Hey, congrats on your new baby. She’s a cutie. You must love her to death. But guess what. You’re a parent now, and that means you’ve got to give up a few things for a while, like going out to public places. Now, I’m probably just an incensitive creep, but I find it next to impossible to get into a film or enjoy my meal with a screeching baby just a few feet away. But I wouldn’t want you to miss Lord of the Rings. No, that wouldn’t be fair. So I’ll just sit here and grind my teeth as I listen to your baby’s incessant cackling and inhale the rich aroma of buttered popcorn and baby crap. Selfish parents, you suck.

Goddamit, I realize the sign says “walk,” but you don’t have to take it so literally. I’m trying to make a turn here. Yes, I know pedestrians have the right of way. You’ve made your point. Now, get your ass in gear before I get out of my car and pull you across the street by your fucking hair. Crosswalk Strollers, you suck.

Hey, unless you spend your whole life on a horse yelling “Hyah!” to a bunch of overfed cattle, you are not a cowboy. I don’t care if you’re from the midwest or the “Lone Star” state. Lose the fucking cowboy hat and boots, you goddam achy-breaky Garth Brooks wannabe. Welcome to the year 2003. Urban Cowboys, you suck.

Look, I don’t give a shit what your financial situation is, unless someone offers to pick up the check at the end of the meal, the rule is, we split the bill evenly. It doesn’t matter if all you had was a cup of clam chowder, water and a slice of bread. I don’t have the time or the patience to do the math. Perhaps next time you’ll wise up and order the lobster. Restaurant Check Quibblers, you suck.

Remember when the only real gore on TV was during the evening news? You even got a friendly warning before they showed you something objectionable. Now, thanks to digital cable and satelite TV, you never know what you’ll find as you surf the channels: Live open-heart surgeries. Actual autopsies. Everything but someone’s excrement floating in the toilet (come to think of it, I may have just missed that show). That’s right, you can watch a colonoscopy during breakfast, but if you’re looking for bare breasts or profanity, you’re gonna have to pay for it. Screwed-Up Censors, you suck.

Okay, I admit it. I drank too much sake on X-mas eve. I acted like an ass. I sang out of tune. I rubbed my face way too much. And then I threw up. Over and over. It’s not really a night I care to remember. But then I don’t really have a choice. Because my best friend decided it would be a good idea to record the evening with his Sony DV Cam. It’s true. I’ve seen the tape. It ain’t pretty. And it isn’t going away. I can only hope that over time the tape will be forgotten, and I will never again have to watch myself singing the song “Sex” by Berlin. Drunk-Tape Players, you suck.

Welcome to 2003. Hope you all made it. I noticed that my readership tapered off a bit towards the end of last year. Consider yourselves on probation. You keep the hit count up on my site and I’ll keep supplying you with the rants. You forget about me and I’m just gonna call it quits. That said, let’s get on with the first rant of 2003. And, no, it’s no about long-winded bloggers, smart ass. It’s….

Over Aggressive Handshakers

Hey, there. How ya doin’? Owwwww! What the fuck?! You trying to break my hand? This isn’t a contest, buddy. There’s a big difference between a firm handshake and the Kung Fu grip. You’re just supposed to take hold of the hand confidently. That doesn’t mean squeeze until you hear a cracking sound. So tone down the machismo shit, Rambo. I don’t give a crap who’s the alpha male. Over Agressive Handshakers, you suck.