Tevun-Krus #29 - Punk Wars!

The Portal, the Youth, the Punk and the Barmaid - by @AngusEcrivain

"I'm way more punk than you. Call that look fucking punk? Baggy fucking pants and skate shoes? Fucking dick. Such a fucking poser, and what the fuck kinda' mohawk is that?"

"It's a fauxhawk..."

"Well it looks like shit. For fuck's sake. Where's your fucking Doc Martens, lad?"

"My wha'?"

"Fucking Christ. What do they teach your generation at school?"

"Well y'know... Geography, physics..."

"I meant... Oh fuck it, never mind... What about music, lad? Even if you dress like a posing dick you gotta' like some proper shit, right?"

"Well, y'know..." the youth said once again though this time he paused, for he knew what was coming the second he opened his mouth. "Like, Green Day, NoFX, Blink 182..."

He waited, eyeing the older punk warily but the man appeared to be nothing short of thoughtful.

"Now I'll concede," he replied, pausing as he lit a cigarette. "That Billie Joe's got quite the voice on him, ain't no fucker better on the skins than that Travis Barker and NoFX are pretty much the closest mainstream alternative to proper punk there is... But none of them are proper punk, lad. What about the Sex Pistols? Cock55? The Buzzcocks? Cock Sparrer? The Business? Some real fucking get down and dirty beat the shit outta' everyfucker punk?"

The youth looked blankly at him, for he had never even heard of any of those listed artists. He could definitely detect a genital-related theme though.

"Right, c'mon... There's a place 'round here somewhere you can learn everyfuckingthing you need to know."

"I dunno'..." said the youth.

"Think I'm gonna' give you a packet of Dolly Mixtures and expect a blowey in return?" the punk asked, chuckling. "Sorry to disappoint, kid, but you've got too much cock for my liking. Now are you coming or what?"

Reluctantly the youth followed the man in his Doc Marten boots, skin tight checker trousers and torn tee. He was a little more dubious about doing so when the man turned into a narrow alley but when he saw a large, suited bespectacled fellow at the front of a line of other people, quite clearly a doorman, he felt a little better about things.

If there were that many people around the chances of him getting buggered to buggery were slim, though the moment he had that thought he did touch the nearest wooden object, a doorframe, just in case.

"Evenin', Jonny," said the burly fellow with a nod as the youth followed the man straight to the front of the line. "Who's the scrote?"

"Ah y'know, Dave. Some poor fucker needin' somethin' by way of a proper education."

"Right you are, in you both go then. Bottles are free 'til five and twenty past."

Jonny and the youth entered the building and were greeted by the sights and smells one might expect of such an establishment: obnoxiously loud guitar driven punk music playing over the jukebox, stale urine and not quite as stale vomit, and a whole lot of people enjoying what was apparently a rather good night.

"Give us a couple, Evie," said Jonny with a wink, smile and nod to the heavily pierced, heavily tattooed female working the bar. She responded in a similar fashion, although with the added bonus that she placed two bottles of Newcastle Brown Ale onto the bar.