I'm mad as heck and I'm not going to take it anymore!

Tonight I was awakened from a fitful drinking binge while watching UFC 127, shortly after six o'clock at night by a shrill, sibilant, faceless voice. At first I thought it was Joe Rogan. It was not.

I couldn’t make it out at first, in the dark living room.
I said "I’m sorry, you will have to talk a little louder. I'm pretty drunk."
And the voice said, "I want you to tell the people the truth. Not easy,
because they don’t wanna know the truth."
And I said "You’re kidding? What the hell should I know about the truth?"
But the voice said to me, "Don't worry about the truth."
"I will put the words in your mouth." And I said "What is this? The burning bush? I’m not Moses." 
And the voice said "I’m not God. What has that got to do with it?"
The voice said "We’re not talking about eternal or absolute or ultimate truth. We're talking about impermanent, transient, BJJ truth. I don't expect you to be capable of truth, but at least you're capable of self-preservation."
And I said "Why me?"
And the voice said, "Because you write a blog, dummy!"
"You have 6 or 7 readers. After this you could have 12! I’m not asking you to wear sackcloth and ashes, preaching the Armageddon. You write a blog, man!"
So I thought about it for a moment.
And then I said "OK."
I don't have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad.
It’s a depression. Everybody’s out of work, or scared of losing their means of paying gym dues.
The dollar buys a nickel’s worth of a crappy UFC pay-per-view that could have gone towards a BJJ tourney. Gyms are going bust. People are lying about being a blackbelt. Arm bars are taught without mentioning that you knee to squeeze your goddamned knees together!
Punks are running wild wearing their shiny Ass-fliction shirts, and nobody knows what to do. There’s no end to it.
We know the air is unfit to breathe and our food is unfit to eat. So many people refuse to wash their gi.
We sit watching our TVs while some local newscaster tells us that today we had over-paid douche just signed a $10 million contract to throw a ball, as if that’s the way it should be.
We know things are bad. Worse than bad. They’re crazy.
Everything is going crazy, so we don’t go out any more.
We sit in the gym, and the worid we live in gets smaller. All we say is "Please, at least leave us alone on our Zebra mats."
"Let me have my gi and my rashguard and I won’t say anything. Just leave us alone."
Well, I’m not going to leave you alone. I want you to get mad!
I don’t want you to protest or riot. I don't want you to write to your congressman. I don’t know what to do about the depression, the inflation and the rubber guard.
All I know is that first you’ve got to get mad!
You’ve gotta say "I’m a human being, goddammit! My life has value!"
So... I want you to get up now.
I want all of you to get up out of your chairs.
I want you to get up right now and go to the window, open it and stick your head out then immediately sit down in butterfly, De La Riva or x-guard and yell "I’m as mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!"  
"I’m as mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!"
Then we’ll figure out what to do about dicks that scream for the fight to be stood up. The wrestlers that are afraid to be on their backs. The assholes that claim they would never tap to a submission.
But first get up out of your chairs, open the window, stick your head out and yell "I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!"

...okay, hold on a second, let take a moment and compose myself. I'm on my sixth margarita and just ate a whole box of Cadbury Creme Eggs. So my tummy hurts.
Yes, that entire rant was stolen and bastardized from the incredible movie Network, but still, homeboy's got a point.