Bash Back! News

Early afternoon, punktime, in Chicago, Illinois, a carfull of trans, genderqueer, queer, POC, cismale submissives, and female-bodied insurrectionists started driving down the road towards the highway. We didn’t care that we were driving because the environment is already destroyed and 2012 was an inside job, so we co-oped the technological beasts of our masters to use for our own means, speeding towards the northern suburbs. We hoped to smash straight into anarchists protesting nazis protesting socialists, in the absurdity that has become our reality– policed by… police.

Leaning out the car window with our teenage angst anthems playing full blast, we looked straight into the eyes of the guilty pleasure of our childhood, none other than Blink 182’s Travis Barker. U-turn! Parking lot! Out we jump! Followed him by foot into the doughnut hole of capitalism, “Hey!,” we yelled, “Come beat up nazis with us!” After canceling a few appointments, he agrees to jump into the speeding steel vehicle. Off we go again, with our black flag flowing majestically out the window, it’s folds fluttering in the cloudless sunny sky like a butterfly.

Into the barren wasteland that is suburbia– Not only suburbia, but one which is constantly bombarded by metal cages which explode with the fumes of the rich. More parking lots, a Target, hotels, dotted here and there with moving smudges of human. Cop cars! Lots of black clothing! No, these are not the BDUs and helmets so common to police, the military, and neo-nazis. These are the masks and hoods of our friends! Countless bodies mingling, waiting, scheming. Some engage in dialogue with the cops, most do not. The scene is one like that of the most melodramatic Battle In Seattle spin-off films– Hostility, tension building up. We arrived at just the right time! A sign above the heads of our enemies flashes: “JONAS BROTHERS! DEMI LOVATO!” But our American Apparel looks better than those of the pre-teen Disney channel stars outting the National Socialist Movement’s pedo-affiliation. Did you read Bill White’s resignation letter?

The polished heads of our enemies hide behind the thinning hair of other enemies, nazis behind cops… Kind of a tragic equation: 20 and 5. We surged forward like a tidal wave of destruction, and the thin blue line broke like a popped balloon. Cops scattered! Some took sides. After the previous dialogue with those who had arrived prior to punktime, an officer throws his badge to the ground and dons his shirt like a mask! He screams “ANARCHY! CHAOS!”, and lives all the burning desires he has waited so long to imagine. We charge, but not to the cops, or the nazis, towards the cars!!! Into the trunks we reach! Out we return, with bullet-proof vests, with helmets and snazzy face shields, with tasers, with teargas, with cool little walkie-talkies. This is dispensed to the crowd. Those without protection seek it, those who came with it, break it out.

We are beyond verbal confrontation. Not a word is uttered as brass knuckles, knives, rotten fruit, stale muffins, and flag poles fly through the air! Panes of glass are broken over heads! The silence ends: “FIST FIGHT YOUR OPPRESSORS! FIST FIGHT YOUR OPPRESSORS! FIST FIGHT YOUR OPPRESSORS! FIST FIGHT YOUR OPPRESSORS! FIST FIGHT YOUR OPPRESSORS! FIST FIGHT YOUR OPPRESSORS! FIST FIGHT YOUR OPPRESSORS! FIST FIGHT YOUR OPPRESSORS! FIST FIGHT YOUR OPPRESSORS! FIST FIGHT YOUR OPPRESSORS! FIST FIGHT YOUR OPPRESSORS! FIST FIGHT YOUR OPPRESSORS! FIST FIGHT YOUR OPPRESSORS! FIST FIGHT YOUR OPPRESSORS! FIST FIGHT YOUR OPPRESSORS! FIST FIGHT YOUR OPPRESSORS!” These words scratch our throats abrasively, like the granules of concrete which roadrash the faces of those we’re confronting.

The ISO, a monolithic political organism which acts as a parasite, born in the bowels of some Marxist theological hell-laboratory, feeds on babytape and dreadlocks. It begins with a rash, and quickly transforms into a thick red sludge that enters through the ear canal to cloud autonomous thought. The turns its hivemind to the melee. Out of the hotel erupts a group of zombified college students– Upon closer inspection we realize they have ISO! Communist philosophy oozes from their eyeballs.They run, with arms outstretched, schedules in hands, cameras and microphones dragging behind them. Thank you’s are drowned out by the sounds of the original crowd. They are pulled in.

We make no distinction between national socialist or international socialist. All feel the power of our collective fight. The cops have deserted us. Here and there, bodies drop to the ground… Their bald heads, red armbands and shiny boots adorn the pavement. One small masked, hooded figure removes the boots from a fallen douchebag, ties the laces together, and hits the last Xbox fanatical Youtube-using racist in the face, knocking him to the ground! They drape the boots over their shoulders and yell “I was the 16 year old blonde-haired Aryan chick you friended on New Saxon!” On second glance, the small figure appears to be a rather androgynous queer POC destroyer of worlds.

We look around as the dust settles. None of us has fallen. There are a few scrapes. Travis Barker has a broken leg. We attend to the wounds of our companions and walk away… As we look over our shoulders and the sun sets, we see one of those ridiculous metal cages explode fumes into the hotel full of Trotsky cookies and matching tracksuits.

Onward ho! Your town next!