I Hate Punks!

It's true. I do not, in fact, like punks. I really dislike them actually. Not the Ramones kind of punks. Those guys were talented and made great music. Not the Green Day kind either. Again, great music. I'm talking about the "snot-nosed" variety. The ones that hang out in the streets basically daring anybody who has the nerve to drive their car down their street to hit them. Most neighborhoods have some. I have some punks a street over that enjoy wheeling their basketball hoop out into the street for a spirited pickup game. I think they're taking the whole "street ball" concept a bit too far. No matter how many times you beep at them, those crazy knuckleheads won't move any faster either. You gotta love it.

Here's an example of my hatred for punks taken fresh from the pages of my life. This one is but a day old. Yesterday my wife and I went for a bike ride. Now, before I get too far into this story, let me say that the combination of bike riding and punks has never been a good one for me. I seem to recall one warm summer evening some years ago in which a relaxing bike ride netted me the comment, "Get a ****ing car!", from an absolutely charming young lady. And oh how her punk friends laughed. You really should have been there. But I digress.

So the wife and I are out for a little exercise. We ride to the local elementary school, where we dismount our two-wheeled vehicles and proceed to the playing apparati to sit on the swings and talk. I know it sounds harmless enough, but we had no idea we were encroaching on land owned by punks. As we're minding our own businesses at the swingset, suddenly the din of pre-pubescent angst overtook our eardrums. There were four of them headed right for us. Two male punks and two female punks (one of which they must have purchased on the way because they were pushing her along in a shopping cart). My wife said, "Do you wanna leave?". I, of course am a man, therefore I have no sound judgement in these matters and I responded with "Why should we leave?". So we returned to our regularly scheduled conversation. But these punks had other plans for us.

When the quartet got to within 10 yards of us we suddenly heard (and felt) a loud "Clank!". The punk ringleader had thought it would be cool to jump off his bike and let it ride unmanned out of control right into the swingset we currently occupied. It didn't hit too close to us, just made a loud racket. I did what all men would do - I glared at the little jerk. They set to climbing onto some monkey bars while being extreme loudmouths (it's their m.o.), liberally peppering their topic of choice with a certain mono-syllabic curse word. It was becoming quite clear that they aimed to have this entire playground to themselves. It was at this point that I said, "Maybe we should just go." And then something ridiculously ridiculous happened.

As we're getting back onto our double unicycles, the ringleader yells, "Hey! Why are you leaving?!". When we didn't reply the tenacious little monkey yells it again, "Why are you leaving?!". At this point one of the punk girls asks him, "Who's leaving?". The punk leader responds, "Those old people are leaving". I kid you not. I guess when you're 12 anyone over 15 would be considered an old person, so that didn't bother us. It was more the nerve the kid had that surprised me. Have kids always been such idiots? I don't remember them being such uber-idiots when I was a kid. Maybe they were and I just didn't notice it. The real unfortunate thing is the kid caught me so off guard I didn't even have a snappy comeback. Of course, two minutes later when we had already left I thought of a great retort - "Don't worry about it, you little punk!". Oh well.

In summary:

Punk music - good
Punk kids - bad
Bike riding - usually a mixed bag.