Yup, this is it.   Frank's Tank.   Yup.   Question: What is Frank's Tank?   Answer: I have no fucking idea.   I have been jerking around on the world wide web since nineteen-ot-ninety-four and have succeeded in creating absolutely nothing of value. (OK, maybe ONE site was worth a couple of bucks, but that was an accident.)   As I look around the internet, I see little that inspires me. Being a 40 year-old loser working at a shit job as a night auditor for a large hotel chain, I find it depressing that there is little or nothing that can make me feel like there's a reason NOT to pull the trigger. As I sit here re-enacting my own little Fight Club finale, I realize that there is truth in the line, "With a gun barrel in your mouth, you can only talk in vowels." Fortunately, this does not affect the consonants on my computer. All letters will be displayed on this page unless the nickel plated toothbrush accidentally goes off and splatters my keyboarding skills across the wall behind me.   Yeah, this is what I was looking for. A page that makes me realize what a truly worthless life I live. A page that gives me the opportunity to review my worthlessness and display it to the world before I take the final step off of the top floor of some huge building downtown. A page that my children can point out to their friends when their friends ask, "What happened to your dad?"   I can hear their friends now...   Friend One: Did you hear what happened to Jessica's dad?   Friend Two: No, what...   Friend One: I heard that he worked at a, umm...   Friend Two: He worked at a what?   Friend One: He worked at a... Hotel!   Friend Two: Oh my goodness, no wonder Jessica walks around fondling razor blades and juggling bottles of cyanide all of the time. Well, it could have been worse...   Friend One: No it couldn't have, not really.   Friend Two: No, really? you're not telling me that he was a...   Friend One: Yes, he wass, he was a...   Friend Two: Night auditor?   Freind One: Yes. Isn't that the freakiest thing that you've ever heard?   Friend Two: Jesus, I used to think that Jessica was just weird but now I feel sorry for her. Poor kid...   Friend One: Yeah, lets go super-glue her locker shut and then tell everyone that she's a slut with sleazy pictures on the internet...   Friend Two: Yes, let's do that... As 2002 rolls out, I find myself looking around for a way to express the things I think in a way that won't result in the police showing up at my house with their guns drawn. I harbor many thoughts that would send most people running for their bomb shelters and I have found that it is best to keep these things to myself. Once in a while I would like to have the opportunity to say it like it is and I think that this is what 2002 is going to be all about for me.   Yeah, 2002 is also going to be the year that I buy a bullet-proof vest and stock up on my food supplies. There is no doubt that this page will cause me unlimited amounts of grief and hardship as I tell everything exactly like I see it. Kind of like this - - -   OK.   Some guy at a little newspaper wants me to write a "rant" for him. He asks this as if ranting is something that I actually LIKE doing. The problem with "real" ranting (as opposed to the Dennis Miller "Let's make a 'normal' speech and insert some four letter words..." kind of ranting) is that it is nearly impossible to get worked up at will. Something has to strike me as insanely idiotic for me to get the Rant Area of my brain into an operational mode.   Here I am with a "deadline" and nothing to whine about. Oh, wait, what is this? Hey, it's a magazine that's been published no more than 47 seconds after the death of the Great George Harrison. The magazine is lamenting the loss of another "inimitable" Beatle. You've got to be KIDDING me! George Harrison? George HARRISON? Come ON! It wasn't someone truly important like Tiffany or David Cassidy or, God forbid, the remaining member of Milli Vanilli, it was George (friggin') Harrison! Who cares!?!?   For those of you not up to speed on the whole reality thing, here's an update: George Harrison did little or nothing of significance except play guitar for the Beatles. Period. That's it. Choke on it. Have a nice day. Other than the guitar thing, George was pretty much useless. He wrote crappy tunes, he lost his wife to Eric Clapton, went on to live the rest of his life in near anonymity, and then, just for fun, got sued for stealing someone else's music. Not just any music either, he went on to steal CRAPPY music. The idea of a Beatle actually stooping to ripping off someone else's second- rate music just kills me. It's too bad that George wasn't a burglar...   Ringo: (Stepping through an arched opening) Nice work breaking in through the three-hundred-year-old antique stained glass window, marvelous idea!   George: Oh, yeah, I just 'ate the idea of breaking one of those newfangled triple paned, argon gas filled, insulated beauties there. That would've been a waste...   Ringo: (Rummaging around a desk) Hey, George, 'ow 'bout this Tiffany lamp 'ere? Ought to be worth quite 'lot!   George: (Combing through a silverware drawer) No way, old man. I'm taking this 'ere Ronco gadget. I've always wanted one o' these 'ere thingies that blend eggs while it's still in the shell. This is what I call a steal!   Ringo: Right-O, good idea.   George: You think that's a good idea, wait'll you see this SONG that I'm 'bout to rip off. Undoubtedly, you are staring at this so-called article and thinking to yourself, "Jeeze, this guy is a complete jerk! George was a Beatle, for crying out loud..." Yeah, right. He was a Beatle, whoopee... Think this was rude, wait'll you get to the next paragraph.   Here's the thing that really gets me: This magazine has a picture of Richie Sambora and Jon Bon Jovi doing the "Look! George just fell down! Let's do a tribute before the ambulance arrives." gig. This whole idea of worthless rock and roll has-beens doing idiotic tributes to trivial-but-dead musicians strikes me as nothing more than a parody of itself. While it is not as morbid as the Eric Clapton "My Kid Just Fell Out of a Window" hit single, it's pretty close.   What is it with these losers doing a live tribute to someone that no-one with an IQ over fifty-five ever cared about? What do they think that this is going to do for them? Do they think that I am going to run out and buy a Bon Jovi CD? That I am going to run down to the store half naked in a mad rush to get an album that I didn't buy the FIRST time it was published? Come on, Jon, I didn't like it then and I don't like it now! And I certainly ain't going to spend sixteen bucks for your tribute CD to someone ELSE whose music that I didn't buy.   I don't know, maybe I missed the point. I do know one thing, though...   It won't be too much longer before the Beatles are truly reunited.   There is no doubt in my mind that 2002 will be THE year that someone blows my head off.