Dance punk, as in a command -- not another lame genre signifier ...right?
as in "Dance, punk!! ...or I kick you in the groin."

-----

So, two days ago -- it's about six thirty a.m., I was getting ready for work.
Hark! A horn sounds, a car approaches. Again, the horn! Again and again and again... the horn!
The mini-van goes around the circle of apartments -- honk! honk! honking away!
My blood begins to boil. What an inconsiderate asshole! I'm reminded of a sign that was posted by ovidovi's old place. "Your horn is not a doorbell."
The car continues around the buildings, now entering the parking areas for the building. The car still sounds it's death knoll as it swings towards my building.
I peer out the window at the offending auto. The man driving the car pauses, looks up and notices me. Down rolls window.

"Hey is Steve up there?" he calls.

"No, fuck-o! Steve is not up here! And hey, just so you're aware, it's 6:30 in the morning so quit pretending your the grand marshall of a parade and cut that honking shit out!!" I shout indignantly.

"Sorry, " he intones.

"Yeah, whatever..." I mutter and return to getting ready for work.

What makes people tick? Was he still drunk from the night before?
Was here there to pick up Steve for work?
If so, why the fuck didn't he work out the logistics of picking up Steve in a more appropriate manner? Did he expect Steve to come running out of one of the 10 buildings on our circle at the sound of a horn?

I guess I should count myself lucky in that I was already awake...
and my neighbors lucky that he didn't have a bullhorn.

God I hate people ...but love the fact that my synapses were firing so well that I was able to snap back a response I ususally could have only dreamed of.