The Daily Caller's Guide to Cool Movies

The following films have been celebrated in the dorm rooms and bachelor pads of many future maverick freethinkers, and continue to inspire and entertain successful, dominant men as P.C. culture and soy milk destroy all valuable art. Almost every one is a must-see for a man who believes in justice for Benghazi and that he could have personally killed Osama Bin Laden better.

1. Taxi Driver: A man struggles in a world where veterans are disrespected and women don't know what they want. Our hero disregards these setbacks, trains at killing, gets bulked up, and takes a solid crack at cleaning up the human trash he sees around him, earning him the admiration of women and society in general.
2. Scarface: A refugee fleeing the nightmare of communism fights to make a place in the world and protect his family, which is ultimately ruined because he cares too much about the women in his life. In the end he is sadly tricked by foreigners who want his job and kill him when his guard is down. The Second Amendment is unable to save him, but he does still get to shoot a big gun a lot of times.
3. A Clockwork Orange: A rad guy named Alix with a no-fucks-given attitude and an actual appreciation for Western arts and culture lives an exciting life with his friends doing whatever they want and resisting control of the nanny-state. The authorities eventually capture Alix and try to reeducate him with some bleeding-heart empathy brainwashing and make him into a weakling. As a weakling, he is easily bullied by cops and the rich, and death is the only answer.
4. American Psycho: A hilarious, charismatic boss with an incisive view of society teaches us how to be awesome and lordly. Patrick Bateman does whatever he wants, and refuses to take shit from women and poor people. Learn how to make the world your playground with the powerful workout and skin care routines of a corporate champion. A warning: in the end, all the cool stuff Bateman has done turns out to be a dream or something, and that he's just a wannabe living in a fantasy world, which doesn't seem right.
5. Fight Club: A sniveling beta learns to become an alpha male through physical combat and by starting several small businesses that help empower sad men and address the crisis of masculinity. As usual, some woman is there to mess things up, and the storyline gets lame by trying to explain away all the cool stuff that happened, claiming it was all a fantasy in the main guy's head. Why do movies do that?
6. Fear and Loathing: A funny, trippy movie for you more artsy types, this is a biting satire of the groovy left that became emboldened in the sixties. An aging burnout takes truckloads of drugs and hallucinates a false reality as he pretends to be an writer. This out-of-touch liberal wanders around Las Vegas contemplating the stupidity of the hippy generation and ends up nowhere.
7. Armageddon: Weak foreigners and our own useless federal government are unable to deal with a looming threat to the world, so the nanny state is forced to turn to good old blue-collar private sector workers in the awesome oil industry to get 'r done. Angry dad Harry Stamper ultimately kills himself rather than see his daughter marry some sissy-boy.
8. Boon Dock Saints: Basically the perfect movie, this grand adventure is filled with manly Irish pride, a refutation of all things P.C., and an adrenalin-filled illustration of why you need a good guy with a gun to stop to stop a bad guy with a gun. That dude from the Walking Dead and another badass white dude with culture and violence skills star in this immensely satisfying vigilante tale. Along the way, the boys buy guns from the IRA, and fight Russians on St. Patrick's Day. They start off as two normal guys, but decide to become serious gangsters and it all works out. This movie also shows that homosexuals can be cool cops and call other homosexuals “fag” and it's funny.
9. Wolf of Wall Street: A man proves that you can pull yourself up by your own bootstraps if you try hard and learn to be charismatic, and understand how business works. The protagonist makes crazy money, does awesome drugs, and gets to bang Margot Robbie. They try to discredit him in the end, but at least acknowledge that a true man like that can't be held down. Cool fact, this film was even funded by money that smart business-types funneled out of a Malaysian charity fund.
10. The Grinch Who Stole Christmas: Dr. Seuss had penned this awesome revenge plot of a singular strong man who takes revenge upon a collectivized society of virtue-signalers, but left it unfinished when he died. The story was finished by his wife who (surprise surprise!) makes the Grinch soften into a grade “A” pussy who redistributes his wealth in a sickening metaphor for the welfare state.

The 10 Best Fireworks I've Created

1. Jubilee Jimmies- Four cresting showers of blinky spectrum dust, rippled with candy clouds of sunset vermilion for a rosy finish.
2. The Grippled Guzzler-An ionized fountain of indigo streamers that introduce three orchid-pops of golden sparks and culminate in a phlox-colored brocade of spectral bees.
3. The Rusty Torch-Crickets and raver smoke to start, then a continuing stream of moonbursts and a colliding finale of zooming crackleshot.
4. That Handsome Lyre-A gallant commencement of twin solenoid antennae that usher further spangles into a glittering, zithery helix.
5. Hopscotch Nightmare-A cannonade of arduous baps opens the field for blooming tracelets that scan a pathway of skidder dots, and culminate in three glittering foxfire willows.
6. The Handy Dandelion-Eight pops of sandy crackers and an orange wisp of elastic haze precede sociable ball lightening and a twittering barrage of Sunkist polyhedral nets.
7. Clown Escape-A fat nightshade of marsh gas fluff that putters up into a flume of wizard-breath.
8. The Mystical Thistle Missile-A scoping rocket of violent radium tassels traces a turning threat into an empyrean ring shell and a rising tail of parabolas.
9. Blind Man's Backgammon-A ghost-face of silver rivulets that cross a sullen field in slashes of rolled stars.
10. A Haunted Radio-Auburn trunks of platonic gasses continue to a choir of friar's lanterns, a tri-burst of whimsical peridots, and a neon-cinnamon finale.

How To Be a Writer in Any Time

Dear Reader,

     I wish I could have been a writer in a past era. I feel like for a while writing actually mattered and everyone knew who all the big talents were and any piece of paper with writing on it counted as money. You could travel around the world and if you said you were a writer, people would let you sleep in their barn and name their animals, and if you killed their priest, you became the new priest! Even if literacy wasn't your thing, folks in the bygone days at least used to pretend to read in public; it's a great way to avoid socializing with others while still peeking at them like a creep.

     These days writing is just coming up with good headlines for people to skim while they pretend to do research for an internet argument. Today people hate words, and they only want to dryly smile at pictures of celebrities re-purposed as depression memes. Even pooping, a built-in reading period for people, is now just a time to get more germs on your phone.

     In our era it's harder to do anything, so I've been feeling hopeless and reading up on my ancestors, who were mostly famous writers. I even found some personal histories and advice these writers had left for the benefit of future generations. I decided to spare you all their fancy word construction and break it down into easy step-by-step formulas for achieving literary success. Hopefully these steps will give you some perspective on the art of writing throughout the ages and show you how simple it used to be.

Primordial Ooze Era:

1. Emerge.
2. Feed.
3. Turn into a new color.
4. Replicate.

Caveman Era:

1. Dream of a new understanding that speaks through you.
2. Draw a symbol that illuminates a hidden flower of the mind.
3. Record the symbol in a place of magic and timelessness.
4. Die, content and whole, with a whisper for the eons.

Bronze Age:

1. Get born into the aristocratic class and show confidence in counting and animal sacrifice.
2. Spend your days agreeing with the king and pressing a stamp into bricks of clay so he knows the numbers of sheep and grain and bricks of clay he possesses.
3. Preserve a traveling legend by continuing an oral tradition through generations until writing gets more developed.
4. Bore future schoolchildren.
5. Get portrayed in a big dumb movie by someone with breathtaking abs.

Ancient Greece:

1. Live in a giant sea shell in the market square and yell at merchants about reality.
2. Found a school that studies a particle you invented.
3. Travel to Egypt to steal their coolest ideas.
4. Donate a ragged treatise carved on goatskin to the library of Alexandria, to be lost forever.
5. Float around Wikipedia as a name with almost no info attached.

Medieval Times:

1. Receive a boon of education from the church.
2. Trace an idea in your mind for twenty years as you labor ceaselessly at a harsh craft.
3. Pine for an unreachable love.
4. Get banished.
5. Send a beautiful letter to a rich person.

The Renaissance:

1. Find a mad patron dying of gout.
2. Make up how logic works.
3. Fuck with alchemy.
4. Somehow advance Western thought for the betterment of humanity.

Colonial Era:

1. Go somewhere subjected for your approval.
2. Throw yourself into an abyss of drugs and disease.
3. Collect a dazzling and misunderstood folk tale.
4. Buckle up the swashes and add a heaving bosom or two.
5. Throw some Christianity in there.
6. Find the most racist illustrator available.

World War 1:

1. Study agonizingly boring texts while the schoolmaster hits you.

2. Discover sex through a hideous cartoon manual for men and start repressing.
3. Run off to join the jolly old war.
4. Discover war is bad, and write home to tell them the news.
5. Sell long-form rhyming poetry about atrocity during a world-wide economic depression.
6. Become a schoolmaster and hit children when they remind you of your war friends.

Modern Era:

1. Be cruel to a woman; push her until she breaks.
2. Throw yourself into an abyss of drugs and sports.
3. Write about the disagreement with the woman, but make yourself a soldier or a doctor or something.
4. Publish the story to acquire wealth and new women.
5. Kill yourself.

Post-Modern Era:

1. Find a fiery, self-aggrandizing group of artistic riff-raff.
2. Pick a cool name together and reject all other human knowledge.
3. Use the media to spit in society's face and receive massive critical acclaim.
4. Decide you're apolitical, or secretly embrace fascism.
5. Still alive? Retire to exotic locale and claim everything was your idea.

The Present:

1. Feed sad people lies about their suffering, and say mean things on the internet to the celebrities of the opposition.
2. Get the call-up for some mostly symbolic government position and look the other way while terrible things happen.
3. Write a book on how you were right about everything.
4. Get a podcast so you can sell t-shirts and mugs promoting inside jokes.

Future Era:

1. Leave hidden resistance communiques as you flee fascist robo-soldiers.
2. Invent a spray paint can that melts enemies' faces off when you graffiti them.
3. Travel back in time to rehash 2016 yet again.
4. Make positive hip-hop in an underground city of anarchist cyborgs.

     Keep in mind that if you are able to time-travel into any of these parts of the past and follow the easy steps, they still might not work for you. I can only provide a general illustration of what I remember these guys probably said. Keep in mind my whole family has always been rich, white, landowning males (even before race and land ownership were made up), and this possibly could have helped in our achievements. Please remember that literary success is measured in a variety of ways, most significantly that after you are dead, people who seem smart say that you were special.

Dating Site Excerpt

Likes/Dislikes:

     Like with most people, texture is important to me. I don't think that it's unreasonable to have preferences about what kind of material you want to interact with in your life. I want to be transparent about who I am so potential suitors can know what to avoid messing around with if they want to be in my life.

      I can't even look at cardboard. I get this reflexive shudder that tingles through the roots of my feeling, a prairie wind shivering through my brain's discomfort center. I feel phantom rakes of cardboard passing in the softness between my fingers and toes with a rough crackle, or sawing the backs of my knees. Imagine gnawing on a crispy Styrofoam cup and trying to grind up that squelching, rubbery mass with squeaky teeth. Picture etching on a thick window with a metal strut, and the sound it would make. I can feel the chirping friction moving through me like electric blood. My brains taste the barking seal whimper of someone slipping in a bathtub, that sound of rubbery flesh squawking against unyielding vinyl: it's like a slurp of rotten juice right after a minty tooth-brushing. Even describing it to you now makes all my skin clench and thrill in horripulation like a shocking change of temperature or an impending bowel movement. I recently saw just the words “dry rub” on a spice packet and was enveloped in a sensory field of chaffing, crunchy waves of texture: a hell-spa on a beach of blasted asbestos where someone rubs packing peanuts against a crumbling brick wall with an itchy hand, where powdery, flaking lips brush a sun-bleached shell and splintered fingernails scrape a desiccated scab, where a dehydrated sponge rasps dead skin off a crumbling forehead. Sundered in this sea of violent texture, I am reduced to a twitching nerve ending, a screaming chalkboard in the night.

     There's food stuff, too. It's the chomping. That Bugs Bunny gristly bite like two glaciers battling in my skull. Why even make food crunchy? The hollow, frictional ca-chunka of some horse-mouthed pervert burying his fangs in crispy matter is like a clawed hand tickling my balls from the inside or a cold tooth hitting hot soup. It's like a hot blast of a strange animal's breath into all your breathing holes or hearing part of your own body snap. You ever see your dad crush a bloated roach with a flip flop in '93? Don't wonder why I'm unable unable to eat hash brown patties or pretzels or croquettes or stroopwaffles or felafel or rice krispee treats. How do you tromp through this tactile discord, oblivious and unbothered? Why not just see what your fingernails feel like bent totally backwards or how far you can push a chive up into your head through your nasal cavity? Why not bite a fork or try or touch your eyeball with a toothpick?

     Some people just have these things. It's not all the cute synesthesic playground of these happy-go-lucky ASMR sensationalists tingling away to the radio or some rolling co-eds experiencing a whispery futurist playing with rain-sticks or farofluid in a darkened gallery. I know a guy who gets mad whenever he hears a harmonica and another who would throw up if you said “wet cheese” to him. I've read about an heiress who sneezed at the sight of butterscotch color and an uncle who soiled himself whenever he smelled burning rubber.

     So keep the TV on loud, slurp your coffee, protest deodorant, just don't open a package around me. Keep your skin properly lubricated and don't drag things or work with wood. Watch your fingernails. Machines should stay oiled and alone. Cereal should be left to sog. Velcro is unnecessary. Animals can work out on materials away from the house. You are better off not scratching yourself anyway. Rust should not be permitted. Carpet is lovely; why leave a floor naked? This is not a thing that does it for me. Why do people think if you hate something enough it must be the key to getting your rocks off? Do you think drowning, or headcheese, or war is sexy? You probably do. Well I'm not like that. A wet friction is fine. I don't want you to bring sandpaper or borax into the bedroom. I've got claws of my own and I don't need any dried animal bones or bow drills in my life. I have in fact tried meditation and medication, but you know what? There's a dryness that cannot be tamed, and I don't plan on spending my time burning in the fires of my disgust. I want to live my life with proper texture, not screaming frisson dancing along my tightening flesh.

     I'm also not really a dog guy.

Hangover Tinctures

In honor of Jazz Fest season and the tincture sister who created this ancient blog, V.R. Has compiled a short list of local remedies for party casualties struggling with the morning after an odyssey of bad decisions. Consume at your own risk.

The Gilded Age Glider 

(A.K.A. Garfield's Patent Medicine Death Fluid)

This tincture was first popularized over a century ago as the formula forced into dying President Garfield as he succumbed to his assassination over a period of weeks. This recipe has been used as a old wives' remedy in New Orleans for generations for prone, unresponsive people who might be dying or sick.

➤On an industrious day free of dust storms and cholera, combine beef bouillon, eggs, laudanum, rustic lye, pickled pig lips and Worcestershire sauce in a trough and mix with a scythe of a seventh son. Administer as an enema. Will not prevent death.

Solo Juice 

(A.K.A. Burnout Levee Libation)

Recovered from a U.F.O. abduction site on local festival grounds, this tincture is good trip fuel and works as a charm of protection for a lonely fest-goer who has ended up on their own mission in the ghostly morning.

➤Take a thermos of fermented tea and shake in ground maca-maca, sorghum, guarana, and qat leaves with an old chopstick. In a sweaty backpack, put the thermos next to a chillum of dry, inexpensive weed and a box of cold fried chicken and wander down to the Mississippi at the bottom of the Quarter. Experience the savage eye of the molten sun radiating prehistorical energy, and the cold fluttering windlets off of the river. Sit with a crowd of confused families and meandering drug users and think about what your dad used to feel like, and the limits of language, and what's going on in your stomach.

The Jogger

A healthy, motivated choice for the vacationer who is addicted to destroying their legs and looking weird instead of sleeping.

➤Awake in the steamy pre-dawn and consume two pellets of mycoprotein and a micro-dosed Powerade while listening to your Joe Rogan Investment Strategy audiobook. Put on those toe-shoes and build a luminous sheen of sweat around your reflector gear as you canter through trash and vomit in the dark. Run against traffic, wearing headphones that inoculate you with powerful fitness hip-hop.

Crustlord's Punch 

(A.K.A. The Trainhopper's Wife, or the Oogle Plus)

A favorite of New Orleans' most-hated population of transient neutral ground dwellers, this communal libation provides relief from society and features lingering digestive effects.

➤Wring out a heavily used bar rag into a Styrofoam shell of forgotten french fries. Drink a King Cobra halfway down and refill with a pre-2008 Sparks Stinger and hot kraut juice. Knock over a generic Midwestern beer and put more stickers on your guitar. Try and stop your dog from fighting and serve tincture in a barrel of fire.

No Rest for the Wicked

Created by the sad teens at Cafe Beignet, No Rest For the Wicked is a recent New Orleans tincture based on a folk recipe enjoyed by libertine service workers since the dawn of capitalism.

➤Wake up still drunk after two hours of unconscious drooling and groan on your lurch to work, dry-heaving and expelling phlegm loudly. Ask your coworkers for investment-banker-grade Adderol, 5-Hour Energy, Excedrin plus, a large ice coffee with espresso added, and a bite of something warm out of the oven. Fight through the shift like a dying samurai and serve customers a dried smile of despair. For an extra New Orleans twist, include a family emergency, a rat on the loose, or a customer who needs you to help them have a really special day.

Double Down 

(A.K.A. Stag Party Toughguy)

A stupid cocktail for the morning after you've thoughtlessly mixed dangerous combinations of substances all night and you realize you're invincible and can destroy your body forever.

➤Assimilate DayQuil, clamato, and chocolate wine together in a skull goblet and garnish with salt and a dead cricket. Enjoy with a Smokin Joes Red 100 at a bus station. Sum up your life in a single short sentence and leave a dirty flip-flop on Nicholas Cage's mausoleum.

Doctor's Orders 

(A.K.A. The Expert)

A hangover is a wonderful thing if you have the time and expertise to enjoy it. This local favorite is available to residents and visitors alike, but is best enjoyed in a messy, comfortable home containing the first smells of summer funk.

➤Take a slept-in, miraculous day off and combine with pirated television on the lap top and powerful cannabis, preferably the Deep Cheese or Alaska Thunder Grape strains. Walk around the sunlit apartment naked or at least in your most busted undies. Steal your roommate's LaCroix and combine with a Goya ginger beer and whatever juice dregs live in your fridge. Consider getting breakfast delivered, eating a whole box of cereal, or making a decadent, imperfect frittata. Bonus: if there's someone there you fucked last night, fuck 'em again!

Contributor Bios

Welcome to Volcano Reviews, the best think tank and blog matrix for getting the hottest takes on the most vital news of each hour! We've assembled a balanced team of fair-minded journalists to report the stories you need to know about all the time. Check out our staff bios below and then explore some of our timely, informed content.

Our Contributors:

John Justice

A former foreign security adviser and dissent investigator for the state department, Justice is an ancient torso filled with ash and spiders and connected to a mountain of military-grade medical machinery prolonging his “life”. With a diverse body of work in consulting that includes visiting tenures at the School of the Americas and Japan's Unit 731, Justice has enjoyed a storied intelligence career, helping to clear domestic surveillance barriers and vanquishing many potential threats to our country, often before they even reached military age. Justice currently telecommutes as the e-warden of several hundred private prisons and even manages Comcast's complaint department on the side. Check out his recent articles “Why Monopolies are Great for the Poor”, “Keep War Privatized”, and “Trump is the Only Thing Wrong With America”.

Fox Lockwheel

A steampunk librarian and vampire hunter, Fox Lockwheel is at the forefront of psykonautic DreamWave expansionism and other emerging consciousness-expansion movements. One of Reefer Babe's most popular Smoke Show Video Vixens, Fox has heroically broken open the marijuana livestream industry for skinny, beautiful women with tattoos. A stateless oogle unconcerned with time or possessions, Fox thrives free from encumbrance of home or job, surviving monetarily through her popular Restless Flames online shop where patrons can purchase stealth crystals, kava shakes, kratum enemas, machine elves, sex harnesses, latex goods, votive lubricant, trepanning supplies, body-positive chain mail, fingerless gloves, and indie video games. Relax your anus and dip into a new awareness with Fox's new articles “How Psychedelics Changed the World of Sex Worker Doomsday Prepping”, “Skincare Tips For the Recently Tear-Gassed” and “How to Date a Deodorant Person”.

Viktor Sabonis

A withered partisan and laborer of the forgotten ages, Sabonis is a mournful ghost with over two centuries of membership in U.S. labor groups and a magic alabaster shillelagh imbued with the power of solidarity. He shakes his phantom chains and pleads with the world through foreboding eyes, waiting for the final workers' revolution that will allow his spirit to rest in his family's plot in Lithuania. Sabonis is the only blogger on our site with memories of life before 2001, and gives a free three-hour history talk at the public library every Sunday, his trembling whisper barely audible over the rumbling city traffic. Empower yourself with Viktor's latest articles “350 Countries That Are Secretly Fascist”, “Other Things We Could Do With 700 Billion Dollars Besides Kill People”, and “5 Reasons You Should Topple the Masters and Burn the Prisons Today”.

Malo Nguesso

An undocumented refugee from the Congo, Nguesso lives in the house of a retiree he murdered, collecting her social security and using her computer to support Donald Trump. Tired of our bleeding-heart P.C. culture that has allowed entitled barbarians to ruin Western Civilization with sex crimes, library use, and exploitable labor, Nguesso channels his rage into positive actions like thinking up puns on the names of liberal politicians, listing non-slavery reasons the U.S. Civil War was fought, and making sure there is always a devil's advocate in the conversation. The unlawful owner of 58 guns, Nguesso believes police have the duty to kill him if they find him. See his work in his recent articles “Teachers Should Stop Complaining”, “Let Addicts Die” and “How Retirement Creates a Victim Mentality”.

Laurie Kablowski

Trapped in a K-hole of NPR coverage, Laurie Kablowski eats cold pickled eggs with a joyless face in her Deep State office hidden at the U of C Berkley, where she is researching emasculating chemicals and gay animals. The office also houses her lover and three adult children (paid protesters), and smells like a nutty dog-fart tooted into a wet burrow of kimchi. A former drug-runner and terrorist organizer, Ms. Kablowski now continues the struggle by sharing six or seven pieces of political content every day on Facebook, and blocking the door while talking hoarsely to youth with an intense gleam in her eye. Join Laurie and the #resistance by sharing her recent pieces “9 Morning Mantras Trump Hates”, “We Should All Switch To Using This Kind Of Straw” and “Let's Help This Etruscan Plus-Size Model Buy the Kanye Jacket of Her Dreams”.

BETSY 385

A housewife android created decades ago for future that never arrived, BETSY 385 has an iron, unchanging smile of total emptiness. In an attempt to appear human, she regularly publishes in USA Today about a normal human life she wished she possessed. In the fantasy world she creates in her writing, she has a soldier husband and two kids for school. At the park for Saturday they throw a Frisbee and discuss the wonderful singers they watched on television at school. See how the dog will catch the Frisbee? Here comes Christmas again, children. See how happy the sky is. Explore the normal American experience with BETSY 385's recent pieces “150 Reasons Everyone Should Like Italian Food” and “I Like How Ellen DeGeneres Makes Me Happy” and “Feet: Why Do They Hurt?”

Emerson DeWhilliker III

Dressed like a vaudeville fancy man and speaking in the honeyed drawl of a homespun Bond villain, Emerson DeWhillicker III has worked long and hard to maintain his inherited class and authority, sustaining his pride and noble demeanor despite the ravages of the estate tax and the looming threat of intersectionality. A lover of talking down, natural distrust, happy blacks, and folksy historical deceit, DeWhillicker feels racism was just about solved around 2004 and was reintroduced to the United States during the Obongo administration. Enjoy his old-world wit at play in his recent pieces “Jazz Ruined Our Musical Heritage”, “Why Sodomy Only Applies to Women” and “How Libertarianism Won World War Two”.

Molly Molasses

Sassy, practical, and outspoken, Molly Molasses brings an accessible middle-American sensibility to her work, which ranges from thrifty shopping lists and sassy stands on manners to brave character assassination pieces on twitter feminists and pictures of herself holding guns or fish. An fiercely traditional mom who wishes we were back in the good old days, Ms. Molasses is a voice of reason standing against troublemakers who want to bring politics into food, religion, art, education, or entertainment. A multimillionaire with a successful tablescape line, she still feels most self-actuated and comfortable at home taking orders from her husband and twelve sons. Check her out in her recent articles “Take Easter Back from the Pagans” “5 Tragic Victims Whose Parents Should Have Taught Them Better” and “Why Moms Shouldn't Tip”.

Trent Dent

Trent Dent considers himself the most reasonable man alive, and possibly the only mature, objective voice left in media. As a bold centrist, he has spent years bravely defending the embattled status quo from thoughtless activists who only care about results. Dent's practical desire for positive change is tempered with a inherent need for total capitulation to his opponent's policies, a realistic understanding of the process of change, an appreciation of our laws and institutions, a vision of the greater good, a healthy respect for the people in the know, an acceptance of the world we live it, and a worship of the politically feasible. Dent believes he is the logical, practical choice for the next Chief Apologist for the White House, and hopes to use his position to help anarchists think more about optics, make unionists stop complaining, and force the Green Party to grow up already. Sigh to yourself while waiting in line, and peruse Trent's recent articles “Let's Only Crush Half the Poor” “Why We Should Give Trump a Second Chance” and “I Don't Agree With Cancer, But I Admire Its Passion.”

Living In Rage

Why Living In Rage Is For You:

      Imagine the merciless jerk you've always fantasized about becoming. You are pushed aside and ignored, given bad directions, locked out in the rain, saddened by your own organs, unable to find the brand you prefer, deceived while growing up, and tortured by your boss/parents/partner/society/football team/customer service representative. You've resisted giving yourself over to the ferocious power bitterly rising within by weathering the tortures of this cruel reality like a modern-day saint, and without the appreciation you deserve. It's time you truly understand how right it is to be mad. Go ahead. Be mad. I'm mad. Anyone who is paying attention should be mad. Welcome to the beginning of Living in Rage.

      Reader, perhaps you have picked up this instructional course as a passing curiosity, or seen it briefly mentioned in our media hellscape and wished to investigate. Maybe you accidentally stumbled upon this instructional course in your quest to read A Rage to Live or Living With Rage. Could be you have opened this book because a swelling, lavish anger has made itself known in your life, and certain people around you have encouraged you to remove this part of your character like an unfortunate vestigial organ. Possibly some court system or coercive force from friends or family have pushed you into seeking “solutions” to the virulent force that boils in your throat even now. Perhaps you already feel the heady truth in a swell of passionate bile thrumming up through your body like an infusion of animal power from another dimension. However you have arrived here, I urge you to stay and explore this wild and determined spirit that inhabits you, and seek a higher self that can be accessed with my system of self-improvement. If this is not your intention, or you don't feel up to embracing your inner strength, you are free to fuck off, weakling.

About Me:

      I would never have imagined, years ago, just one of a few angry men violently taking control of our Rageoholics Anonymous group, that I was building a philosophy that could help others, and I never could have dreamed, when I was just another anger coach roaring and smashing things in the dark of my ex-wife's garden shed, that I would be part of a world-wide movement. I guess it's all just a testament to the power of rage, which has brought us so much.

   I was encouraged in these early years to record my revelations, a suggestion by my then friend and colleague, the pathetic rat fuck David Barbaro, who has now shown his true colors and who can rot in Hell with the rest of his minions in the Cult of Fury, which is a lifeless charade propagated by phonies who deserve to be crushed like maggots. As the crowds at my talks, demonstrations, rampages and arrests grew, I became more adept at tapping deeply into the rage inside me, and I realized I had become part of something greater than myself. One night, on hold with my cable company while watching network news coverage and trying to open the plastic packaging around a pair of headphones with my bare hands, I had a transcendent experience. I was sobbing and hyperventilating, smashing my most treasured possessions and breaking down some wall by hand, when suddenly a new white-hot gateway of seething wrath opened inside me and I found myself in a place of limitless rage, pure and ever-flowing. No other emotion had ever filled me with such holy purpose: rage gave me a sense of entitled righteousness, made surety rise within me, and narrowed my path to one inevitable choice. I believe this eternal furnace of avarice is inside all of us, available to any who seek, and given generously to those with access to motor traffic or a capitalist society.

      So if you're wondering about that new lump, looking at your savings, glaring at the front of the line, missing interpersonal signals, making beginner's mistakes (that any goddamn fucking idiot would avoid), getting stupid mail, wasting your time with someone who doesn't care, and a billion other unavoidable realities of life, it's time you choose spite. Choose avarice. Choose rancor. I'm not asking you to give up on the world, I'm saying put your money on a different horse.

Why You Should Embrace Rage:

      Rage is a superpower. For one thing, it instantly makes you right about everything. It throws your whole life into perspective and connects you to the now. It casts aside the inhibiting power of others and justifies all your needs. Rage can easily overcome fear, logic, self-preservation, even love. It is is a power source that perpetuates itself and is easily spread. Negative feedback from aggressive anger only feeds that anger further. Rage builds on itself; it self-replicates, multiplies. New sources of rage lay around you, waiting to be tapped: keys fall through plumbing, umbrellas are unfaithful, people blame you for your failures, bad deals sit in their paperwork and plan your future, sex turns despotic and unrevealing, motor traffic is arbitrary and cruel, food probes our neuroses and television fills us with a passive exhaustion that makes us better and better at giving up.

In the following book, you'll find:

• The Living in Rage Activity Booklet: A series of written activities where readers can fill in instructive lists such as Things Everybody Gets to Have Except Me, Reasons I'm Not Rich, and People Who Are Fucking It Up For the Rest of Us. Embark on personal exploration with The Failures Reflected Back In the Eyes of Your Partner, and Past Opportunities That Could Have Made Everything Different worksheets.

• The Cultivation of Rage Zones: A guide to securing a hole for yelling into, a tree you can strike, a nearby animal you can threaten, or the art of spontaneously using a public space to talk to yourself out loud in that special tone you use when you become a conduit for greater forces.

• Tips For Maintaining Rage: Fatigue often slows down productive sessions, so this course provides simple tips like staying at a job or turning on a computer, to more developed practices like mantras of bitterness and regrets to feed and cling to.

Testimonials from Readers:

“I used to try and find common ground when I spoke to others about politics. Now I devote twenty-five hours a week to lifting huge weights and combat training while I listen to angry talk radio. You should see how powerful I get when someone disagrees with me on the internet!”

-Ryan S. 

“It's like there's pieces of me licking other pieces of me across the hot rim of all surfaces. I'm probably ruining the neighbors' marriage through the wall with all the rotten thoughts and bad movement I'm cultivating.”

-Matt Z.

“Thanks to Living in Rage, I've stopped going to therapy, and now instead I walk around on rainy days and stomp on my face's reflection in puddles.”

-Brendan B.

   So join the seething ranks, and become a part of the problem. There is an infinite, everlasting source of anger that calls to each person from the beyond. Existence is unjust, and we can feel this basic truth under the surface at all times, calling us to the true path. Reach out and embrace this higher force; the energy behind all creation. It's not important that you recognize this force as some established, institutional god; I have many followers who do not wish to worship any personified god of mainstream religion, but instead rely on a more personal Higher Power, an eternal wellspring of madness to tap into and maintain their connection to anger. In my book I'll show you how to embrace and seek this limitless channel of holy rage and use it in your day-to-day life. One thing I've always enjoyed about anger is that it is a one-size-fits-all solution. From solving problems at the airport and on the street to dealing with parents, or getting what you think you want from your spouse (just ask my sixth wife, Lana), anger instills you with a charisma and confidence you've always wanted, and even works for a pathetic miscreant like yourself, dummy.