SLC Punk! Page #5

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twice as many beers to get drunk.

So not only do you have a drunk

on your hands...

but you got a drunk

who's fat and gross.

There's nothing worse. So if you want

real beer, you have two choices:

A, the state-run liquor store.

You see,

you can buy regular beer here.

There are all of three stores

in Salt Lake City to buy it.

And their hours suck. Oppression.

Also, these were the only places to buy

any alcohol outside of private clubs.

Who can afford those,

except for guys like my dad?

Don't. Quit it. Stop.

Knock it off. Come on. Don't do that.

So what do they call you?

Do you have a nickname?

- Ah, they do. Yeah.

- TLM?

- The long man?

- Third leg material?

You could get whiskey, gin, wine.

Here's where they kept it.

And here's the worst part.

IDs, boys.

See, this teller

is not just a teller.

He's a cop. This guy right there,

he's a f***ing cop.

So we buy a beer, and this guy's

callin' a squad car to follow us home.

'Cause one look at us, and he knows,

"Gosh, those guys are gonna be trouble."

Now, Bob and I may not be innocent...

but we are usually

pretty law-abiding, usually.

On this occasion,

we had done absolutely nothing wrong.

We looked suspicious, yes,

but in all the years of pre-law...

I uncovered a lot of contradictions

in the system...

but I had found nothing

that told me looking suspicious...

was a crime in and of itself.

Come on.

Just give me a shot.

- Okay?

- There you go! Come on.

But this was not about the law.

This was about rednecks.

So the battle continued.

Who's to blame 'em?

The cops were rednecks,

our mortal enemies...

worse than mods, rockers or posers.

So we took our beatings when we could.

But in this complex world of fascism

that was Utah state policy...

we had only one choice

if we wanted real beer.

Choice B, Wyoming.

The state line

was one hour and one half...

a short ride to Evingston, Wyoming...

where you could get booze

like a free man...

like boozers used to go to Canada

for the poison during Prohibition.

So we rode that morning

before the party with Eddie.

Eddie wasn't an anarchist.

He wasn't really even a punk.

Eddie was into women.

But not in a macho, jerky kind of way.

He was a true romantic.

He had his ass beat several times

for being gay, which he was not.

Imagine.

Fag-bashed without the benefits.

I couldn't give a sh*t what the rednecks

in this town think about me.

I know I'm not gay. Ladies know I'm not.

I have no problem with gay guys.

As a matter of tact, they are

some ot the coolest guys I know.

The only reason

half these guys start sh*t...

it's not because they wanna tight me.

It's 'cause they wanna f*** me.

I don't know, man.

It somebody called me somethin'

that I wasn't, I could see getting mad.

The problem with somebody

giving you sh*t about being gay...

it's not that they're wrong about you,

it's that they're giving you sh*t.

- Get it?

- So do you like this music, man?

Yeah. It rocks.

- I think it's tor posers.

- Well, I think you're a tag.

- F*** you.

- F*** yourselt. You'll get more p*ssy.

If looking the way we did in Utah

was unusual...

in Wyoming, affectionately

called the Cowboy State...

we were f***ing aliens.

What the hell are you?

We come from the east

in search ot the Messiah.

We tollowed that big star.

Yeah, we bring gold

and trankincense.

- Myrrh.

- Myrrh.

- You do what?

- Followed the star.

Oh, my God. Who let you boys

out ot the state institute?

We'd better get you boys

back in the hospital.

No. It's all right, man.

We're from England.

- England?

- Yeah.

That's right. That's probably why

we seem so weird to you, man.

England, huh?

Well, that explains it, I guess.

You boys enjoying your stay here

in the good ol' U.S. of A.?

Sure thing.

It's a great land.

- What the hell is that?

- It's all right, Mother.

They're from England.

Oh, that figures, don't it?

What the hell did they do

to your hair?

My God,

you look like a gol-durned Indian!

It was a medical experiment,

but he's gonna be okay.

You poor boy.

That's how come

there's so many floods and earthquakes.

There is a curse on the land.

- The end is at hand.

- That's so true.

Excuse me, ma'am, but there have been

floods and earthquakes...

since the beginning ot time, dude.

That is so, but never have so many

of Satan's tollowers...

been amassed on the Earth

as there are now.

And the Scripture states clearly...

that Satan's tollowers

will be in the majority...

and then God

will raise His head...

and tire will spew

from His snout...

and vengeance will burn

in His eyes.

You have not seen such fury

like the wrath ot God.

So you guys have lots

of devil worshipers around these parts?

Oh, more than ever.

They bear the mark.

- Amen.

- Well, what about World War II?

The Nazis were as good as Satan's army,

and the world didn't end then.

Yeah, dude.

What about the Nazis?

I don't see Nazis

as devil worshipers.

Oh, you don't?

I see 'em more like

a gathering ot people.

What? What did...

What's this about a mark?

You guys said something about a mark.

The mark will be on all ot them.

- The mark. Father!

- Oh, my God!

- I tear you, Father!

- Oh, my God!

- My padre!

- Oh, my God!

Oh, sh*t!

- Go, go, go!

- Told you those boys were trouble.

Oh, sh*t!

The Wyoming folk...

Well, they were okay, I guess.

Just confused like the rest of us.

But Nazis always pissed us off.

There were a few Nazi punks in town.

I don't know what these guys wanted.

They had the shaved heads and arm bands.

Rebellion is one thing.

That I understood.

But there are some things

that are just sacred.

Not to mention that anarchy,

a systemless society that I wanted...

no government, no rules... that was

the complete opposite of Nazi fascism.

So we kicked the sh*t out of these kids

every chance we could.

And that was that.

Hi, my name's Eddie.

You exist in a world ot dreams, Bob.

You know, I was just sitting over there

in that chair in the corner.

I didn't really teel the particular urge

to talk to anybody...

and then I saw you

walk in the room.

You are like a treasure.

I have found a treasure.

Something came over me... this urge

to come over here and talk to you.

I am Aladdin,

and this is my lamp.

I wished for you,

and here you are.

You're like a poet, dude.

No, it's you who are the poet.

Your face is like Ginsberg...

or Wilde or even Hawthorne.

Great tucking party! F***, yeah!

What are you?

I'm an ant

staring up at a human being.

I wait with great intensity

to be squashed by you.

You want to...

Who the tuck threw that?

Great tuckin' party!

The fight. What does it mean,

and where does it come from? An essay.

Homo sapiens. A man.

He is alone in the universe.

A punker. Still a man.

He is alone in the universe.

But he connects. How?

They hit each other. Ooh!

No clearer way to evaluate

whether or not you're alive.

Now, complications.

A reason to fight:

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