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Computers and the Internet have made it really easy to rant. It's made everyone overly opinionated.
My recipe for dealing with anger and frustration: set the kitchen timer for twenty minutes, cry, rant, and rave, and at the sound of the bell, simmer down and go about business as usual.
I rant, therefore I am.
I rant and rave about noise pollution.
Never angrily rant into your web cam. While smashing a keyboard in half over a game of 'World of Warcraft' may seem totally justified in your head, to the rest of the known universe you look like a raging psychopath.
Facts tend to take the punch out of a good hate rant and are therefore left best unsaid.
Punk was a protest against work and against boredom. It was a sign of life, a rant, a scream, a rejection of bourgeois morals. But have things improved since then? Arguably, they've got worse.
Now, I don't want to get off on a rant here, but guilt is simply God's way of letting you know that you're having too good a time.
One of the people who most influenced me was Ben Shapiro, a marketing professor at the business school. He used to rant and rave and pound his fist: 'It's all about the customers!' And he was right. He was also right that, at that time, retailing was devoid of really talented people; he urged me to go in that direction.
America pays its bills. It always has. It always will. The fact that Washington is now debating whether to honor its debts and obligations, then, should come as a surprise. But playing political football with a necessary vote to raise the nation's debt ceiling has become as predictable as a Twitter rant from Charlie Sheen.