The Clash "combat rock"

When we were teenagers a couple times a summer there would be a C.Y.O. dance held at a church hall.  My friends and I would go to them to chase skirts and fill the void of suburbia.  We would somehow manage to procure a bottle of whiskey,  sometimes stolen though most times it was the prize of begging someone's unsavory older relative that was cool with promoting delinquency to buy it for us.  We would sit on the railroad tracks near the church hall and take turns pulling from the bottle.  Word would get out and other bad kids would show up and help us drink and ceremoniously smash the bottle on the rails when we were done.  We would then stuff our mouths with Big Red gum to mask the odor of cheap whiskey. Like wobbly cinnamon chipmunks we would file into the dance.  Those nights were blurry and had all the separatist social trappings of a teen event: social cliques holding up separate walls and painfully self aware.  We were a loud and obnoxious set.  We played our "rebel without a cause" cards proudly and danced with girls outside of our social strata and draped our arms over our female friends as jocks prowled nearby.  I don't remember the music that was played at the dances but I do know we brought the whole event to a halt as our request to hear "should I stay or should I go" was denied.  Our group defiantly sat in the middle of the dance floor until the dj relented and played the track.  We jumped up and gleefully pogoed and swung each other around.  We were the kings and queens of all we surveyed! 
If you don't know this seminal album by #theclash you probably aren't interested in this blog anyway.