Don’t Cry For Me, Tijuana: Emo Wars in Mexico

If there’s one thing worse than misguided emo kids whining about the world, it’s ‘punk’ kids getting all aggro on them. Sure, in my utmost fantasies I pack all the crybabies into a stretch Chevy Astro Van, pop GWAR in the cassette player and drive it off a cliff – but in the real world I just roll my eyes, go on with life and maintain my superiority complex, like any good hater.

They do things different in Mexico, though.

In Tijuana, there are actual RIOTS going on over alignments with certain cliques, where emo kids, goths, punks and indie kids are beating each other to a bloody pulp.

Before I go on a rant, this is serious stuff and should be stopped. Violence leads to more violence. With that said, let the games begin.

First off, let’s air out the obvious truth for those that need to hear it: EMO, GOTH, PUNK AND INDIE ARE BASICALLY THE SAME THING. This is an irrefutable fact; anybody that disagrees simply doesn’t understand how asinine it is to consider any group of over-emotional self-outcasts anything less than angsty teenage pricks, boiled down to the same raw elements. The differences are so subtle between them that I’m willing to bet over 75% of the kids are kicking the sh*t out of their own ‘kind.’

I can say with utmost confidence that almost every person who considers themselves any of these tags, no matter what their age, are disillusioned and lost human beings, born without personalities.

This especially goes to any ‘punk’ who labels themselves such: punk ended the exact moment the term was created. Punk was a miscarriage, ladies and gents. Any collective group that proudly wears their coined namesake like it’s their actual culture – of which most have disowned in favor of joining the ranks of identical, trail-following twins – are liars in dire need of a reality check.

To be down for a cause is honorable; rallying against irrelevant matters (“you’re not as ‘punk’ as me – DIE!”) is for the wannabe types who have been mentally paralyzed since Chris Carrabba screamed infidelities to jaded, lost boys and girls incapable of handling that little thing the rest of us called life.

And don’t give me that “I don’t understand what it’s all about” copout. This isn’t a pissing contest. But if it was a contest, I would say, “You, sirs and madams, clearly have no f***ing clue about anything you have blindly aligned yourself with, and should really study up on the culture you claim is oh-so important to you before reducing it to a f***ing t-shirt and vehicle to make yourself feel important.”

(Note: if you’re a guy/gal who live their life within the fashions of the aforementioned without resorting to aimless hatred and self-absorbed ‘look at me’ ego-stroking, you are not only exempt, but rad as f*** and a rare breed. Keep on keeping on, much love and respect.)

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