I wish to recount just one incident, in a series of many, that constituted the most recent installment of "Fear and Loathing in Chestnut Hill: Bouge, Bugs and Bakes."
We found ourselves in the Lesbaru* on Lincoln drive at 2 in the morning next to, in the parlance of our times, a 'Pimped Out' Acura. The Acura's windows were tinted, its rims were gleaming, and its sound system was aggressive. None of the above can be said for the Lesbaru. But we were blasting, if such a verb can be used to describe this particularly feeble sound, the Lesbaru's previous owner's tape copy of 'Yellow Submarine', by the Beatles. When on the horizon, Tomas spotted a Yellow Volkswagon Beetle. "And it is in the humble opinion of this narrator that this is not just 'Something That Happened.' This cannot be 'One of those things...' This, please, cannot be that. And for what I would like to say, I can't. This Was Not Just A Matter Of Chance. Ohhhh. These strange things happen all the time."
Far more significant than this curiously coincidental incident, was the discussion that almost immediately followed: that of the Origin of "Punchbuggy Yellow No Punch Backs." Of course, the natural narrative leap that I so naturally just made was the omission of the fact that Tomas punched me in the arm and exclaimed the aforementioned exclamation. And we all thought it fitting that such a young looking friend would participate in such a child's game. Yet, all of that is quite beside the point. Here at Shmuz Weekly, we think there is only one true and viable explanation for the origin of this common recreational pastime:
Once there was a sloppy individual, and he was getting a ride in a car with some less sloppy acquaintances. He was undoubtedly riding bitch, and quite possibly crying, begging the driver to take him home, and snotting all over himself. Upon spotting a Yellow Volkswagon Beetle, he haphazardly responded to an array of stimuli, in a manner quite typical of a drunkard. See, one of his said acquaintances had recently punched him and he was seriously considering telling this guy not to do so again. But he was also considering punchin' dat asshole back. Deep within his consciousness, the Beetle conjured an oft-told family tale of this sloppy-man's childhood obsession with "Buggy's" (he was only three when he started yelling "Punch-Buggy!" every time he saw a Beetle on the road).
Thus, after a few shots of codeine, originally prescribed for his brother's wisdom teeth**, our protagonist's state of mind was in fact quite akin to that of his younger days. And as we often do when our inhibitions are so lowered, he responded to these various stimuli in one, barely perceptible, though unacceptably emphatic action. He punched his acquaintance in the arm and exclaimed "Punch-Buggy Yellow, No Punch Backs!" The accounts of this unforgivable incident took on a life of their own. The context and the derisive nature of the story both contributed to its longevity and widespread acceptance. And the story's inherent quality overshadowed the specific individuals and circumstances involved.
I know, this seems a bit far-fetched. But let's be honest, where the fuck else could this stupid-ass game have come from?
*The recently acquired White Subaru Station-Wagon belonging to Steve. To the best of my knowledge, it is still in his possession and has not yet been lost.
**Cheap-shot courtesy of Tomas
*The recently acquired White Subaru Station-Wagon belonging to Steve. To the best of my knowledge, it is still in his possession and has not yet been lost.
**Cheap-shot courtesy of Tomas
I love the idea that Steve could even lose a car, as if it were no different than his wallet, or the car's keys.
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