So you’ve found yourself emotionally entangled with a local punk band. Maybe it started as a fling. Maybe you thought they were just crashing on your couch for “a few days.” Either way, you’re now emotionally tethered to four people who think practicing at 2am counts as intimacy. Here are the red flags—sorry, tour flyers—to watch for:
You asked how their day was. They responded with a guttural wail and turned the amp to 11. You think it means “fine.”
You were told it was “all-ages and intimate.” You left with tinnitus and a splinter in your neck. That’s just punk affection, baby.
On one hand, you’re honored. On the other, the lyrics include the phrase “she smelled like betrayal and off-brand energy drinks.”
You didn’t buy any of them. You don’t know where the cheese went. There is no God here—only condensation and broken strings.
Studio time? Your credit card. Merch table banner? Your printer. Van broke down again? You are the van now.
You brought up your feelings and now there’s a group text titled “Setlist Drama Again (PRIVATE).”
It started with one Reddit thread. Now you’re in a Facebook fight with someone named RatBaby69 defending the artistic integrity of Municipal Screech. You’ve gone too far. You’re in the band now. They’re handing you a tambourine.
Conclusion:
If 4 or more of these apply to you, you’re not dating a person. You’re dating the drummer for Spit Ledger. And it’s too late to leave. You’re already listed as “Emotional Consultant” on the back of their cassette tape.
