Three Wet Pussy (Riot) shots, and three pieces of evidence that I’m a punk

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Only recently have I bothered looking into Pussy Riot, a Russian feminist punk band most (in)famously known for their 21st February 2012 guerilla performance in the unsuspecting Russian Orthodox Church in Moscow which saw three of the pussy-rioters — excuse the pun — put in jail. Watching the video, it’s a brutal 30 second performance of ‘Mother of God, Chase Putin Away’ where the band infiltrate the altar with a mix of hypnotised worship/blessing oneself and rhythmic jabs and kicks, like an out-of-place yoga/cross-fit session where even the fluro outfits (minus PR’s amateur-robber balaclavas) make it seem just like that.

But that’s only the reality if you ignore those shocked and appalled at the blasphemous activity and goings-on before their very eyes. And in this very sacred place, this very temple and place of worship.

My look down the Pussy Riot rabbit hole (for some, perhaps, pussy hole for short; rest, stick with the long form) continued with me watching the HBO documentary which illuminates the state of Russia, both pre- and during the Putin reign. I then also watched recently-released rioters Nadezhda Tolokonnikova and Maria Alyokhina — Nadia and Masha for short — on The Colbert Report where they come off as sassy, intelligent youngsters, reminding me of myself.

*cough* *cough* ahem!

One startling thing I learnt from fingering around in this here tight Pussy Riot is that Nadia was born on 7th November 1989, exactly two months after me and, in fact, sharing the birthday of a good friend of mine from high school. As seems normal behaviour for myself now, I began assessing myself on what Nadia and I have stood for together: me, the poster boy of a couch-ridden, always-thinking forever-switched-on 24 year old driven with a punk rock ideology; and Nadia, the poster girl of actually being punk and breathing that ideology that would make others tight in the chest.

Here are a few things that make me punk in my opinion. Please read the following with full knowledge that I do not intend to be put in (funny the second time round too) jail, behind bars, in the big slammer, as someone’s bitch, in the very near future nor its very distant courterpart. I have repented and learned, and am now a contributing member to society, one that actively contributes to the social tapestry on a daily basis.

As stated, these are the punkest things that I can remember myself doing, in no particular order:

  • Displacing a vast number of milk crates and rehoming them where it was that I was living. This mainly involved me swiping them without permission from cafes when the waiters were doing their wares and getting paid, then me having to take a mix of trains, trams and by foot to make it home.
    • One time I did this it was a 35 degree day and I had ripped my shirt sleeve near the armpit by leaning down and kissing my girlfriend on the forehead (to the sound of a massive rip) in the morning. Thinking I was going to be late to work, I decided to forego reironing a new shirt and just wear the ripped one to work and just keep my arms as close to my body as possible so as to not expose the rip, even though it did provide a much-needed cooling down. I did not expect that I would have to have a meeting with the company director, and that my direct manager would rip my whole sleeve off by the end of the day. I ended up looking like only my right arm had experienced a Hulk-like anger whilst the rest of me remained calm. Then I stole the milk crate, much to the bemusement of my fellow commuters who decided to stick with tradition and keep their shirts with sleeves intact especially on public transport.
  • I often drank as an underage kid in Malvern and did some misdemeanours in Central Park outside of public urination.
    • Once there was some construction going on which coned off the fountain up in the rear of the park. I along with some good friends who will remain nameless took advantage of the five-finger discount here and displaced them and moved them onto Burke Rd, blocking off the full road. A man witnessed it and then chased us. We got away alive.
    • On another occasion, we switched off the pedestrian traffic lights. It involved hoisting and once again angry people. Again, alive.
  • Plugging in my USB at my office computer when I wasn’t meant to. Yep, that’s right, all because I wanted to listen to some Beyonce and Cloud Nothings. I never got caught.

Compared to Pussy Riot’s Nadia, I am a pussy, can’t riot, and have no idea.

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