I’ve arrived at a domestic intersection in my life where I enjoy doing stuff that would’ve made my stomach turn when I was fifteen. For example, now that I don’t have to spend nine billion dollars on super-important necessities like NaNa skull buckle boots and ten years’ worth of clown makeup every week, I can really wile away my adult existence “bargain hunting.”

Shiver.

I can’t be the only one who’s cut back on hair-dying in the bathtub with Kool-aid packets; my generation’s clearly been tagged as grownup consumers.

And, apparently, we shop at TJ MAXX for pet clothing.

this one from zazzle: http://www.zazzle.com/punks_not_dead_dog_shirt-155532375727855320

I didn’t buy this for my punk rock kitten kats, but, man, I feel badly about making fun of Mom’s generation for selling out to Nike now. We were gonna televise the new revolution, but I never envisioned it quite like this.

What further proof do we need? Punks iz dead. (Don’t forget your matching pooper scooper when you take Fido on his fashion walk, friends!)