Bumper to bumper

Very few things in the world frustrate me more than being stuck in a traffic jam in the most inopportune of times. I know it’s somewhat of a petty thing to complain about, but if you check my blog history you’ll notice that all I do is complain about petty things. I’m pretty sure my first post was about guacamole being too expensive a Chipotle.

It’s important to understand that when you’re in a traffic jam, you are not stuck in traffic, you are a part of the traffic. That distinction has never once occurred to me. In my mind, I’m the only one on the road that has somewhere important to go while everyone else is just taking a joy ride on I 405 for no reason whatsoever. I have never felt so much unjustified contempt for fellow humans than I do when I’m stuck on a highway somewhere, jerking my car forward 5 inches every 5 minutes. Somewhere deep inside my mind I know that the people in the cars ahead of me also have places to go and also are just as frustrated, but unfortunately my mind does not function regularly during a traffic jam. The longer I’m forced to wait the more it seems that everyone else on the road is a demon from hell personally sent to torment me.

There have been many times where I am sitting in a traffic jam and the thought pops into my mind that I should just get out my car and sprint full speed ahead to my destination. It’ll be faster, I tell myself. Forget about the car, it’s a clunker anyways. Every time the urge grows stronger and stronger.

Now What?

Remember when you were 6, and your mom would take you to the supermarket? Remember how you would look up and marvel at how big it was and remember how you were intimidated by all the big adult people so you clung desperately to your mother’s side? And remember how you lost focus for one second and all of a second your mother was nowhere to be seen? And for those few heart-palpitating minutes you were paralyzed with fear, because you were alone in this giant supermarket surrounded by tall strangers and you didn’t what to do or where to go.

That’s kinda how I, and I imagine many other high school seniors around the world feel right about now. All my life I’ve been following a preset path, advancing from grade to grade simply just following orders like “do your homework” or “raise your hand.” Well, now that path comes to a screeching halt and what lies in it’s wake is a black abyss, filled with uncertainty and risk.

I don’t know what to do. I mean, I know what to do, but I’m not sure I know what I’m doing. In a few months I’ll be living on my own for the first time, making my own decisions, and caring for myself. And to be honest, I’m scared to death, just like I was in that grocery store way back when. I don’t know what career I want to pursue. I don’t know what I’m going to major in. I don’t know how my life’s going to turn out. Am I going to be a dentist? I hope not, I hate dentists. I don’t know the first thing about dentistry.

I guess I’ll just have to wait and see. whatever comes, comes. and you know what? I think I’m gonna be okay. I’ve made it 18 years without losing any limbs or angering any mob bosses. Also, my parents think I’m a pretty swell guy, and who am I to question my parents.

But still I feel a little lost. I guess that’s normal for someone in my position though. Hopefully I make it. Hopefully we all make it. After writing this blog post I feel a little better, but I still have one question:

 

Now what?

Home Stretch Blues

To me, the period of school that lasts from after to Spring Break to before Summer Break is like the night before Christmas when you’re a little kid. You just can’t wait till it’s finally here.

There’s a restless feeling in the air. The weather gets warmer, the flowers begin blooming, and you can practically smell the tantalizing allure of summer because it’s right under your nose. Coming back from Spring Break everyone is aloof. It’s what happens when you give students a small sample of summer break before immediately thrusting them back into the dull humdrum of the school routine.

At this point many students will mentally check out, some even earlier. Their physical presence may be in a history classroom, but their mind, their heart, and the essence of their sou; will be drifting pleasantly on the warm sands of a California beach or in a cozy hammock under the big oak tree in their back yard. It’s inevitable. It happens to all of us, even the most dedicated students. I’m sure it happens to the teachers too but I can’t be 100% sure of that and who knows, maybe they love us students so much that they actually dread the summer.

04 18 after 3 P

Ha ha, just kidding of course.

During this time you will also see the physical appearance of students change. They will come in wearing flip flops, Hawaiian shirts, and chinos. The mood becomes a little lighter, the birds seem to sing a little louder. There’s just something in the atmosphere that makes your face tingle. Maybe it’s pollen, but maybe it’s the extremely viral summer vacation fever(It’s definitely pollen). You’re literally chomping at the bit. When the bell rings at the end of every day you feel the irresistible urge to throw your papers in the air, jump on your desk, and scream SCHOOL’S OUT, like you’re in some kind of 1980’s children’s tv show. You’ll then sprint out of the school alongside hundreds of other kids, into the basking glow of warm sunlight never to look back.

But alas, you know you’ll be back tomorrow. But only for a few more weeks.

 

Hardly Working (out)

When you walk into a gym for the first time it can be a little intimidating. Your ears are masqueraded with the sounds of guttural grunts, metal blocks smashing against each other , and a faint Taylor Swift song playing in the background. There are big buff guys in tank tops hammer curling 80 lb dumbells, old men somehow deadlifting 250, and the slight scent of salty sweat and pure masculinity wafts through the air.

I know I felt a little out of place when I first started going to the gym. I was also excited however. I had everything planned out in my head. I would start working out three times a week, starting slow at first but gradually building up in intensity. I had a workout regimen in place, dedicating one day each to legs, chest, and biceps. I bought two large containers of protein powder, new workout clothes, and loaded my phone with DMX songs. I was ready. In a year I would look like Arnold Schwarzenegger, I was sure of it.

By week two I was already making excuses. “Well my ankle’s kinda sore I better not risk it.” “I have an essay due in two weeks there is absolutely no time for excercise.” “Alan Rickman just died. I’m still grieving” I would say going to the gym had become a chore, but doing chores never left me doubled over gasping with my heart palpitating so hard I thought I was dying.

After a while I had to start mentally fighting myself to make it to the gym three times a week and keep my commitment. I was so full of ambition at the start but after a while I felt like barfing every time I even saw treadmill. The worst part is I wasn’t even seeing results. It’s easy to overestimate how soon you’re gonna be able to look like Popeye after you start working out. A month in I gazed at myself in the mirror expecting to see bulging biceps and a barrel chess. Instead I just saw a scrawny, dissapointed kid looking back at me.

I came to understand that like most things in life, working out and going to the gym took hard work, discipline, and a boatload of patience. It’s gonna be physically exruciating, mentally taxing, and emotionally[insert adjective]. but at the end of the day you have to stick with it.

I didn’t.

Thanks for reading.

You’ve Got Mail

You know what really irks me? spam email. Or maybe email in general. It feels like such an outdated system, like something cavemen used to alert each other of impending dinosaur attacks(I fact checked this sentence and found that it is 100% historically accurate).

First of all the layout is just so convoluted and confusing. I mean you got different folders for starred emails, sent emails, important emails, social emails, food-related emails, emails from your great aunt, etc. It’s just excruciating to navigate and on top of that the format is just so displeasing to the eye. It’s just thin stack upon thin stack of subject lines piled on top of each other. The inbox is like a gigantic landfill, stuffed with small nuggets of important information buried within layer upon layer of meaningless drivel that you have to wade through just to find out what time your doctor’s appointment was changed to.

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And don’t get me started on spam. Spam is the absolute worst. It seems as though any time you click on anything on the internet you inadvertently sign up for a mailing list from a company you didn’t even know existed. Any time you sign up for anything your inbox gets bombarded with pointless emails that somehow make it past the useless spam filter and into your vulnerable life.

I feel like when email first started back in the 90s it was deemed as technological wonder. No longer do we have to painstakingly hand-write letters, put them in envelopes, glue on  stamps, go to a post office, send the mail, and have to wait a week for it to arrive, now we can just type some stuff on a keyboard and hit send the message arrives instantly! It is however not the 90s. On the contrary it is 2016 and we have far less clunky and easier to use tools for communication available such as texting and social media. Yet so many important transactions and correspondences still occur over email. It just refuses to fade into obscurity like so many other outdated technologies of it’s kind. We can only hope that one day the world becomes so sick of the spam and the overflowing inbox and the fwd:fwd:fwd: that they finally take a stand and collectively refuse to use email ever again.

Maybe one day. We can only hope.

I’ll Title This Post Tomorrow

Procrastination is the worst isn’t it? Sometimes it’s harmless, and sometimes it prevents you from accomplishing all the important things in life, like updating your massively popular journalism blog( This is a completely theoretical example). I wouldn’t say I’m lazy- I mean other people would say I’m lazy, and I am lazy, but I would never say it. It’s just that procrastinating is so…so…convenient. It’s like a drug, the more you indulge in it the more it sucks you in, sapping away all your energy and drive and productivity until before you know it you’re watching “how to train your parrot” videos on youtube and you don’t even own a parrot. You’ve truly reached rock bottom.

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It’s tough sometimes. It’s like our brains are hardwired to only seek instant gratification. Sure I have an 800 word essay due in two days but essays are hard and I’m tired and this seems more like a problem for tommorow-me and that guy seems like a jerk so I’ll make him do it. The future seems so far away that it might as well not exist all. the old adage tells us to live in the moment but there won’t be a moment to live in if you don’t prepare for the future.

The worst part is knowing how preventable it is. All my problems could be solved if I just got up off my ass and started solving them. And yet merely beginning the process feels so hard. Maybe it’s because the challenge seems so impossibly daunting that putting in any effort seems just seems like a waste of time, or maybe it’s the fact that trying opens the possibility of failing and failing means you’re a failure and being a failure sucks. Whatever the reason, procrastination will remain a major bane in my life, and I am sure, the lives of many others. I’m sure one day some super smart scientist person will invent an anti-procrastination machine that physically injects motivation and discipline into people. Unfortunately that scientist is probably watching “how to train your parrot” videos right  now.

The Trump Card

As you should know, the 2016 presidential election is right around the corner. You should know this because through simple math we know that 2016-2015=1, which means it’s gonna happen in 1 year, which is pretty soon. Anyways, right now the two main parties are holding their respective primaries and a dark horse has arisen on the Republican side. Actually, I probably shouldn’t describe him as “dark” because he’d probably take offense to that. But if you haven’t guessed it by now, I’m talking about the one and only, Donald Trump.

trump

That’s right, the polarizing man known for being the egotistical, racist, xenophobic, sexist, along with a myriad of other unflattering adjectives businessman and former host of the Apprentice is running for president. Of the United States.

This may seem like a joke, and many people have treated it as such, because everything about Donald Trump seems like a joke. From the wispy yellow marshmallow fluff atop his head to his proposal to “build a wall” as a solution to illegal immigration, Donald Trump seems like a cartoon character in a satirical comedy. But no. Everything about this man is real. The incessant rants about China, the crude insults on his fellow candidates, and the empty promises to “make America great again” are all being heard on national television by millions of people not just around the country, but around the world.

Now you might still be thinking, “psshhh, so what? It’s not like America is actually gonna elect this annoying lunatic as president right?” Not so fast. not only does Trump lead all Republican candidates in the polls, he leads his closest competitor Ben Carson by 20%. THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING. There is actually a chance that by next year, Donald Trump may become the leader of the free world, and there’s only one way to stop it.

Vote. Go out there on election day and cast your ballet. For years, the younger demographics have had the lowest voter turnout, and it could happen again in 2016. So if you think you’re vote doesn’t matter, just remember that come this time next year the statue of liberty might have a yellow toupee perched atop its crown.

I am Ayn Rant, and remember, always be angry

Get off the Road

Most people don’t understand how dangerous an activity driving really is. Every time you go for a ride you’re essentially putting yourself inside a two ton metal ball of death that hurtles down roads at 70 miles an hour towards other two ton metal balls of death going just as fast. Factor in bad weather, low visibility and suicidal deer and it’s a miracle we’re not all  already dead. However, none of that even remotely compares to the real threat. It’s not the pouring rain or the jaywalking wildlife that will get you, it’s the idiots behind the wheel.

Here’s a nice tip for all you drivers out there. you see that little knob that juts out over the left side of your steering wheel? You use it to notify surrounding vehicles that you’re about to make a turn or change lanes. It’s not some pretty car ornament that you stare at while you make a blind left turn across three lanes and end up sending a family of four to the hospital. The massive amount of incompetent drivers currently polluting the roads is both infuriating and incredibly scary. It makes you wonder what kind of stuff goes on in driver’s tests.

Instructor: “Well, I see you have two arms, a head, and you appear to be breathing. Congratulations, you passed the exam!”

Future Car wreck: “WOO, I’m gonna do some donuts on the highway to celebrate!”

Instructor: “Here, take this champagne with you. You’ve earned it. Oh and don’t forget to text your mom on the way. She’ll be so proud.”

Future Car Wreck: “Oh I won’t.”

The roads are like a jungle. You have to be on high alert and keep your eyes peeled 100 percent of the time. You’re just minding your own business, cruising along when all of a sudden BOOM! A WILD PRIUS CUTS YOU OFF FROM OUT OF NOWHERE. HE HAS NO REGARD FOR THE SAFETY OF OTHERS BUT IT’S OKAY BECAUSE HE’S SAVING THE ENVIRONMENT. HE WANTS TO BE A TREE HUGGER? WELL HIS CAR WILL BE LITERALLY HUGGING A TREE IF HE KEEPS DRIVING LIKE THAT.

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AND OH NO WHAT’S THIS? A SOCCER MOM WHO DOESN’T KNOW YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO MAKE A LEFT TURN ON A RED LIGHT.  WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE.

The worst beast of them all however, won’t put your life in danger, but they will slowly drive you into insanity. Literally. If you’ve ever been late for anything in your life, you will inevitably be stuck behind an old geezer going 15 miles under the speed limit oblivious to your constant honking. This my friends, is the worst kind of torture. You start to understand why there’s so many people swerving into opposing lanes.

 

The difference between dentists and masochists (hint: There are none)

There may be no stranger and more uncomfortably painful experience than a dentist appointment. When you first step into their office you are immediately hit with the overwhelming smell of latex gloves and human suffering. The waiting room is bleak and depressing, with empty walls whiter than the crowd at a Justin Bieber concert. The receptionist greets you with a uninterested glance and tells you to take a seat. After about half a millennium  of waiting you are finally admitted into the room where the actual torture takes place. Immediately your ears are hit with high pitched screeching, reminiscent of the crowd at a Justin Bieber concert.

As the dentist walks you to the chair, your exchange gazes a patient victim in an adjacent chair. He looks disheveled and desperate. His bloodshot eyes send you a clear message: “TURN BACK NOW” but you can’t, because well, you paid a lot of money for this and there is a huge rescheduling fee.

At this point, the appointment takes a sharp left turn and starts to resemble a 1980s alien abduction movie. The dentist, a tall stoic figure, is dressed in a long mint green robe and has his mouth and most of his face obscured by a cloth of some sort, so that all you can see is his cold, penetrating eyes. He guides you onto a strange, angular chair. There are no restraints, but you have a feeling that any attempted escape will be met with dire consequences.

Dentist pic

 

Suddenly the chair begins to rise. A bright light turns on immediately overhead. “What’s going on?” you blubber, but you receive nothing but dead silence. The next hour or so is an excruciating blur, as the masked figure spends an inordinate amount of time prodding and jabbing at the inside of your mouth with sharp metal objects. At one point you’re certain that there’s a buzz saw whirring around your gums. The unbearable pain makes you pass in and out of consciousness. In your brief moments of lucidity you can vaguely hear the muffled mumbling of the harrowing figure with his hands in your mouth. His voice is distorted by the cloth in front of his mouth but you can make out certain things such as “How bout this weather we’re having?” and “Any plans for the weekend?” You don’t know what it means and before you can respond you pass out again.

Before you know it you’ve woken up, dazed and confused, with little memory of the events that had just occurred. Your mouth is sore and puckered, like the crowd at a Jus-No wait never mind. As you gradually come to your senses, the dentist asks you a question and the two of you engage in the same rehearsed conversation that you perform every time you come.

Dentist: “Have you been flossing”                                                                                                     (I know he hasn’t been flossing)

You: “Well you know…sometimes?”                                                                                                  (No. Never. I don’t even own floss.)

Dentist: “Okay I’m gonna need you to start flossing on a more regular basis.”                                (I know he’s not going to start flossing)

You: “Okay, will do.”                                                                                                                            (I know he knows I’m not going to start flossing)

And then you leave with a goody bag filled with toothpaste and a head filled with traumatic thoughts. Sure your teeth are cleaner, but at what cost? Your dignity? Your spirit?

I’m Ayn Rant, and remember, always be angry.

Terminal Illness

There aren’t many places in the world more bleak and depressing than an airport terminal. War zones, mass graves, the underworld, and Arby’s parking lots come to mind. I’m not really sure why I dislike them so much. It seems like a pleasant enough area, there’s just something off about them. They’re just so sterile and limp, like hospitals, but instead of sickness and death, there’s layovers and overly touchy TSA agents.

When you walk into an airport you are immediately hit with an overwhelming wave of apathy. Have you noticed that no one ever seems happy in an airport? They’re all either frantically rushing to catch their flight or exhaustively drained from having to sit through a 10 hour flight next to a banshee baby and a guy who somehow has no concept of personal space. Even when someone’s smiling, it’s always that hallow, weary smile, like “hey it beats being dead, right?” Well, not exactly.

The airport is basically purgatory. It’s filled with people who are in between where they want to be and where they were. The atmosphere is almost suffocating in its robotic boringness, with it’s impossibly long walkways, cramped ticket areas, and never-ending lines. Not to mention the little kiosk stores that try to sell you $7 water bottles, the security stations that strip away your dignity, and the monotonous voice that comes over the loud speaker and drones, “THE 6:15 FLIGHT TO ATLANTA HAS BEEN DELAYED DUE TO WEATHER” every 30 minutes. Every time I gaze up at that big electronic board with all the airlines and flight times I die a little inside.

The airport is a microcosm of what we hate about everyday life. All the waiting, discomfort, confusion, letdown, frustration, nervousness, and disappointment is condensed into one giant, lifeless building. I wish someone would just invent flying cars already. Maybe next year. Maybe next year.

Alarm clock? More like aLAME Clock

This next rant topic is literally the bane of my existence. It holds more of a symbolic value really, because it marks the end of sweet paradisaical dreams and the beginning of cruel, tortuous reality. It’s the dividing line between heaven and hell. Every agonizing hardship I have to endure in the torture chamber known as my life starts off with the ear-piercing screech of an alarm clock. Once I hear the noise that can only be described as “the dying screeches of a robotic bird who just got shanked in a parking lot” I know my next 16 hours or so will be filled with such miseries as having to pay $1.99 extra for guacamole at Chipotle and being forced to stare at bad contemporary art.

The noise itself has triggered a Pavlovian response in me. Anytime I hear that distinctive ringing I revert back to a scared, vulnerable state. My hands start sweating, my heart starts thumping and my breathing becomes more and more labored until I unleash into a full fledged panic attack: Swiping wildly for snooze buttons that don’t exist, trying to catch buses that left two years ago, screaming in desperate agony: “JUST FIVE MORE MINUTES.” And suddenly I find myself on the ground, curled in a fetal position. It’s 3:23 PM. I’m in a public place. The alarm on my phone accidentally went up. There’s a crowd gathering, staring down quizzically at me like I’m some wild animal needing to be put down. But they don’t know. They don’t know the painful terror that ignites in my body at the sound of that mechanical wail. My heart’s still racing, I look for an opening to escape but they’ve surrounded me. As my eyesight refocuses I notice something peculiar about their eyes. They’re…analogue red. Suddenly a women in the crowd steps forward. She opens her mouth revealing a menacing set of sharp teeth and says…EEEE EEEE EEEE EEEE

Alarm clock

I wake up in a cold sweat in my bed. I locate the sound of the noise. It’s my alarm clock, which reads 7:30 AM. Time for school. I sit up shocked. The alarm clock has even managed to penetrate into my nightmares. At this point it’s more of my life than anything else. It’s consumed me.

But the worst part. The absolute worst part. Is that I bring this upon myself. I set the alarm every night. I set it because deep down I need it. It’s the only that keeps me functioning, that keeps me from becoming a lazy slob that wakes up in the afternoon. If I had more strength, more courage(Or a better sleep cycle) I would smash it with a sledgehammer so I would never have to hear that cacophonous shriek again. But I need it more than it needs me(It doesn’t need me at all). That’s why every night, with a solemn heart, I set this ticking time bomb, knowing full well that in eight hours time it will haunt me, torture me, and worst of all, explode me into a world of consciousness.

I’m Ayn Rant, and remember, always be angry.

 

 

Under the Weather

Whichever god like entity is controlling the weather in Western Washington must either be a sadistic bastard or just in a bad mood all the time. It’s the kind of weather that makes you question why Lewis and Clark didn’t just turn straight around and leave. I can imagine their reaction. “Finally Lewis, we’ve journeyed thousands of treacherous miles over two agonizing years and have lost many good men, but we’re finall- OH GOD +$#@  IT’S ALL WET.”

Nope, instead of getting as far away as possible from the area explorers inexplicably decided to settle the region and over time the soggy wasteland became a well populated domain of the United States. Yep, that’s the Pacific Northwest: a place that has the precipitation of the Amazon rain forest and the temperature of Syracuse, New York. For 9 months out of the year the sky shines in two illustrious colors: Gray, and slightly less gray.

If you like seasons, don’t come here. If you enjoy snow on Christmas, don’t come here. If you don’t own an umbrella, don’t come here. If you don’t want to constantly endure weather usually reserved for the sad scenes in romantic comedies, DON’T COME HERE. In short, don’t come here.

I can’t tell you how utterly depressing it is to walk outside every morning and get hit by what is essentially a wave of sadness. The same monotonous combination of bitter coldness and biting rain, accompanied by the melancholic grayness of the sky. The sun must’ve gotten mugged while traveling through the Pacific Northwest because that coward always refuses to show his face here. It’s what I imagine hell would look like if someone turned on a giant faucet over it to douse out all the flames and then accidentally left the faucet on.

rain pic

However that’s not even the worst of it. No, the worst part is that it gives you hope. After 17 consecutive days of pounding rain, one morning you’ll wake up and you’ll peek out of the window and be absolutely astounded. “Is that…SUNLIGHT? No that can’t be. I must be hallucinating.” But you aren’t. No amount of drugs could possibly emulate the genuine warmth that you feel on this day. You go outside and everyone’s in a chipper mood, the air is just lighter, the atmosphere is almost electric. And people get to talking. “Maybe the tides are changing. Maybe this is the beginning of the warm days.” And hope begins to build. People are actually smiling, stowing away their weathered umbrellas and flipping down their waterlogged hoods. For the first time in a long time there is anticipation for the future. Eagerness for what’s to come. And the next day you wake up bright and early. And with a child-like giddiness you rush to the window. With a dazzling bravado you whip open the curtains. And what do you see?

rain.

cold.

dead.

rain.

And as you gaze out at the dreary sky, the stinging drops of liquid disappointment relentlessly pound the pavement, relinquishing the last ounces of faith you had in the world. It’s almost like the tears of god” you muse, as tears of your own silently pour down your cheeks, reminding you to never to have hope again.

I’m Ayn Rant, and remember, always be angry.

Why contemporary art sucks

What is art? Well, it’s kinda hard to explain cause of how vague and encompassing the term is.  Dictionary.com defines it as “the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.” I don’t know what most of those words mean but I think the general gist is that art should make you feel something. It should invoke heavy emotions or convey an idea. Art should be profound.

And for most of history, art did just that. From the pristine sculptures of Michelangelo to the beautiful oil paintings of Claude Monet to the thought provoking cubist work of Pablo Picasso, art took immense skill. It was something people studied and worked hard at for their entire lives in order to master the craft. Artists were highly respected and their art was universally admired. This is the way it’s always been until about a half century ago. This is when something called “contemporary art came into popularity.

What is contemporary art? It’s a bunch of squiggles on a piece of canvas that’s supposed to symbolize the duality of man, It’s a tree but instead of leaves, there’s dollar bills, and the dollar bills have blood on them(OMG HOW DEEP). In short, it’s an abomination. Andy Warhol started this current trend by painting images of soup cans or whatever, and for the most part, his work was actually pretty good. But over time it just devolved and morphed to the point where anybody doing anything can be considered art.

We live in a time where two stoners can get high in their basement, scribble on the floor in crayon for 2 hours, and have it be universally acclaimed as genius by “art” critics. In other word, we’re living in the end time. A  homeless guy could literally fart into a mic and some pretentious snob with an art degree would praise it as “a scathing satire on American consumerism and corporate greed.” There are no standards anymore. The quality of art is determined solely on the opinions of pompous rich people who have their heads so far up their asses they could give themselves a colonoscopy. Some old guy named Richard Prince literally took random people’s Instagram posts, framed them and SOLD THEM FOR $90,000 EACH. I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP, LOOK IT UP. I CAN’T EVEN TAKE PICTURES OFF THE INTERNET TO PUT IN THIS BLOG AND THIS ASSHOLE MANAGED TO MAKE OVER 100 GRAND ON OTHER PEOPLE’S INSTAGRAM POSTS BECAUSE IT’S “ART” AND DON’T TELL ME “I DON’T GET IT” or “I HAVE TO LOOK AT THE DEEPER MEANING” THERE IS NO DEEPER MEANING AND WHAT YOU’RE DOING IT IS NOT ART IT’S GARBAGE AND YOU’RE GARBAGE.

Now you may be wondering why I care so much about art and the art world. The answer is I don’t. I’m just really jealous that people are able to make something in literally 5 minutes and sell it for millions of dollars. I want to do that. I WANT MONEY.

Anyways, I’m Ayn Rant, and remember, always be angry

First post of the Year

Hi, I’m back.

You may remember me for my incredibly witty and well written NFL blog that I wrote last year. Well, I’ve decided to change things up. I will no longer be writing about the joys of football. Instead I’m starting up a complaint blog. That’s right, every week I will personally deliver a long winded, incoherent, possibly offensive rant about things I

A.Hate

B.Find annoying

C.Don’t understand

First off before I start, I just wanna say that I wanted to change my username to Ayn Rant, but because of some weird glitch in the word press system I wasn’t able to and am subsequently stuck with the name ChipKellyExpress. This sucks because Ayn Rant is a super clever and now my username doesn’t even make sense. Also the Eagles suck now and I don’t want to be associated with that man. Anyways, lets begin.

The Great Chipotle Heist

I’m sure you’ve all been to Chipotle. You know, that awesome Mexican fast food restaurant that sells tasty burritos, tacos, and salads. It’s like Subway, but Mexican. And also the food actually tastes good. Anyways, so you walk in and stand in line. It’s a long line but that’s okay, it’ll be worth it. Eventually you get to the food stations and you begin creating your burrito. Chicken, black beans, cheese, lettuce etc. Then you get towards the end of the line and of course you ask

“Can I get some guac?”

And the lady responds with a seemingly innocent smile:

“Sure, that’ll be $1.99 extra”

…wait what?

WHAT?

DO I LOOK LIKE I’M MADE OF MONEY? DO YOU SEE THE NAME BILL GATES ON MY SHIRT? TWO DOLLARS FOR GUACAMOLE? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? I DONT CARE HOW GOOD YOUR FOOD IS HOW DARE YOU CHARGE ME THE PRICE OF A FOUNTAIN SODA FOR A MEASLY TOPPING. THOSE AVOCADOS BETTER BE HAND DELIVERED BY JESUS CHRIST HIMSELF IF YOU THINK IM PAYING TWO GODDAMN DOLLARS FOR YOUR GUACAMOLE. I WORK HARD FOR MY MONEY. DAY IN AND DAY OUT I SLAVE AWAY, BEGGING MY PARENTS FOR A BIGGER ALLOWANCE. IT’S NOT EASY BEING ME. AND NOW YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO TRY AND ROB ME NAY, INSULT ME WITH THIS THIS RIDICULOUS PRICE? WHAT, IS IT SPIKED WITH COCAINE? THAT’S THE ONLY WAY YOU COULD JUSTIFY CHARGING TWO DOLLARS FOR GUACAMOLE AT A FAST FOOD RESTAURANT!!!!!!!!

Chipotle Tyrant

Anyway, that’s how I got banned from Chipotle.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this post.

I’m TheChipKellyExpress Ayn Rant, and remember, always be angry.