Being punk in Portland Oregon means you are bald, wear glasses, either weigh three hundred pounds or 130 and most of all you have a “kutte” or jacket that has cat patches, patches that show you support the county library bond, patches that show chief Wiggum saying “ACAB” and a shirt that says “Protect Trans Kids” with a picture of a Buck 119 knife, even though you signed a petition last week to ban their sale in Multnomah county. Every other patch has been removed because it came out that your favorite band may not have been reliably voting blue for the last 50 years. These people suck.
I got in a lot of fights in HS. I was always angry and never backed down. But it got to where there was always another guy that had something to prove and I started to see myself in them. I began to recognize the opening look or comment directed my way. And it just got to be so stupid. Whats the point really? Get worked up about someone I don’t care about and never will?
That’s when I discovered there was no switch or button on my forehead that someone else could push. Anger is my choice, not his.
maybe not on topic - but as young man (actually late adolescent) I had what was considered an "eyrie" ability to leave a bar minutes before a melee erupted. i kept my secret to that mystery all of myself.
Hahaha, at the same job where the lawyer schooled me, I worked with a Tool fan and learned that they’ll happily explain how amazing Tool is any time you bring them up, or any time you don’t.
They’re hit or miss for me. When they’re on, they’re ON, but then they have a lot of weird meandering songs. Motorhead does that by mixing in ballads so they’re in good company.
This had to have been before you left California, right? I can't imagine that happening around here. Well, I could if I squint hard enough, but still...
When I was a young buck Private with no idea what I was doing and even less instinct on how to fake it, a buddy arrived at morning formation with a story about how some bitchy woman saw him at the coffee shop that morning and called him a baby killer before spitting on him. Now, this was the late ‘90s, so it was shocking to hear; still, it became a familiar tune from my peers over the next couple decades.
I was never a particularly good Boy Scout and an even less disciplined soldier, but no one understands the value of being prepared better than a lazy man. I came up with the perfect response should anyone ever be so disrespectful to me in my uniform, and I couldn’t wait to unleash it.
Yet wait I did. Year after year, no one was anything but respectful and appreciative of my uniform. I was greeted with genuine thanks that I can’t say I ever earned and free beers that I was never too proud to turn down. It was honestly pretty awesome, but I feared I would never get to tell off some wannabe hippy….
Anyway, a couple decades later at the Starbucks in Monterey, CA, waiting on a coffee before morning formation, all decked out in my Dress Blues with three rockers and enough service stripes that my classmates would make jokes about my age (“another six years and they’ll touch your rank”). I’ve long stopped thinking about my well-formed retort and just assumed everyone was going to be disappointingly polite. Thus, when some young man wearing a UCMB sweatshirt looked at my uniform and asked, “Are you in the army?” I assumed he was genuinely curious.
So I smiled and confirmed. He then asked if I was ever in Iraq - and I again responded in the positive. Boy, did he make my day when he followed that up with a snarling, “Did you kill many women and children over there?”
Now, it’s not the most original idea, but I’d had this particular cartridge chambered for as long as I can remember. Without hesitation and in a steady tone, I fired back, “Oh, almost exclusively. The men run too fast.”
My coffee came up about twenty seconds later, and the kid was still staring, slack-jawed, at me as I walked out the door.
It's always two beers. You could have killed a case in the past hour and it's "two beers". 🤣
I clicked thinking you were talking about mandatory mosh pits, so you can imagine my disappointment. While this doesn't rise to the level of clickbait, I'd still like to trade face punches with the manager.
“Can I talk to you about your T shirt”
“No”
My initial thought was that he was going to ask where I got it. But no, he just barreled into Wokelandia.
The incessant desire to talk politics in settings unfit for that is infuriating
“I’m not going to berate you Jerry”
Being punk in Portland Oregon means you are bald, wear glasses, either weigh three hundred pounds or 130 and most of all you have a “kutte” or jacket that has cat patches, patches that show you support the county library bond, patches that show chief Wiggum saying “ACAB” and a shirt that says “Protect Trans Kids” with a picture of a Buck 119 knife, even though you signed a petition last week to ban their sale in Multnomah county. Every other patch has been removed because it came out that your favorite band may not have been reliably voting blue for the last 50 years. These people suck.
My wife is the one who starts trouble in bars. Alligator mouth with a hummingbird ass.
There was this group of boisterous young men at the sports bar.
Their friend slipped and fell, knocking his head against a railing.
These dumbass is stood around and made fun of him.
My wife gave them a ration of s***. Told them he could be hurt and instructed them to get him up and make sure he was okay.
I think she was around 70 at the time.
They kowtowed. Good thing. She packs heat.
I got in a lot of fights in HS. I was always angry and never backed down. But it got to where there was always another guy that had something to prove and I started to see myself in them. I began to recognize the opening look or comment directed my way. And it just got to be so stupid. Whats the point really? Get worked up about someone I don’t care about and never will?
That’s when I discovered there was no switch or button on my forehead that someone else could push. Anger is my choice, not his.
maybe not on topic - but as young man (actually late adolescent) I had what was considered an "eyrie" ability to leave a bar minutes before a melee erupted. i kept my secret to that mystery all of myself.
For no particular reason whatsoever, I am here to say that TOOL is the greatest band ever, second is Pink Floyd.
Hahaha, at the same job where the lawyer schooled me, I worked with a Tool fan and learned that they’ll happily explain how amazing Tool is any time you bring them up, or any time you don’t.
They’re hit or miss for me. When they’re on, they’re ON, but then they have a lot of weird meandering songs. Motorhead does that by mixing in ballads so they’re in good company.
The Tool Army, me included, are a bunch of tools.
This had to have been before you left California, right? I can't imagine that happening around here. Well, I could if I squint hard enough, but still...
I wish. Downtown Knoxville.
That’s a shame
When I was a young buck Private with no idea what I was doing and even less instinct on how to fake it, a buddy arrived at morning formation with a story about how some bitchy woman saw him at the coffee shop that morning and called him a baby killer before spitting on him. Now, this was the late ‘90s, so it was shocking to hear; still, it became a familiar tune from my peers over the next couple decades.
I was never a particularly good Boy Scout and an even less disciplined soldier, but no one understands the value of being prepared better than a lazy man. I came up with the perfect response should anyone ever be so disrespectful to me in my uniform, and I couldn’t wait to unleash it.
Yet wait I did. Year after year, no one was anything but respectful and appreciative of my uniform. I was greeted with genuine thanks that I can’t say I ever earned and free beers that I was never too proud to turn down. It was honestly pretty awesome, but I feared I would never get to tell off some wannabe hippy….
Anyway, a couple decades later at the Starbucks in Monterey, CA, waiting on a coffee before morning formation, all decked out in my Dress Blues with three rockers and enough service stripes that my classmates would make jokes about my age (“another six years and they’ll touch your rank”). I’ve long stopped thinking about my well-formed retort and just assumed everyone was going to be disappointingly polite. Thus, when some young man wearing a UCMB sweatshirt looked at my uniform and asked, “Are you in the army?” I assumed he was genuinely curious.
So I smiled and confirmed. He then asked if I was ever in Iraq - and I again responded in the positive. Boy, did he make my day when he followed that up with a snarling, “Did you kill many women and children over there?”
Now, it’s not the most original idea, but I’d had this particular cartridge chambered for as long as I can remember. Without hesitation and in a steady tone, I fired back, “Oh, almost exclusively. The men run too fast.”
My coffee came up about twenty seconds later, and the kid was still staring, slack-jawed, at me as I walked out the door.
Good save!
> two beers
It's always two beers. You could have killed a case in the past hour and it's "two beers". 🤣
I clicked thinking you were talking about mandatory mosh pits, so you can imagine my disappointment. While this doesn't rise to the level of clickbait, I'd still like to trade face punches with the manager.
k