Hell yeah. It was 1975 and I was hanging out at CBGBs with John and Legs. When Dee Dee Ramone (or maybe it was Johnny Ramone — it was hard to tell them apart, they all looked the same with the hair and black leather jackets) (I know it wasn’t the drummer, he was relatively quiet and well-behaved) got in my face and accused me of stealing his stash of heroin (in truth I had merely borrowed it and planned to return it in full at a later date).
Long story short Dee Dee Ramone beat the living shit out of me. Wiped the beer-soaked floor of CBGBs with my face.
But as I picked my battered and beaten and soggy body off the floor and staggered towards the exit I had an epiphany that made the horrible experience worth it’s while. For at that moment I made a solemn vow to myself to never again listen to Punk Rock music. And spent the remaining days of my life happily listening to New Wave bands like the Cars and Flock of Seagulls.
True story! . . . Sort of.