Fuck and Fight’s Implements of Bile
By Matt Englund

Okay kids, it time for an etiquette lesson so shut yr jabber and listen the fuck up cause I’m only gonna say this once.
Now I see a lot of you little teen queens out there with yr Blink 182 T-shirts, yr studded belt and yr hoodie covered with the patches that you bought at Hot Topic and had yr mom sew on. So I, being the eternally benevolent and compassionate soul that I am have taken it upon myself to set you little poser fucks straight.
      First of all, quit showering, and this is really important because a true punker is recognized not by style, or even a “fuckoff” attitude. Nossir, a true punk can be distinguished from the crowd by the olfactory ambience that they impart to the surroundings they have come to occupy. A TRUE PUNK IS ONE THAT HAS STEWED A BIT IN HIS OWN FILTH. “But what about my skin, won’t I breakout with pimples.” Quit sniveling, you little abortion, if you wanna win some punk points you gotta make some sacrifices. Throw out yr soap, stop paying your water bill (and really all bills, a punk can’t knuckle under to the man by enslaving himself to the luxury of utilities), and be sure to masturbate at least half a dozen times a day. This will not only give yr taint the proper aroma but you can also smear yr pad with yr spunk to give it that authentic squat atmosphere, throw some shit at the walls, whatever you think will give it the proper atmosphere of abject squalor. You know, get creative, its extra punk points if you got a dead junkie decomposing in a closet. “But…but, what about girls, how am I supposed to get a girl if I smell like the inside of Al Roker’s asshole,” which brings me to my next point…
     Get yourself the skankiest girl you can find. There’s a lot of convenient places that the determined, newly anointed punk rocker can go to find himself a truly terrifying example of the female species. Bus stations, the plasma clinic, the OTB, even the halfway house down the street could pose some interesting prospects to the punker who has given up on the bourgeoisie norms, like having standards. (IF YOU REMEMBER ONE THING I TEACH YOU REMEMBER THIS, A TRUE PUNK HAS NO STANDARDS, HANDS DOWN, CASE CLOSED, SHUT THE FUCK UP!) Many of you at this point, I’m sure aren’t really sure what your looking for, you’ve scoped some locations, but how do you tell a skank from your everyday, run-of-the-mill hooker. Dreadlocks is a tip off, but not all girls with dreadlocks will fuck you just cuz you’re a punk, some are hippie girls and these will get you off course, there’ll be time enough later to terrorizes hippies once you’ve learned the basics. Wait…I see the girl for you, no the one giving the Puerto Rican the handjob next to the cigarette machines…c’mon, you see her, the one with the track marks, missing her front teeth. YEAH! THAT ONE! Do you want to be punk or what? Well every good-standing punk has had syphilis at least once and besides, it’ll come in handy later. In the meantime, wait ‘til she finishes that guy off, then make your approach. Try to say something romantic to her like…”why don’t I take you out back, behind the dumpsters and…you know …fuck you in the ass.” They always fall for the sweet nothings.
     Alright, now that we’ve got you smelling like Meatloaf’s jock strap, and we got you a nice, fresh social disease it’s time for the most important step in your quest for true punkdom. It’s time to start your own band. “But I don’t know how to play any instruments. GOOD! All good punk bands have never let learning how to play get in the way of getting chicks, getting drunk, getting in fights, and scoring smack. Learning how to play will only lose you credibility and having you playing that sappy Dashboard Confessional buttplug music. Once you have assembled three or four guys, as ugly, smelly, stupid and drunk as you, get yourself out there and steal some equipment. Now before you can play anything you have to think up a name, something cool like “Mussolini Enema” or “I Fucked Your Sister,” something that really leaves an impression. Now song lyrics are almost as important as the band name. The lyrics to your songs should never exceed more than twenty words, and if any of your songs are longer than two minutes you’re doing something wrong.
     Now that you have the crowd mesmerized with your punk rock antics, pissing on yourself, fighting with the guys in the front row, maybe you could even pull your dick out (y’know live in the moment, just do whatever feels right) you can commence your punk rock initiation by picking out a girl in the audience. Something sweet and virginal, something frightened and vunerable, someone easily tricked and see if you can’t take her out after the show and maybe show her what havin’ syphilis is all about.
     Once you have accomplished all the things put to page here you can officially call yourself a punk. Drunk as shit, brain rotting with venereal disease, kickin’ ass and takin’ names. That’s you! So what if you can’t find a job, your dick burns constantly, no one will talk to you and you spend at least one night a week in jail. You are officially in a tribe now and wherever you go you will find punks there to welcome you with open arms…unless they don’t like the cut of your jib and decide to curbstomp you instead. Them’s the breaks, and at least you didn’t die a whiny, sniveling, lactating little scenester pussy-boy and you can take some kind of comfort from that. But you still suck because you got all of it from an article and no true punk can actually read, you shitbag!