This Week in Rage – 4/12/15

This Week in Rage: A blog about the top three things that pissed me off this week.


People Lying On Floor In Public Places: I’ve been complaining for a long time about people bivouacking at the airport. I travel a lot and constantly see grown men laying on the airport floor passed out with people stepping over them. And in general, people are just kind of flopping wherever they want. My news girl Gina was recently talking about a guy dead asleep on the floor of the Verizon store she was in and no one except her seemed to notice or car. That’s how bad this has gotten. And it occurred to me that when I was a kid if you saw a dude on the floor it meant he was having a heart attack or a stroke. If there was a grown man lying on the ground someone would shout “Is there a doctor in the house?!” So in this new drop and flop era how do we know who’s had a heart attack? With everyone balling up their sweatshirt into a pillow and flopping out everywhere we’ll have no way of knowing. One of these days I’m going to have a massive coronary at the airport, collapse on the ground and people are just going to step over me to plug in their MacBooks.


Newman vs. Sinatra: As I’m sure you know I’ve made a documentary on Paul Newman and his later years as a professional racecar driver. In that process I learned a lot about his life. He was a devoted father, he was married to Joann Woodward for something like 47 years, and he was an exercise freak who didn’t smoke or drink. I’ve also recently been watching the two-part Sinatra documentary on HBO. Frank had a glass of Jack Daniels in his hand at all times and a cigarette in the other. He was out at all hours banging whores. Yet, they lived to the about the same age. What does that tell you about genetics and about God? Newman was a dedicated family man who treated his body like a temple and was in bed by 10 every night but lived to the same age as the chain-smoking, whoring, alcoholic. So kids if you’re reading this – crack that bottle of Jack and light up a Winston. It just doesn’t matter. Have a highball and a ho. Go sick.


Fuber: I’m not black myself (though I’m not sure because I don’t see color. But everyone tells me I’m white. And a quick peek at my pecker confirms the suspicion.) Anyway, I do identify with the struggle. I hear a lot about how the black man can’t get a cab because of institutionalized racism. Well, as always, I have a solution. Do you remember the clothing line F.U.B.U. – For Us, By Us? Well this is FUBER, the black-only cab service. I think this would solve a lot of problems. You just punch up Fuber on your phone and the Escalade with spinner rims comes right to you. You’re welcome.