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Oh my God, it happened. All those years of claiming you’d stay young till you died, and now you’re crunching numbers 40 hours a week, paying a very reasonable mortgage, and saving for your kid’s college fund. Is that really a plasma screen in your living room, next to the complete collection of Sex and The City? The house definitely smells like potpourri, not pot. What happened to all the piss and vinegar? Are your tattoos really fading? It’s time to dust off that skateboard and hit the streets. You might come back bloody and sore, but you shoplifted those Vans for a reason. Fasten your wallet chain and turn up the volume, old man.

Being satisfied with your suburban life does not result in punk rock. Getting bored of it does. Pop an ollie and get bored of the U.S.A with The Clash.

Remember those bands that got you back into punk in the ’90s? Yeah, well I’m sure you’ve still got a copy of …And Out Come The Wolves somewhere in the house. Hell, it’s probably in that alphabetically organized CD tower of yours. After you eat asphalt, just pump Rancid up louder.

Fuck “art punk.” D.C.’s The Shirks will bring out your snot-nosed defiance of the establishment in only three chords. Get a goddamn sitter for the kids, and take your wife to Comet Ping Pong on Thursday to see some real punk rock.