Alright, let’s get one thing straight—I’m a punk rock guy, through and through. Always have been. From the moment I first heard the snarling vocals and raw guitar riffs blasting through my shitty little boom box, I was hooked. Punk rock didn’t just speak to me—it screamed at me, kicked over my coffee table, and told me to stop giving a damn about fitting in.

There’s something about the unapologetic energy of punk that just fits the way my brain works. It’s messy, angry, rebellious, and brutally honest. No sugarcoating. No fake smiles. Just loud guitars, fast drums, and lyrics that actually say something. Whether it’s political frustration, personal demons, or just the urge to tell the world to piss off—punk rock puts it all out there.

Bands like The Misfits, Pennywise, Bad Religion, The Dead Milkmen—they didn’t just make music, they made noise that meant something. And I needed that. I still do. There’s nothing like driving around after a long, crap day, windows down, blasting “Bro Hymn” at full volume and flipping the world the bird one beat at a time.

While most people out here are crying to sad indie ballads or shaking their asses to top 40 garbage, I’m in the corner with safety pins in my jacket and a playlist full of fury. Punk isn’t just a genre. It’s a lifestyle. It’s the middle finger to conformity and the anthem of misfits.

So yeah—punk rock is my go-to. Not because it’s trendy (it’s definitely not), but because it feels like home. It reminds me that it’s okay to be pissed off. It’s okay to not have it all together. And most importantly—it’s okay to be me. Loud, stubborn, and unfiltered.

And if the world doesn’t like it? Good. That’s exactly the point.