Unknown Rants—they’re the thoughts that don’t fit anywhere else. The shit you can’t bottle up anymore, the rants that don’t belong in polite conversation or neat little categories. These are the musings of a mind that’s been through the wringer, the frustrations and confessions that have nowhere else to go but out. In this space, you’ll find everything from the absurd to the painfully real. It’s where the raw truths come to the surface, the stuff we’re not supposed to say. It’s unfiltered, unapologetic, and often messy, because that’s life. Life doesn’t come with a manual, and neither do these rants. They’re the thoughts and observations of someone who’s tired of pretending, tired of fitting into boxes.
This was in Bend, Oregon. After twenty years of a loveless, sexless marriage—a slow death by a thousand paper cuts—I was finally off the leash. Officially Mr. Playboy, enjoying the goddamn high point of a life lived on my own…
I think if a blue-haired activist can scream in the middle of a city square about the moral right to extinguish a healthy fetus for convenience, and some overweight patriot in wraparound shades can wave the American flag while shouting…
I’m parked on my usual barstool at the local watering hole, third Hazy IPA in, watching two guys a few stools down chirp back and forth like neutered parrots. One of them’s got a polo shirt tucked into skinny jeans,…
Blood in My Stool This Isn’t Therapy—It’s the Shit I Lived Through Most podcasts want to fix you. Not this one. Blood in My Stool isn’t some motivational echo chamber wrapped in a neat little recovery arc. It’s raw, unfiltered,…
Marriage was supposed to be the thing that anchored me. The white picket fence, the Sunday dinners, the carefully curated photos on social media that screamed, Look, I made it. I had the house, the wife, the job, the kids.…
You’re 56, huh? You’re old enough to know that family’s a damn joke, but young enough to still get pissed off about it. And I get it, I really do. It’s a brutal kind of truth when you realize that…
The greatest gift your parents ever gave you isn’t the things they bought, the places they took you, or the lessons they tried to teach you. It’s their dysfunction. Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but stick with me. You…
Another drink, another thought—this one gnawing at me. Why the hell do we tip the pretty girls but not the ones busting their asses behind the scenes? You ever think about that? You pay fourteen bucks for a hamburger, right?…
Another damn drink, another thought, and it hits me like a wrecking ball to the gut. Men are being told to soften up, feel more, get in touch with our “feminine side”—whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. And women?…
The “low-hanging fruit” woman. Ever since my first breakup, the one after my divorce, these Low-hanging fruit women has been my go-to. The kind of woman who’s always there, easy to grab when the loneliness starts gnawing at you. She’s…
I remember hearing once that in your 50s, you learn what’s going to kill you. It’s like life finally hands you a death certificate in progress and tells you to start taking notes. Maybe it’s the lungs, maybe the heart,…
I went on a date with this woman once—one of those self-proclaimed “good moms.” You know the type. The ones who brag about how open they are with their kids, how they let their teenage sons bring their girlfriends over…
I just read a report about the Department of Government Efficiency—DOGE, because even the government’s own people are in on the joke—and in just thirty days, they exposed exactly what anyone with half a brain already knew. Retirement processing for…
I’m getting old. It’s not a question anymore, it’s a goddamn fact. I see it in the mirror—the roadmap of whiskey and bad nights etched around my eyes. I feel it in my joints when I get out of bed,…
I’m 56, single, and thought I had exorcized all my mommy issues. But here I am, swiping through the wreckage of the dating pool, and all I see is her. Not literally, but close enough—dark, tired eyes, the weight of…
Monogamy. What a goddamn joke. Used to be, it meant one person for life. Till death do us part. The penguins do it. The swans. But humans? Nah, we ran that word through the wringer, chewed it up, spit it…
If you can sit down, take a deep breath, and make a list of every fucked-up thing that’s ever happened to you—every disaster, every betrayal, every gut punch life has thrown your way—and somehow, somehow, you’re still standing, still moving,…