Lately people have been sending me what I would call “rants.” These are often writings found on social media. They are usually written by angry folks who are upset about random hot-button topics, which I won’t mention here because I don’t want anyone throwing a brick through my window.
The writers of internet rants always end things by stating something corny like: “Just my two cents.” But when you consider that they’ve just written at least six pages of text, it comes to more like $12.50.
The thing is, people read these things. Then, they get mad enough to sit down and write their own social-media rants. Once these rants have traveled to the outer reaches of cyber universe, my aunt Eulah sends them to me.
I don’t know why I read these things, but I do. Ever since the coronavirus epidemic started, I have been sucked into well-written tirades penned by people who probably mean well, but who are too mad to do well.
I just finished reading one rant that was about surgical masks.
The author was furious about the issue. The thing must have been one hundred paragraphs long. And the scary thing is: I actually took the time to read it.
So I’ve decided to write one, too.
Hey, why not? Everyone deserves to express their own disgust. Besides, complaining has become fashionable. Some people are so incredibly good at griping that they have become famous for it.
So the first thing I would like to complain about is children.
That’s right. I’m not holding back. It’s every man for himself. I’m complaining that childhood doesn’t last long enough. And this really frosts my shorts.
Do you remember being a kid? It was great. The world was ten times bigger, flowers were more fragrant, and time seemed to last infinitely longer.
Here’s a fact: A single year in Kid World actually lasts for about two decades.…