Unworthy usupers

Usually I can shrug alot of stuff that irritates me off and just move on with a grumble. For whatever reason, that wasn't the case today as I walked through the Savannah mall. I had just left the book store and was on my way to pick up a pair of Levi's and some boxers when my buddy stopped and told me he wanted to swing into "Pac Sun". Now for the uninitiated Pac Sun is sad little store that caters to white kids looking for something a little less "hardcore" than Zumiez but less gay than say...The Gap. Here you can find brightly colored shirts with a dozen diffrent trendy, for the moment, designer's names slapped on the front, always in some tragicly cool fashion (Zoo-York? You sad little MTV-fashion faggot). You also have cheap looking belt buckles, West Coast style sunglasses and "cute" ergonomic sandals. All this just makes me roll my eyes, yet, lurking in the back of the store I found something that pissed me right the fuck off.

Jeans. Oh, yes: Jeans

In the back of this pop-punk nightmare was stack after stack of pre-worn jeans. I don't mean a little chemical fading or fucked up leg bottoms, oh no. I mean all the jeans had uniform cuts, wear spots and tears. I could imagine all these kids (and sadly adults) running around in their torn-up jeans like they had earned that. NO! When I was a kid I got all my tears, holes, wear, and dangling denium the old-school way: I put them there. I don't mean I ran up to my room after jumping of Mom's Windstar with a pair of scissors; I mean cigarette burns, knives, passing out in gutters, falling off things, gettng in fights, mosh pits, parties, jumping chain link fences, barbed wire, and wearing the same fucking pair of jeans for days upon days. I'm of the school of thought that those who call others posers all the time are often the real posers themselves, but I have some grand-father rights here; I grew up in the Seattle area in the 90's and dammit, enough is enough. I have a Rage Against the Machine shirt in my drawer that saw me through Jr. High and High School that has had every single human bodily fluid in existence on it.

So as I stood there in the back of the store quivering in rage and indignation I realized that it was all over. All the old warriors are gone now and all that remains of our glory days is marketing to a bunch of upper class white kids with fro's that listen to The Beastie Boys.