Don't mess with me...

Back in the day I had a Mohawk; circa 1982, not long after I first heard the Ramones I decided I must have one. This Mohawk was a big red static rooster job that rose up into the chandeliers of the rich parents I’d freak out when their daughters brought me home. They were all like FREAK and I was like COOL and they were like GET OUT! I would have my revenge in the form of quarter sticks of dynamite place strategically around the parameter of their glass houses; time delayed fuses (cigarettes) and in the middle of a peaceful cognac coma, at 3 am (according to the position of the moon in the sky) BAM! Their fucking mailbox would be in ten thousand tiny pieces; sans folding chairs, sans flower boxes, sans Rover’s little plywood abode…