Sometimes, You Just Need A Good Rant

…and when you do, why not turn to one of the masters?

"I can't take it anymore! I'm trying to get home for my kid's birthday but this whole leaf-blowing false-advertising traffic-stopping tax-dollars-squandering workers-on-permanent-coffee-break upper-class money-driving stolen-car-parts-dealing sign-changing society won't let me!  And you know who's to blame? We all are! We say we hate lawyers but we can't wait to sue somebody.  We want leaders to make tough choices and we vote 'em out when they do! We all want X-rated older women with hirsute upper lips on chat lines and scream bloody murder when we get the bill!  I ask you, what's happened to logic in the world?

"And when you think about it, isn't that exactly the point?  Parking and driving and shopping and eating and working…somewhere, somehow they're different now, none of 'em are the same, they all got chewed up and spit back out.  They don't taste like living anymore.  Don't you see what it's like in this deranged Waring blender of a world?  Every day is an agonizing ordeal!  Like balancing a pot of scalding water on your head while people whip your legs and butt!  (Ah, you never forget your senior prom…)  You think I'm sick?  Well, the only disease I've got is modern life.  A schnub-busting gauntlet of inefficiency and misery that's one long parade of let-downs, put-downs, trickle-downs, shut-outs, freeze-outs, sell-outs, numb-nuts, nincompoops and nimrods!  All making every day as much fun as waxing a flaming Pontiac with your tongue!  Where even if you do luck into the possibility of some fleeting pleasure, like, say, if some nymphomaniac telephone operators with the muscle control of Romanian mat-slappers agree to a little strip air hockey, it'll be over before it starts!  Because some vowel-whacking feather-eating cab jockey slams his Checker up your hatchback, and the cab is owned by some Santaria cult in Huaculpa who starts shaking chicken bones at you and gives you a boil on your neck so big all it needs is Michael Jordan's autograph on it to make it complete!  And even with all this--with all this!--I still drag my sorry butt off the Sealy every morning and stick my face in the reaping machine for one more day--knowing! when it's time to flash the cosmic car keys at those pearly gates I won't be in the coffin anyway, because some underhanded undertaker sold my heart, pancreas, and other assorted Good-n-Plenty to the same Santaria cult!  So does anybody really wonder why anybody is hanging on to sanity by the atoms on the tips of their fingernails while life dirty-dances on their digits?  And is it really any wonder that I seem DERANGED?"

(Duckman, "Room With A Bellevue," 1996…for the originals, see here and here)