SLC Punk!

---

The thing about me and Bob,

and pretty much all of us, was...

we hated rednecks

more than anything else, period.

Because rednecks for us

were America incarnate.

And America? Huh.

Well, f*** America!

So, hey,

what do you wanna do now?

Let's score. I gotta get some pelt

tonight or my balls are gonna drop oft.

I hear that.

Come on, cowboy!

Come on!

What can I say? We weren't much more

than a couple of young punks.

Good morning, Bob.

Rise and shine.

It's a beautitul f***ing day.

All right.

Two more hours.

But that's it.

To be an anarchist in Salt Lake City

was certainly no easy task...

especially in 1985.

And having no money, no job...

no plans for the future...

the true anarchist position was,

in itself, a strenuous job.

And our tribe was small.

I mean, at the center was me, Stevo...

and Bob, my roommate...

Heroin Bob.

Oh, Bob didn't really do heroin.

In fact, he hated needles.

Bob's irrational fear of needles...

was in contrast to everything

you'd think about the guy.

I mean, to look at him, you'd think

he was a madman, which he was.

But he was also one

of the most uptight guys I've ever met.

He didn't do anything

about the cut on his hand... nothing.

I mean, absolutely nothing.

He just wrapped it up...

in a dirty old T-shirt,

and he left it like that for weeks.

Is he gonna be okay?

Oh, yeah. He'll be tine.

I'm sure. Thank you, though.

Hi, how are we doing?

Okay. Can I take a look at that?

Okay. All right.

Oh, what the heck did we do here?

I think that wound's

the most intected thing I've ever seen.

I hate doctors, man.

I hate 'em.

Well, you're lucky those boys

brought you here.

Okay? Because without me

you'd be dead.

Patty, we need

a gram ot amoxicillin.

That's a nasty cut you've got there.

How did you manage that?

I fell ott my bike.

Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry.

Does it still hurt?

- That's a nice kid.

- Yeah, sad, really.

- How's that?

- Kids.

There's not much future

tor 'em, hmm?

We all die, Stevo.

That's true.

Very true, Mike.

No, no! No, I'm tine! I'm tine!

Get that f***ing needle

away trom me, man!

No, I don't do needles!

Get ott me! Get otf!

Goddamn it! No! No!

You pack of murderers! No!

No needles!

Help me! Help me!

No, no, please!

So Heroin Bob was named as such

'cause he was afraid of needles.

But not just needles.

The guy was afraid of drugs too.

We couldn't even get him

to take a damn aspirin.

He drank, and he smoked cigarettes

but that's it. He'd say...

You know that sh*t you guys do?

You're f***ing yourselves up, man.

F***ing acid. Acid.

It never leaves your body.

It's in your tuckin'

spinal cord torever.

Let me tell you something

about the nature of chemicals, man.

You know that dude Napoleon?

He was banished to an island

when the French got sick of him.

That's right. He supposedly died

ot stomach problems, right?

Wrong. He was actually poisoned

over a long period ot time.

Murdered by arsenic,

a preservative.

- And you know how?

- No idea.

- His hair.

- His hair?

His f***in' hair.

It was arsenic.

You could tell how long

he was being poisoned...

by following the traces

of poison up his hair.

Dude, dude, dude, it you do

enough hits of it, you're dead.

- It really makes you think, doesn't it?

- Think what?

That chemistry's the wrong

f***ing major tor a guy like you.

- It's the wrong major, Bob.

- You should lay oft the acid anyways!

- You heard about Sean, right?

- No, what happened to Sean?

You know he was selling acid, right?

No, man. I told you $25, man.

$25. It's inflation.

Sh*t's getting expensive, man.

- Thanks, man.

- No problem.

- Nice spikes.

- Nice tuckin' suit.

Let me ask you something, Sean.

What the tuck

did you become a punk tor?

Hey, man. Come on. The kid wants

to be a punk, let him be a punk.

You see, Russ.

Mods are pussies, man.

That sh*t's tuckin' dead.

If we catch you out tonight,

we're kickin' your ass.

- Come on. He's all right.

- Kickin' my ass? Kick my ass?

- Come on. Let's go.

- Get on your bikes and ride away.

- Hey, tuck you!

- No, thanks, sweetheart. All right.

Your mom's driving us

to soccer practice?

- 4:
00.

- You guys enjoy.

So Sean puts all this acid

in his pocket, and the school cop...

- Where was this?

- Southeast High, man.

So he takes off running...

and he's running through

the track field...

and the sprinklers are on.

So the water

soaks through his pants...

and melts the acid

which went through his pants...

onto the skin on his leg.

So you know,

over a hundred hits of acid...

dissolved into Sean's leg.

Fried him.

So I went to see him

a week later.

It had just snowed,

and he was sitting outside in the cold.

What are you doin' outside, man?

Are you him?

- Yeah, I'm him.

- Jesus!

Have I sinned,

or am I going to heaven?

You're tryin', man.

- How much acid did you take?

- Wait. You're not Jesus.

- You're Bob.

- I'm Bob! How goes it?

- How are you doing that?

- Doin' what?

Walkin' on water. It I get ott this

chair, I'll drown. Wanna know why?

- 'Cause I can't swim.

- Oh, I get it.

So, Sean,

do you see land anywhere?

Just water.

- Say, Bob?

- Yeah.

You are Jesus.

That's right. I am.

Why do you ask?

Satan is in the house.

He killed my mom...

and turned her into a bull.

Oh, I didn't hear you come in!

- What? What?

- Come here.

I gotta kill her!

Okay! Hold still!

Put your hands in the air

and slowly turn around.

- I'm saved! I'm saved!

- Put your hands up!

Yeah, sure, Sean.

You're saved.

I said put your hands in the air.

Chemicals, man.

They'll f*** you up.

I always wondered what happened

to that crazy little sh*t.

It's a crazy tucked-up world...

and we're all just barely

floatin' along...

waitin' for somebody

that can walk on water.

Bob was like that...

a real a**hole when it came

to reading into things.

He liked to wrap things up into neat

little packages that implied the world.

See, Sean was f***ed up.

Not the world.

The world was just confused.

And not the world, really.

Just the people in it.

Bob was confused.

And more, Bob was paranoid as f***.

That's right.

Bob was in quarantine.

The doctor said that Bob's infection

was so bad...

that it had become a lethal virus.

And so he was under quarantine

for some weeks.

It was the beginning of the fall

and the rest of our lives.

We both graduated college

and were taking summer classes...

a major feat, since our aim in college

was to be as destructive as possible.

Our mission, after leaving high school

as two aspiring young punks...

I think the only two punks

in Salt Lake City at the time...

was to go to university

and bring down the system.

Why? Well, for obvious reasons.

Anarchy... the only system of government

that seemed to make any sense to us.

And the irony was we had made it

through. I did well, even.

My father was hell-bent on getting me to

go to Harvard Law School, like he did.

My father tried to get me to go

right after I graduated high school.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes