Your Guide To Elitism, Ostricization, and Bitter Insecurity;

  I guess if you’re looking to keep punk rock elite in the most hateful, ignorant way, there’s no one better to seek for guidance than myself. I have, for a long time now, had this misconception that fans of Power Pop bands like Blink 182, Good Charlotte, Sum 41, Fenix TX, any emo band since 1998 (doesn't anybody remember Rinker? they were emo in the way it was MEANT to be played) and such, should all be shot anally, allowing them to bleed internally for a few hours, unable to walk to safety, eventually dying on the floor where you leave them, with blood stained carpet under their fingernails from trying to claw to a doorway, or maybe a phone. But I’ve possibly (though not necessarily) changed this opinion today. I realized, finally, that perhaps someone who was once a fan of Fenix TX could, conceivably, realize that Fenix TX used to be called River Fenix, and make a concerted effort to, in their teeny bopper fashion, collect every recording ever made by Fenix TX and River Fenix. Now, in doing so, they get some old Drive-Thru Records compilations with bands like The Daggers, Rx Bandits, etc... and realize how much better music can be. Now, in looking for these new bands that have recently expanded this young teenie bopper’s trend-hopping ADD-laiden mind, they come across Jeffries’ Fan Club, ispy, The Dwarves, The Crumbs, Furious George, Harum Scarum, The Undead, and Les Turds. Still searching for more meaning, perhaps they hit a gold mine and somehow discover Descendents, Pinkerton Thugs, Operation Ivy, and Fugazi. Now we’re talking. This kid, if he reads every lyric, understands every metaphor, and is defined in every screaming humanitarian lyric, may possibly understand that there’s more to people than just superficiality and cheap shallow identity, life is more than a quest for money and power; he can actually become a REAL human soul and not just a consumer in a corporate institution; he can survive an industry’s frail attempts at creating a status quo and fight for himself and on behalf of all of society’s misled children. Until this point I naturally assumed that once someone was an idiot, they would forever remain an idiot. It seems, though, that all people are identical, only seperated by time and maturity; that we were all once dust, we are all temporarily made into human form, and we will all again return to dust. We are all equal, in spirit, humanity, and ability. They are all just as able to appreciate art as I am, or as the artists themselves are; and all that stands in firm opposition of this advancement is... is...
me.
Elite punk rock asshole, Fuzzy. Can’t let anyone else join in his games because everything is supposed to stay as cool as it felt that first time I realized that I listened to bands that none of my friends had listened to before. That I was Marco-Fucking-Polo in my circle, that no one I had been associated with before had listened to this music and now every day is spent searching out that one obscure act that noone in my area knows of yet. That I am all alone atop my perch,

Fuzzy Mickael,  Punk Pinnacle.

back to COLUMNS,    back to MAIN page