Guide to Starting a Fight and then Losing That Fight

Punk rock is a vanishing ethos.

I just wrote “Punk rock is a vanishing ethos.” So you know I’m overdue for an asskicking. I do want to talk about punk rock a little, though. I’m sorry. I’ll work back to the subject of getting your ass kicked. I promise.

We live in a time where expressing oneself is overencouraged. It’s hard to get your ass kicked these days. It used to be as easy as wearing a leather jacket and going to a Black Flag show. And then we had Tipper Gore overreacting to NWA, and after the riots it became apparent that loud music was the least of America’s worries, and the PC era set in, and gradually we got to the point where inner city community centers encouraged upstart teenage punk rock bands and gangsta rap groups because any kind of music is better than the alternative of just regular gang violence.

And then on a national level, the last big “these musicians are out of control!” controversy I can remember (there have probably been other ones) is the whole Eminem uses the word “faggot” thing, and that got solved when Elton John’s crazy opportunistic ass showed up and said “who cares” at the Grammys. It was like “oh yeah, who cares.” And it was the Grammys. Steely Dan swept them in 2000 anyway, and for me that's when the Grammys officially went into "we have no clue what's going on" mode. Nothing truly interesting has happened at the Grammys since the Meat Bomb guy. So since Eminem and Elton John sang that shitty song and Eminem basically announced that he would be disappearing soon in order to not become the most overrated person in the history of the world, we’re just about fresh out of music-inspired national outrage.

So where does that leave us on the whole “punk rock” thing? Well, punk rock is in the shitter. It’s not dead, because it’s an idea and ideas can’t die, but it’s on life support, rotting in some subcultural hospital bed that nobody cares about anymore. The nation has shrugged, the “follow your dreams” rhetoric from the PC era has continued and spawned a million watered down music groups, the hype cycle for those bands has shortened and intensified to “this is the best thing I’ve ever heard” for ten seconds followed by a swift and furious “no, it’s totally overrated” rebuke after any one song is leaked onto the internet, and all we have in the way of maintaining some degree of connection to the cultural heritage of doing loud crazy outrageous shit is “punk rock” bars where punk rock behavior of any kind is actively discouraged. They’re basically museums. It no longer takes balls of any kind to consider yourself “punk rock” (witness: Avril Lavigne), and now it’s really difficult to get a rise out of anybody to the point where you’re enjoying the many benefits of a well-deserved self-destructive punk rock ass kicking. It’s a shame. Everybody should get their ass kicked once in a while.

But maybe that’s just how it seems to me. I was raised Unitarian. And from my frame of reference, punk rock is definitely a vanishing ethos.

If you want me to expound on why it’s a good idea for every person to get their ass kicked at least once in their lifetime, it’s pretty simple: because you deserve it. But there’s also a spiritual side. A well-deserved ass kicking is how American 22 year olds who like loud rock music achieve a zen experience. In Eastern philosophy you’d meditate for hours until you learned to let go of your self. It doesn’t work. When you’re 22, you can’t meditate for hours to get rid of yourself. You're up your own butt one hudred percent of the time when you're 22. The whole reason why you’re even meditating in the first place is to impress some girl you’re trying to get with. Plus it only really works for like 15 seconds when you get to the ego-release part before you start thinking about how hungry you are for 7-11 nachos. And the experience is too boring, what with the new agey music and incense. No thank you. It’s easier and way more fun to aim for a ridiculous night of complete self-destruction. If you’re an American 22 year old who likes loud rock music, that’s what you need most in the world. Because you don’t know your limits yet. And sometimes to remind you that you have limits, you need some big burly dude to pound his limits right into your face. Then you’ll be able to meditate until the cows come home.

Also: it is crazy and a little bit fun in a weird punk rock way where you drink a whole gallon of Old Granddad’s and run your mouth and turn into the party villain and somebody flattens you and everybody applauds and it’s dramatic and fun and funny and even the people there who weren’t involved in the ass kicking at least had an eventful night. I recommend it heartily.

Here’s how to do it:

First of all, you’re going to want to consume a gallon or so of Old Granddad’s. Ten High or Old Crow will also suffice. Jack Daniels is for pussies. That’s strictly top shelf. If you can afford it, great, but really you’re looking for one of those “huge amounts of booze for less than 10 bucks” whiskeys. It’s kind of part of the experience. Plus if you’re completely drunk the punches don’t hurt so bad. You don’t even really feel them until the next day, where the punch pain melts into the hangover pain. By then it doesn’t matter. You were going to have a shitty day anyway.

The next thing you want to do is attend an event of some kind. And here’s where it gets tricky, because punk rock is a vanishing ethos, and getting into a fight and losing that fight is a decidedly punk rock action. There’s really a sliver of opportunity there for it to be a good idea. This is mostly because it’s patently not a good idea. But: the only places punk rock stuff like a deserved ass kicking still acceptably happen are the dingy little art lofts and basement rock parties where true punk rock still exists. So to get this done you pretty much have to start hanging out with some art school students. Maybe even start your own band. It will be worth it for this ass kicking. You should not put this plan into effect anywhere that has sufficient lighting or any kind of license for putting on a rock show. You’re looking for an event that’s strictly BYOB and in danger of being busted by the police without a fight even occurring.

Then, once you’re at this place where a bunch of shitty shitty band bands are playing, and it’s apparent that if there’s not going to be an asskicking or some sort of eventful occurrence, then the 12 sweaty people who gathered there will have completely wasted their 5 dollar cover charge if not their entire evening, then you’ve got to pick your target. This will happen instinctually, because remember you’ve already drank a gallon of Old Granddad’s and you have your whole self-destructive persona going at full blaze. But you want to pick some dude who is a lot bigger and stronger and meaner than you, somebody who’s hopefully older, if not old enough to remember an era where fights could and did happen in the context of rock music.

Then you want to antagonize and escalate. If he backs down, call him a pussy. If he gets all youth groupy on you and tries to talk to you about your feelings, pick another target. You’re goading a dude who will not fight. The good news is, the more of a jackass you act like, the more likely it is that your perfect target will find you. Hopefully, in the course of antagonizing and escalating, you’ll do something in the name of making the party interesting that also counts as an unforgiveable and punchout-worthy sin. Like it’s still fun and games if you and this angry meathead kick each other in the balls while you knock over a wok to escape from him in the kitchen. That’s still acceptable drunken lout behavior and it’s all in the name of a party. But let’s say his wife comes in and criticizes you for being “such boys.” Kick her in the balls. Congratulations, you are getting your ass kicked. Because “I will beat up any scrawny drunk kid who kicks you in the crotch” is an implied wedding vow.

This fight might not happen for sure at this point, though. People hate fighting these days. You have to see this through to the end. To do this, you are going to have to wander off alone in a vocal and visible way. Make an announcement, like “for my next act, I will go piss in the alley! When I come back, you’re all getting your dicks kicked! And that goes for you too!” (point at a pretty girl that everybody likes who hasn't even said anything yet). Then wander off alone. Do not be shocked if the guy whose wife’s crotch you kicked is there to meet you when you come back. He will have some choice words for you.

It’s possible that he’ll offer you an out. Like “hey man, I don’t know if you’re joking, but you’re pretty far out of line here. If you’re joking, that’s cool, you should just get the fuck out of here and we’ll continue on with our night and let bygones be bygones.” Do not take it. You are not joking. You are dead serious. You’re going to come back to the party and kick some dicks. And then you’re taking his wife home with you because you’re a real man. Tell him this. And then raise your fist like you’re going to swing it at him.

When you get up off of the floor, it’s likely that whoever brought you will show up soon and get you out of there. There may be some babysitteresque recriminations. Don't respond to them. Let them ruminate for a few minutes. Then when you’re safely in a cab with your buddies, it’s ok to start laughing hysterically.

Congratulations on your stupid punk rock rite of passage. You’re basically the Dalai Lama at this point.

And. And you get the added bonus of reviving punk rock for a night. Thank God it’s not completely gone for good. If you really want to go full force with it, take my instructions and repeat as often as possible until famous and/or dead. For most people, though, one night every 6 years or so will be more than enough.