Ah yes~The non-elusive Art of Punchbug is a decadent joy, highly held in the dark arts, indeed. Ohhhh…for the blasting of bony little arms with such evil abandon that even parents don’t get involved once the battlelines have been drawn.
You have done Nothing…until you have had a flashback…of frog-punching your big brother in the back by surprise due to the sweet slice of a vibrantly blood red beetle flitting past, in front of your mom and dad, so he can’t do anything but let his lip tremble because “We told you not to teach her ass that game” is still echoing in the atmosphere. My cherub-like cheeks blush in remembrance of a blow i may not have even thrown even now, so sweet is the VW beetle/punchbug nectar once imbibed.
the reckless joy that erupts everytime i see a vwbug here-and they weren’t lying it really may as well be the official car of Mexico on some blocks-lets me know that, even if i am crying “frail bones!!” alongside “I said no punch back!you cant hit a grandmother!” at Lenny Kravitz when i’m 80 years old after tagging the F outta his still pert 91 and a half year old ass, imma be punchbug blasting people every chance i get as an octegenarian.
Good old days indeed.