Punk Ain’t Dead

Flash Fiction piece. Comedy is hard.

punk is dead

They shouldn’t have abducted us. Peachy and I were just out smoking in back of The Know on NE Alberta after our set. I figure they were flying by overhead in the cloudosphere or some shit and heard how fucking raw our band was and they came down and grabbed us. Plus, Peachy was looking Joan Jett-vintage hot in the oversized black T-shirt we found at the Buffalo Exchange and all.

So when we got in their ship or whatever they are all like, we picked you to tell you the secrets of the universe and shit. And Peachy, without even brushing her bangs out of her eyes, her hair as black as Hitler’s mustache, is like, we already know that shit. We turn our heads away from them and laugh all low like backseat minivan sex with your parents driving.

Bam, the little green fucker doesn’t have a clue. He just stands there and blinks his big black eyes like a dick, sadder than a strip-mall Santa on payday. After a while he waddles off so we light up a couple of American Spirits and I pull a PBR tallboy out of the inside pocket of my leather. I grabbed it from the cooler when Dirt asked me to cover the bar for him when he switched the kegs.

So now all these little green frados come out and circle around us. I turn to Peachy and I’m all, ‘who’s flying the fucking saucer or whatever?’ She looks a way real quick with her laugh-track smile. They look at us with these Saturday morning cartoon eyes and we’re all, whatever, sipping our beer and throwing the butts in the corner of the futurama room.

‘Many apologies, humans, but there may have been a chance that you didn’t understand earlier, but we wanted to share secrets such as clean energy, faster than light travel, and a governmental system that will ensure world peace.’ One of the little guys says, like some dude mom’s dating making the case for an insta-fam.

I look at Peachy and laugh. ‘Yeah we already know that stuff.’

And Peachy laughs back, ‘We just don’t use it.’

The little green guys all wonder-whisper to each other for a while and then turn back to us and are all like, ‘why?’

‘That stuff’s gay.’

We laugh to ourselves and they do this thing like where they waddle in place with a look like, whaaaaat?

Peachy pulls out her iPhone while the one green dude looks like someone just pissed in his yerba mate and is all, ‘Would you like us to tell you anyway? Our scientists labored for generations to-”

Peachy is like, ‘How smart can you be? You don’t even have a signal up here.”

I finished the PBR, bent down, placed it on its side, and then used my combat boot to kick it at them.

‘That’s fucking punk, Niko,” Peachy says and steps into me. Our skin-tight black jeans interlace and I bite her lip ring.

Those little frados dropped us off in Southeast and we had to take the 72 bus all the way back to grab our gear. We got there right before Vagina Mine finished, which was fine because they needed to use my kit anyway. So, like, people say burnt shit like punk is dead, but fuck you because it’s not. There is nothing more punk than being able to save the entire world and going Rollins on them by playing PBR soccer instead.

By Sean Davis

Sean Davis is the author of The Wax Bullet War, a Purple Heart Iraq War veteran, and the winner of the Legionnaire of the Year Award from the American Legion in 2015 and the recipient of the Emily Gottfried Emerging Leader, Human Rights award for 2016. His stories, essays, and articles have appeared in the the Ted Talk Book The Misfit’s Manifesto (Simon and Schuster), Forest Avenue Press anthology City of Weird, Sixty Minutes, Story Corps, Flaunt Magazine, The Big Smoke, Human the movie, and much more.

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: