don’t have a license. I don’t like Volkswagen. My mother was in her broken
down $22000 Rolls-Royce on the side of the highway. Here comes a Volkswagen, or, better put, $1200 tires engine steering
wheel and bluebook. It doesn’t go past us, like it should, it stops. The guy gets out. After he fixes our car:
“You know what’s great about one of these here slugbugs? Gets a hundred miles to the gallon! If the fanbelt breaks we use
a rubber band!” He means:
1 When a semi comes from the opposite direction, the car is in the ditch: ‘I think the car’s afraid of trucks. That’s
all there is to it.’
2 When it gets in a wreck with a dog it loses.
And 3. It’s banned from the roads because it keeps changing lanes without moving the steering wheel.
People call the Volkswagen a sports car. It isn’t anything compared to a Lamborghini. Or any car.
Car commercials are through the roof:
“We have this car that has horsepower so high it’s measured in gigahertz! There are too many cylinders, seating for a
gymnasium full, no payments for 100 years at .00001% APR!” Then they talk fast: “Car prone to catch fire, recieve
lightning, spontaneously generate in-cabin water at 60 gallons a second. Payments apply for the first month only. Down
payment of $1,000,000 necessary. 2001 Car. Get one now.”
* * *