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From the forthcoming Boredom Was The Reason:

Two words created me: Punk Rock. Fearless in all of my endeavors, I have always felt that if you don't like something and have the ability to change it, then do it or shut the f--k up. It is criminal that the punks on the pages that follow were almost forgotten. But we ain't dead yet.

This was a specific time with a small group of people who made a big noise. The friends you will meet in this document are lifelong. Every time we run into each other it's like a secret handshake. This is our Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, but Mr. Thompson was an outsider and used a certain license with the truth. No names have been changed here to protect the innocent.

Not many people get a chance to be part of something they actually believe in, something they would fight for. The punk scene that sprouted up at the end of the '70s in America was a product of the times. And we'd kick your ass if you didn't agree with us. We had enemies; the cops, Reagan, our parents, Rockabilly boys, Nazi skinheads, metal dudes and, of course, hippies.

"Punk rock died in the '80s, man." This is true. That's why old bastards like me write—to set the record straight. Las Vegas had one of the most active and thriving punk movements in the country. We ran our own shows, printed our own flyers, recorded our own music and caused our own demise. Whether or not the scene persisted is irrelevant. It happened then and it happened here, so f--k off.

This will actually be two stories; (1) a history lesson about surviving the punk scene; and (2) the first book ever written about actually growing up in Sin City. These words are based on memories. Memory is a subjective resource, but I don't want a chronicle of just facts and dates. I want you to feel the passion of the punkers who endured those reckless years.

Why is it that the parents' music is so revolutionary and the poor kids are forced to listen to horseshit? Things sure have changed. You shouldn't live in the past, but you shouldn't forget it, either. When you can run down to the mall to grab your Anarchy T-shirt and bondage pants next door to Orange Julius, punk rock just doesn't seem that special anymore. And technically it's not. Like everything else that eventually becomes part of the mainstream, it is now watered-down shit, spoon-fed to the masses for easy consumption. The Ramones and The Clash are now car commercials and The Misfits are action figures. Joe Strummer must be spinning in his grave like a rotisserie chicken.

The majority of bands who wear the punk moniker today are about as punk as an Osmond family reunion. I hate this so-called new punk so bad I won't even repeat the names of these soulless, limp-dicked morons. There's nothing revolutionary, exciting or original about any of it. Emo and pop should never preface the word punk, as far as I'm concerned. Thank you, MTV, for sucking the life out of a music form that once had so much integrity. Your job here is done.










From the forthcoming
Boredom Was The Reason:





The irony does not escape me that a man who might have read two books in his whole life wrote this cock-and-bull story. I've got ADHD with an OCD chaser and the attention span of a chimpanzee on a triple espresso. Reader, beware.

Two words created me: Punk Rock. Fearless in all of my endeavors, I have always felt that if you don't like something and have the ability to change it, then do it or shut the f--k up. It is criminal that the punks on the pages that follow were almost forgotten. But we ain't dead yet.

This was a specific time with a small group of people who made a big noise. The friends you will meet in this document are lifelong. Every time we run into each other it's like a secret handshake. This is our Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, but Mr. Thompson was an outsider and used a certain license with the truth. No names have been changed here to protect the innocent.

Not many people get a chance to be part of something they actually believe in, something they would fight for. The punk scene that sprouted up at the end of the '70s in America was a product of the times. And we'd kick your ass if you didn't agree with us. We had enemies; the cops, Reagan, our parents, Rockabilly boys, Nazi skinheads, metal dudes and, of course, hippies.

"Punk rock died in the '80s, man." This is true. That's why old bastards like me write—to set the record straight. Las Vegas had one of the most active and thriving punk movements in the country. We ran our own shows, printed our own flyers, recorded our own music and caused our own demise. Whether or not the scene persisted is irrelevant. It happened then and it happened here, so f--k off.

This will actually be two stories; (1) a history lesson about surviving the punk scene; and (2) the first book ever written about actually growing up in Sin City. These words are based on memories. Memory is a subjective resource, but I don't want a chronicle of just facts and dates. I want you to feel the passion of the punkers who endured those reckless years.

Why is it that the parents' music is so revolutionary and the poor kids are forced to listen to horseshit? Things sure have changed. You shouldn't live in the past, but you shouldn't forget it, either. When you can run down to the mall to grab your Anarchy T-shirt and bondage pants next door to Orange Julius, punk rock just doesn't seem that special anymore. And technically it's not. Like everything else that eventually becomes part of the mainstream, it is now watered-down shit, spoon-fed to the masses for easy consumption. The Ramones and The Clash are now car commercials and The Misfits are action figures. Joe Strummer must be spinning in his grave like a rotisserie chicken.

The majority of bands who wear the punk moniker today are about as punk as an Osmond family reunion. I hate this so-called new punk so bad I won't even repeat the names of these soulless, limp-dicked morons. There's nothing revolutionary, exciting or original about any of it. Emo and pop should never preface the word punk, as far as I'm concerned. Thank you, MTV, for sucking the life out of a music form that once had so much integrity. Your job here is done.

Rather than dwell on how things were better back in the day, I present a time capsule of this unique decade. If you missed it, I'm sorry and hope you can enjoy this history lesson. For those of you who lived it, then this is a well-deserved trip down one f--ked up memory lane. Say hello to M.I.A., Self Abuse, A.W.O.L., Subterfuge, T.M.O.A., F8, Young Rebels, Bad Attitude, F--k Shit Piss, Social Destruction, 5150, Ruckus, Abeyance, Vermin From Venus, Substance D, The Remains, R.Z.M., The Atomic Gods, Schizoid, Poor White Trash, Lethal Injection, Personal Regrets, Shakin' Dominoes, Smart Bomb, Agua Fritas, O.T. Factor, Pap Smear, Sausage Hostages, T.P.U., Intentions Of Hate and special guests.

We had no cell phones, Internet, cable television, HIV scares or white boys who think they're black. Hell, compact discs hadn't even been invented yet. If you wanted a record of the newest band that you heard on KUNV, you ordered it from the Record Exchange, or you drove to California and bought it. The majority of people in the country and in Las Vegas right now are unaware that we had this much history. I hope with some humility (a trait I'm not known for) that these words and pictures fix that injustice.

On a cynical note, it's 2007 and I don't even know my town anymore. Property values are through the roof, traffic and road construction are endless, and the homeless stop you at every storefront. Turn on the evening news and every day someone is murdered, abducted, beaten or raped. "And now, here's Dan with the weather." I know this is happening everywhere, but this is my home and it hurts to watch. This is a Las Vegas I knew 20-some-odd years ago. I'm not here to talk about the Rat Pack, strippers, gambling, the Mob, the entertainment industry or old Vegas vs. new Vegas. These topics have been covered ad nauseam. And if one more Vegas reality show pops up on my television, I'm goin' postal.

This brand new cool address was just home. It was a place to grow up, cause trouble and get laid, making as much noise as possible along the way. By the time this gets printed there will be two million people in the Las Vegas Valley. They move here by the thousands to that city they saw on TV, a city I've never met. Silk-shirted, chain-wearing, coke-snortin', club-hopping trendy jackasses with their bleached-blond, fake-tittied arm candy. They ruined Los Angeles and now they're here for you. Enjoy, you poor clueless bastards.

Enough ranting. "Look at me, Ma! I'm writing a book." Not bad for a kid who slept through English class.


Rather than dwell on how things were better back in the day, I present a time capsule of this unique decade. If you missed it, I'm sorry and hope you can enjoy this history lesson. For those of you who lived it, then this is a well-deserved trip down one f--ked up memory lane. Say hello to M.I.A., Self Abuse, A.W.O.L., Subterfuge, T.M.O.A., F8, Young Rebels, Bad Attitude, F--k Shit Piss, Social Destruction, 5150, Ruckus, Abeyance, Vermin From Venus, Substance D, The Remains, R.Z.M., The Atomic Gods, Schizoid, Poor White Trash, Lethal Injection, Personal Regrets, Shakin' Dominoes, Smart Bomb, Agua Fritas, O.T. Factor, Pap Smear, Sausage Hostages, T.P.U., Intentions Of Hate and special guests.

We had no cell phones, Internet, cable television, HIV scares or white boys who think they're black. Hell, compact discs hadn't even been invented yet. If you wanted a record of the newest band that you heard on KUNV, you ordered it from the Record Exchange, or you drove to California and bought it. The majority of people in the country and in Las Vegas right now are unaware that we had this much history. I hope with some humility (a trait I'm not known for) that these words and pictures fix that injustice.

On a cynical note, it's 2007 and I don't even know my town anymore. Property values are through the roof, traffic and road construction are endless, and the homeless stop you at every storefront. Turn on the evening news and every day someone is murdered, abducted, beaten or raped. "And now, here's Dan with the weather." I know this is happening everywhere, but this is my home and it hurts to watch. This is a Las Vegas I knew 20-some-odd years ago. I'm not here to talk about the Rat Pack, strippers, gambling, the Mob, the entertainment industry or old Vegas vs. new Vegas. These topics have been covered ad nauseam. And if one more Vegas reality show pops up on my television, I'm goin' postal.

This brand new cool address was just home. It was a place to grow up, cause trouble and get laid, making as much noise as possible along the way. By the time this gets printed there will be two million people in the Las Vegas Valley. They move here by the thousands to that city they saw on TV, a city I've never met. Silk-shirted, chain-wearing, coke-snortin', club-hopping trendy jackasses with their bleached-blond, fake-tittied arm candy. They ruined Los Angeles and now they're here for you. Enjoy, you poor clueless bastards.

Enough ranting. "Look at me, Ma! I'm writing a book." Not bad for a kid who slept through English class.

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