“She belly-flopped in front of a car wearing a suicide note… just another case of a geek trying to imitate the popular people and failing miserably.” — Shannen Doherty, Heathers
Last month’s issue of Spin ruined my day. I opened my mailbox to find Gerard Way’s stupid pasty Bowie-wannabe face staring at me from the pitch-black chasm of his metal coffin, suffocating among the unpaid bills and slicing his wrists on credit card offers. “Kids were gonna kill themselves. Then they heard our music,” blurbs the My Chemical Romance frontman. Funny — that’s how I feel when I hear My Chemical Romance — l like I want to do myself in.
The article goes on to give quotes from a bunch of weasel-faced wankers on message boards such as ImNotOkay.net. My favorite was “I even wrote my suicide letter. I even planned a date that I was going to kill myself. But then, My Chemical Romance came into my life.” I hear that phrase a lot on Sunday morning talk radio, only instead of My Chemical Romance, it’s Jesus, and there’s no chance Gerard Way is the savior — patron saint of mopey mallrats, sure, but certainly not the He Who Will Redeem.
“What the world needs now is some new words of wisdom, like la la la la la la la la la” — Cracker, “Teen Angst (What the World Needs Now)”
I say, if all it takes is some asinine song lyrics and some black eyeliner to save your life, you probably weren’t that suicidal anyways. The music industry is cashing on the surging popularity of teen angst, manufacturing it so that if you’re not miserable, you’re obviously, “suppressing the darker side” to be “the happy bunny” this so-called “everyone” wants you to be. Horizontal arm scars are a fashion trend much like skinny jeans, (and just as ugly) and your most recent suicide attempt is a lunchroom buzzword.
This culture of teenage suicide encourages self-mutiliation by making it acceptable to give into pain, because apparently, some white-haired douchenozzle in LA gives a crap about your self-inflicted sense of alienation. Instead of telling you to grow the hell up and stop being such a whiney little wank-job, the Hot Topic/My Chem culture encourages surrendering to your idiotic tendencies because it’s the hip new thing to do. By putting so much emphasis on self-destruction and thus bringing it to light gives it the power to become a heroic trend, much like eating disorders and school shootings.
Teenagers love to talk nonchalantly about their problems, like “whatever, I just cut myself and bled all over the carpet and my mom was all mad because it’s brand new, but whatever, it’s no big deal, it doesn’t hurt, I cut myself all the time to let out my inner torment,” because other morons, (usually girls) will squeal “omg, that’s, like, so sad and you are, like, so deep!” They love the attention their angst gets them—teenagers want bLaCk_WhIsPeR_13 to *huggles* them and say, “there there, please don’t hurt yourself, I <3 u,” and thus, such sentiments become emotional heroin. Early Childhood 101 tells you that acknowledging negative behavior only reinforces said behavior, when if you ignore it, eventually, the child stops trying to get your attention. Parents, combat this trend in your teen by handing your precious little Poe a shovel and say, “Get outside and clear the walk, Gloomy McMopeypants.”
“The music brings out the shit in them,” Gerard Way in Spin, complimenting his fans.
I can’t imagine a more pathetic scene than a bunch of pre-teens with eyeliner running down their faces, (especially the boys, yuck) sobbing over tepid lyrics like those found in “Drowning Lessons:” “From the times that I’ve killed you and then/We can wash down this engagement ring/With poison and kerosene/We’ll laugh as we die/And we’ll celebrate the end of things/With cheap champagne.”
I should start by pointing out that he probably stole these sentiments off Belladonna Mourningstar’s (age 14) poetry.com page. Secondly, they suck, and third, how does this make anyone feel less like killing themselves? I want to gouge my eyes out having just read them, which would have been especially bad since I just went deaf from stabbing my eardrums out with toothpicks.
“Life is pain — anyone who tells you otherwise is selling something” — William Goldman, The Princess Bride
I got news for you, Gerard, most teenagers are miserable—they’re stuck in crappy schools, they’ve got raging hormones and bad skin, and they’re confused enough about the state of their tiny worlds without some bleached turd in a black suit reveling in their angst for the exorbant price of concert tickets and special edition CDs. You and every other terrible rotten shitty emo/goth/suburban pseudo-punk band exploit their fans sadness because if they’re not miserable, they won’t buy your albums (Billie Joe Armstrong, I’m talking to you!). And I got news for all the My Chemical Romance fans with scissors to their wrists—you’re right, no one gives a s**t about you. Think about it—you don’t care about anybody else, so why would they waste their time caring about you?
I say, do it. Up the street, kid, not across the highway. The only thing stopping you is that you know if you’re dead, you can’t soak up any more attention from your short-bus internet friends, and they don’t allow razor-blade masturbation in Heaven. The world could always use one fewer useless, sulking, door-slamming adolescent. Go on, apparently, all the cool kids are doing it.
Quotes and lyrics deliberately used without permission—what are you gonna do, cry about it?