Never mind theï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½cynicism. We donï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½t want to hear how the punk legends have sold out to the very capitalism they bashed 30 years ago. Who cares, really. Everyone sells out eventually. So bust out your safety pins, and spray paint your faux-hawk pink. We canï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½t help but want to go see The Sex Pistols, no matter what caricatures of their former selves theyï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ve become. Cï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½mon, itï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½s Johnny Rotten with ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½all original members,ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ even though weï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½d trade one of them in for the unoriginal member, Nancyï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½ï¿½s vicious boyfriend.