Rant or Die

Where the hell have we been? We could easily ask you the same. The Rant had a brief Moment during the pandemic: sterling wordplay; burgeoning audience; next-level semi-colon use. Like you, we had dreams, man. Remember that heady afternoon when you yelled in your sweat pants, unwashed hair firmly scrunchied, “Remote work is here to stay!”? Now remember having to throw out all your old office attire as you scrambled for something to wear after receiving the sternly worded, soulless corporate memo to return to your cubicle, a reminder of a you that used to be a lot less you, your only solace to weep in silence because you had binged-watched every show every produced, all while devouring just one more pint (We swear!) of Stephen Colbert’s Americone Dream?¹

The Rant emerged from hibernation and considered our weight-loss options. Since all the celebrity tubbies had hoovered up the available supply of Ozempic, we opted for major neck surgery. Sure we wanted to drop the pounds, but we had also grown nostalgic to feel the right side of our body again as it had grown churlishly numb. So ungrateful. If you want to spend a disturbing afternoon on YouTube (although, really, all sessions on YouTube eventually grow disturbing), check out the procedure, which includes the surgeons making an incision on the front of your neck, presumably because going through the back of the neck, where your spine resides, had just grown too mundane. They then slide your trachea over to the shoulder of the highway and remove the decayed bits of your discs with a pair of tweezers from Operation. You wake up feeling like your throat has been packed in steel wool. Finally, shiny new titanium discs and scaffolding make you less numbish. My surgeon grew quite offended when I reported two of my fingers still had no feeling. The Rant assumes he had to turn the Burmester  sound system in his AMG Mercedes to 11 to cope with the disappointment.²

You might well wonder why The Rant has chosen this moment to return. Please wonder. That’s us frantically waving our arms on the socials. After all, the whole world is a’rantin’, making the embellishment of our brand ever more difficult across the verticals.³ Yet here we are, ready to wade back into the cultural bog, receiving no royalties for being the Ur Rant, back when you still childishly believed the Golden of Age Television would last forever. Sadly try to enjoy the latest pale imitation of Breaking Bad (Some of them even feature Bryan Cranston. Sorry for interrupting Your Honor) and reflect on your foolishness.

We currently have a yawning void in our collective soul. “Offer me anything I ask for,” we demand of our prospective leaders, like Inigo in the Princess Bride. No matter how petty the grievance, no matter how delusional the anger, every podcast, candidate, and pundit promises they will fulfill the desire to Get Even, Get Yours, and Get What No One but You Can Have.

The premise that your happiness depends on an equal amount of suffering by all Others troubles The Rant the most. We’re perfectly happy here at Rant Worldwide Headquarters for everyone else to be perfectly happy. Yet even our most agreeable friends seem to harbor dark thoughts of deportations, incarcerations, and humiliations that blight any hope of contentment.

The Rant enjoys watching hummingbirds hover around the feeder we have installed. Our joy is not diminished because an equal number of rats (our least favorite creatures) do not simultaneously drop dead in the yard. Look, rats are gonna rat. Why let that ruin the beauty of the hummingbird?

We have a feeder set out for the rats as well. It contains Grade A poison. The rest is up to the rats. We intend to quietly wait for the next appearance of a hummingbird. Join us.

1. For the record, Americone Dream is the only Ben & Jerry’s flavor worthy of their brain-freeze-inducing prices. The Rant would fight you about it, but we’re more virtuously processed heavy cream than human now. Oh so good to be footnoting again.
2. Want to know why you’ve never heard of Burmester sound systems? Because a set of speakers can cost up to $375,000. Their website uses the word “bespoke” in a way that practically demands you navigate away from the site. Peasant! A man named Dieter Burmester runs the company, because of course he does. Enjoy those Skull Candy headphones while you listen to Jelly Roll sounding like he recorded at the bottom of a well. Hillbillies! You can make this note sound even more condescending by reading it with a German accent. Go for a Christoph Walz vibe.
3. The Rant has no idea what any of that means. The kids on the nets seem to say it a lot. We have no brand. We influence no one. Our TikToks featuring jump cuts of us quietly weeping at the keyboard garner no followers. Our brief foray into branded lifestyle products, Rant Whiskey, stood no chance with the slogan, “Taste the bitterness in every bottle.”