How to Rage at Inanimate Objects
There are many inanimate objects in this world that undoubtedly deserve your righteous fury. The fates of the universe may have misaligned your timing with that of their machinations, or they may have shut themselves off for reasons you don’t even understand because manuals, haha what?
Perhaps you are blaming the object itself for revealing to you something that you do not care for, such as that you’re not actually good at video games or that you are currently losing a bet on which group of guys can repeatedly return a ball to the opposite side of a field better.
If you’re not absolutely sure how to react when an inanimate object does not do your bidding, then look no further, friend. You have arrived in the right place maybe. Assuming someone with an advanced degree or something cool like a really big beard or a falcon didn’t already write something similar.
This guide will reveal to you the proper ways of assigning blame onto these pieces of crap that don’t even work, preferably without harming them, as they actually do probably work most of the time and you’re just really frustrated and impatient. Though if they’re not yours, feel free to go to town! Just remember to leave the scene directly after and deny blame.
The Alarm Clock
Usually an alarm clock would incur your wrath for not going off when it is supposed to, making yourself even later for whatever it is you’re doing by dolling out insults and physical violence against it.
If you’re looking for a bit crazier of a scenario, you might also unleash pure vengeance against your alarm clock simply for waking you up at all. Either way, proceed to pick up the offending alarm clock, hold it close to your face (so it can hear you better), and dish out some really great zingers. That’ll show it. If you need inspiration, try such lines as, “You were supposed to work, why didn’t you work,” “They’re going to fire me if I’m late again you @$$#()!%,” or the simple yet profound “#$^@ you, alarm clock.”
Playing video games can be just a swell time, a great way to unwind at the end of a long day or a way to stay sharp and keep your senses and reaction time finely honed. Other times people are better at them than you, and that can make you mad. Sometimes your Internet connection is slow for a tenth of a second, and that ruins your life. When taking out your rage at these happenings on the unsuspecting (because they’re just boxes with wires in them) video game console/your computer, be sure to place the blame entirely on the magic game box. It wasn’t that you had your timing slightly off, no way; you’re awesome at this. It’s this stupid thing’s fault for the button on the controller sticking and not letting you reload on time, or the connection’s fault for giving your opponent the completely unfair advantage of a tenth of a second.
Much like with the alarm clock, shout obscenities at your magic game box. If you’re feeling in the mood to spend some money, go ahead and throw your controller on the ground for wronging you so. Because it’s the plastic’s fault and never yours.
Proportionally, the TV probably takes the most abuse of any inanimate object. It could be yelled at because your favorite sports team is losing, because the DVR failed to record the first 30 seconds of Homeland, or because Animal Practice was on and you just couldn’t control yourself. Nevertheless, the TV is also the most fragile so you have to be especially careful not to turn your pathos into physicality. If you find yourself unable to simply scream at something that can’t hear you or recognize your indignation, do try to direct your ultimate pain-giving to the remote. Bite it or throw it in the couch or something. Just don’t throw it into the TV because shoot, then you might as well have wailed on the thing and felt the sweet, familiar sting of broken glass in flesh.
Now this is one of the most diverse areas of misappropriated rage direction. You could be upset at your own car for not starting, other cars because the people in them are idiots, or the public transit system for being delayed when you’re trying to get somewhere important, like wing night at The Wing Shanty. Just as what you’re yelling at is diverse, so is the method of exclaiming your rage.
It’s hard to yell at public transit without looking like a crazy person, so keep that one to yourself. Release that anger on a pillow or through the bottom of a bottle of whiskey later. Yelling at your own car goes much like the processes outlined previously; namely, obscenities. Though since your car is large enough to kill a person and isn’t made at least entirely of plastic (hopefully), it can take more abuse than an alarm clock or a game controller. Feel free to strike the steering wheel or kick the glove box, though with the understanding that the only pain you’ll be inflicting will only be on your tiny, soft hands and feet. But you can imagine that if the car could feel pain, man it would be hurting right now. Ha. Jerk.
That said, yelling at other cars, though cathartic, doesn’t often work because cars are unable to hear and the folks driving them can’t hear you either, because you both have giant walls of car blocking the sound. So unless both of you have your windows rolled down, you’ll need to step up your game with offensive hand gestures. You could give the standard middle finger to the other car, but if you want to get creative you could make gestures that imply that the other driver is a big fan of certain appendages, especially in their mouths. Either that or they’ll think you’re telling them to brush their teeth.
Patrick is a writer and comedian living in Chicago and is mostly quiet around things that are not capable of sentient thought, with the exception of certain foods. Then he mostly makes Homer Simpson noises. He makes the occasional cartoon on his Tumblr and the occasional witticism/annoying complaint at Twitter @fatfraud.
Patrick has previously shifted blame away from himself with the cunning use of booze in Shower Beers and Other Alcoholic Fun. He also previously outlined the inexperience old people tend to have with another inanimate object in We Must Hide the Internet from Grandma.