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Opinion: You’re Not A Real Punk Until You’ve Been Shot By Charles Bronson In The ‘70s

It seems like every passing year the line between what is and is not punk becomes murkier, so I want to draw a line in the sand and set the record straight once and for all. Anyone asshole can wear a battle jacket, listen to Aus Rotten and go to house shows, but if you weren’t alive and in New York in the ‘70s and a criminal who got shot by Charles Bronson, don’t fucking call yourself a “punk.”

Punk rock isn’t about looking cool and drinking until you blackout each night. It’s about doing horrific crimes and getting gunned down by a vengeful Charles Bronson. Any deviation from that is poser bullshit.

I would love to see how Green Day holds up with a belly full of lead courtesy of The Vigilante’s Colt 32.

I see these so-called punks today with their Hot Topic get-ups and their vegan burgers and their “I hate my privileged small town” horse shit and I have to laugh. These posers wouldn’t last a day in New York. I’m talkin’ the REAL New York, back when the deuce was all porno flicks back when the streets were paved with dirty needles, back when Bronson prowled the streets and shot anything wearing liberty spikes that moved.

It doesn’t matter which Bronson shot you. You could have been taken out while trying to commit assault by Paul “Deathwish” Kersey. You could have been elaborately snipped off by Arthur “The Mechanic” Bishop. You could have been gunned down by Danny “The Tunnel King” Great Escape Charles Bronson — it would be weird, but it counts. Just as long as Bronson put a slug in you during the ‘70s or like, 84 tops, you’re a real punk. Nah fuck that, 83.

There aren’t many of us real punks left these days. It’s partly because a true punk lifestyle requires a lot of hard living, and partly because Bronson is a damned good shot. I got a metal slug where my left kidney used to be, know why? Cause I’m punk as shit!