Fuck Your Suburbs

It's not a hate, really. Not the passionate, well-calculated outcry against humanity that you'll see in every little rag and underground "zine." No, it's not that at all. It's a lot more intelligent. And a lot more sincere.

You see, I've been thinking about the suburbs, and how much they disgust me. And how much you disgust me, because 99% of you live in the American Wetdream that is the suburbs. But I don't hate you. And I don't despise you. But you do disgust me; I resent you. And that's significantly different than common, page-deep hate.

If I hated you, I'd avoid contact with you. I'd scream in agony every time I saw you, every time I went to the mall for a pair of shoes. Every time I ate at a McDonald's. Every time I drove through the highbrow neighborhoods to get to the lowbrow track. I might even run over your dog one night. But I don't.

But you do disgust me. And I do resent you. I resent breathing the same air. I resent paying ridiculous car insurance payments because of you litigious assholes. I resent your tunnel-vision dreams of mutual funds and IRA's. I resent the fact that I was raised in the suburbs and I can't do shit to change it. Am I bitter? Sure I am. And with good reason.

It's the kids. The parents. The dogs and cats. The cars. The fucking MTV PSA's to save the Earth by separating your newspapers. Know what? I throw my bottles, cans and newspapers in with my fucking trash. And that's just the beginning, baby. I'm ending the world. Here and now. I'm ushering in the apocalypse with my garbage can and I could give a fuck which suburb is the first to go.

You spend 18 years trying to get out of your home town. You grow up with a few good friends. The lot of you sit around, get drunk, talk about how different things are gonna be when you grow up. Time to empower the teenagers. Time to respect the kids. Yeh, well, there's a reason that teenagers get no respect: THEY DON'T FUCKING DESERVE IT. Bunch of spineless, pathetic rats in a pack. Turn on MTV for the latest news and fashion advice. Read Sassy for what music to listen to. "C'MON, MOM, EVERYONE'S GOT DOC MARTENS."

So you sit around in corporate parking lots, hiding from the cops, experimenting with Mad Dog and malt liquor. Get a little high and talk about how you'll rise above as soon as you get the chance. Rise above what? Your parents' disillusion? Your suburban boredom? The petty dreams of adulthood? Well, you've got your chance, pal, and you're blowing it.

Case Study

I grew up with 5 close friends. 5 people to fight the depression and repression that only teenagers know. They're 25 years old now, and you know what? Three of them are still living in their parents' homes in the same fucking town we grew up in. Makes me sad to see the regularity of a paycheck break their backs with complacency. It disgusts me because I know that they now sit at the same bars we snuck into with fake i.d.'s. In essence, they're the people we made fun of—the assholes who inspired us to break out and above when we were seventeen.

Let me tell you about them:you might recognize yourself. Al and Greg became volunteer firemen because they're so bored in their shit hometown. Al and Jim got jobs as phone salesmen through Jim's mother at a construction supply company. Greg got a temp job and IMMEDIATELY bought a new car. (Fuck that. I'd rather make rent for my own apartment than make car payments from my mommy's house) Greg then got a corporate job through his father. Al's brother got out of law school, moved STRAIGHT BACK HOME (making $60,000) and spent $30,000 on the cheapest BMW he could find, JUST TO HAVE A BMW. Greg's sister got out of school, moved home, and waited for her boyfriend to propose; it took 20 months, during which time she worked as a temp. If I were a betting man (which I am) I'd say that Jim and Al will be a cops within 2 years, Al's brother will be married to a Jersey hair-chick, Greg will still be home, and Greg's sister will have 2 nice, Christian children and a husband who watches sports all weekend.

It gets me fucking angry. And it happens in every stinkin' suburban shit town I've ever seen, lived in, read about or visited. If you don't see it, then you don't deserve the goddamn eyes in your head.

I've got a decent job now because I kept a shit job for 15 months. But I'm still broke. After my transmission got rebuilt for $1100, after my muffler was patched with chimney flashing, after the car stereo was stolen, THEN the u-joints and suspension went. Fuck it. So I got a loan and bought a new car. Whoopee! So now my insurance is through the fucking roof and I'm more broke then ever. But I'm still paying all my own bills, without a penny from anyone. So get off your ass. Move off your mommy's tit. Get out and find a some self-respect.

I don't give a fuck if you don't like it. Truth hurts, jerk-off. But I still don't hate you. I just resent you for being so happy in your ignorance.

Understand? Sitting in your fucking suburbs;worrying about the next Mets game, strapping on your Rollerblades, cooking your low-fat meals, watching your asshole sons grow up to date rape your asshole neighbors' daughters, cheering for the LAPD, and sucking down the antidepressants for the holidays;you disgust me. And once in a rare while, you'll step outside and realize that something isn't right. Something bugs you about the air, and you figure it's the acid rain, or the pollution, or your hay fever. Well, it's not.

It's your last shred of dignity telling you to forget your family and leave town. Or, more like it, kill your wretched little kids, then your spouse, then a neighbor or two, and finally yourself, in a surprising move of integrity.

But you won't. Because you're happy with your small pond and the power you have over your children, or the satisfaction you get from raising the little brats in a nice house. You fuck your spouse once a week, but masturbate every day. And you're happy. How can you be so happy? I don't know, but I envy you; I wish someone would come along and cut out a portion of my brain;maybe the part that gets me so pissed off;and set me down with a secure job, a wife and a Lexus. Instead, I get sick every day watching your decisions. Because when you get that unsettled feeling in your belly, the feeling that tells you something is inherently wrong with your town, you go back inside, take an antihistamine, turn on CNN and lament the end of the civilized world. And you can blame everyone else. Because you live in the suburbs, where the American Dream endures.

The End.