Sunday, December 16, 2012

On the Road to Punksville

Billy was with the Greasers. They used a bathtub full of Brylcreme to schmear their hair back into a pompadour. I swear they only let black haired guys into their gang, or dying your hair was the initiation. Nowadays it’s shooting a stranger, but it was a little less violent in the early Sixties. John Stack? He was a Baldy. Shaved their heads altogether, I spose maybe because they were ex Greasers and got so freakin tired of the lard they just cut it all off so they wouldn’t be tempted. And Sackett, “Satch” we called him, he was an Animal. Now those guys were really nuts. They actually filed their canines and then supposedly bit people when they got ticked off.

Oh and me? Well, I was only 10 at the time, and though I was big for my age, no self respecting punks would recruit me, ten year old punk that I was. I figured I was gonna start my own gang. We’d all wear t-shirts with lemon-lime Kool-aid stains on the fronts, and carry big sticks like my dad said Teddy Roosevelt used to do. I didn’t know who Teddy was, but I knew he was important, and the leader of a gang needed to concentrate on important things. Like the group’s name. The first one I thought of was cool. We’d be the “Get outa the way or I’ll sick my crazy mom on ya Boys.”

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