Ever heard the phrase “You break it, you buy it?” Well guess what? I broke Punk Rock. That’s right, it was me. Now, once that reality has burrowed itself inside your brain-ball and laid some fucking rock-eggs, do the rest of the math; I own Punk Rock. I broke it, so I ended up buying that shit. The cost: A potential night of cuddling and/or fingering with Cristina Martinez. You know, from Pussy Galore? You know, from Boss Hog? You know, from The Honeymoon Killers? You know, from your soaking wet Rock DREAMS? If you don’t know who I’m talking about, turn the channel, because I just covered my ears with my hands and I’m saying “La-la-la-la-la!” so I can’t hear you, jerk.

Some say Punk died the day Richie Ramone took over for Marky. Others say Punk Rock died the day the Sex Pistols stopped releasing one records. Still more say Punk Rock died the day The Clash became a popular children’s ride at Euro Disney. All three of those groups of people can turn their mouths off! I remember the very second that Punk Rock died because I was there. It was the day my band Billy opened up for Boss Hog at CBGB’s.

Billy wasn’t MY band at all. It was officially founded by Jason Zappa and some guy named Choobie. I worked with Jason at Scholastic Network, which was the online division of Scholastic Books. Tom Lyons also worked there. So did Joy Brewster, John Bowie, Leslie Lichter, a guy named Drew, John Lent, a lesbian whose name I forget, A really hot chick named Julie who dated Tom for a while, a black guy, and a bunch of other people. I wonder if I should go back and change their names? I don’t think they’d care. Tom Lyons would think it’s funny. So would Joy, she’s cool. I bet John Lent would be pissed but he was a douche so fuck it. Punk Rock!

There were about ten of us in the band, some of us had never met before and none of us knew how to play our instruments. I played an Indian drum called the Dholak, also known as the Nal. Some people also call it the Pakhawaj but that’s just pretentious. Our set list included “Ben From Tel-Aviv (he’s one mature man)”, “This is My Job”, “Throw Her Down the Stairs” and “Miss Plantain”. “Miss Plantain” was a love story about a girl with a big green penis. The first verse went,“I know a girl with a big green cock and they call her Miss Plantain. I know a girl with a big green cock, she sticks her cock in my cock.” That song was practically written for the Dholak.

We were about halfway through a song called “The Days of the Week: Monday I Shit my Pants” when Boss Hog arrived. At that time, there were about 7 people in the audience. Tom Lyons was one of them. John Bowie came. John Lent was not there. He was our boss. He played hockey in a men’s league and pretended to love his children. Fuck that douche! One of the seven people in the audience was running around in a small circle really fast. He had on tight pants and a codpiece. Just then the Kool-Aid Guy burst through the wall. One of the last three sentences is a lie.

Boss Hog watched us for a few seconds from the back of CBGB’s. Their faces were expressionless. Except Cristina’s. She looked at us with a very particular expression. It said, “I will never, ever allow any of you to cuddle with and/or finger me.” And that was that. We finished our set. Punk Rock died. I had a beer with Tom. The End.

Epilogue:
Tom Lyons got married and moved to Boston.
CBGB’s closed in order to make way for some awesome new luxury apartments!
John Lent continued to be a douche.
The Clash reformed as “The Blue Man Group” and went on to become an international success.
Punk Rock was resurrected by Guided by Voices but was killed again by Limp Bizkit
Cristina Martinez continued to be really hot.
Jason Zappa caught cancer that night (it was going around) and got really sick. Later he went into full remission. I hope he’s still ok. He’s the most creative person I’ve ever known.
Rob Corddry went on to write about his experience for Suicide Girls. The piece garnered him so much celebrity that his wife let him have sex with anyone he wanted.
One of the last three sentences is a lie.

Rob Corddry is an actor. He lives in Los Angeles with his wife and daughter.