Rise of the Hipster

As I cruise streets on a trend filled Thursday night, I take a second to entertain a few of my senses.  Not only are my eyes the sole benefactor of the scene my mid-sized city has fallen prey to, but the sense of utter dread comes like a wave over my entire body engulfing me in a state of apprehension to my next step.  No sooner do I take my next step that comprehension of this dormant 6th sense of dread's awakening, comes to fruition.  You guessed it, standing before me is none other than the pacifist insurgents that have taken over my city...The ever growing hipster nation lays before me like an intentionally poorly dressed warzone.

            Those that have seemingly risen from the shadows of Neverwhere are in actuality an evolution of hippies under the guise of social aristocracy.  Absolutely contradictory in its genius.  There is no missing the thick, so you can't miss it, rimmed glasses, which upon further inspection do not include lenses. I have painstakingly been putting shards of saline saturated bendable glass in my eyes for years so that a girl, who doesn't wear rainbow colored stockings under a corduroy skirt, won't throw a mason jar of hydrochloric acid at my crotch just because I say hi to her at a bar. 

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            The tight V-neck cloth male blouses are something that is about as comprehensible as the plot of Mulholland drive articulated to me by a deaf guy with Down syndrome.  FYI, Daniel Tosh was wearing deep V's in his second season to make fun of you guys, trust me.  The way they still are able to hide the fact that they have accumulated a whopping 3 chest hairs, all uncannily long yet still very anti-Sly Schwarzenegger or anything else resembling badassedness, is nothing short of inexcusable.

          

             Still these “ironic” displays of unconformity, does not even hold a torch to the center piece of this well planned chaotic fashion upchuck and that is of course the under-armor fit denim slacks.  Even if Carl Sagan, with his uncanny ability to actually put it in laymans terms, teamed up with every Nobel prize winner for every category in existence since the fall of Ming and they came up with a way to mathematically explain the acceptance of these blasphemous leg covers, then gave their ground-breaking explanation to Morgan Freeman, and he explained it all to me over some warm chai tea in the presence of the Most Interesting Man in the World, I still would not get it in the slightest. 

            

             My friend put it best; while we were sharing some in descript beer, not because it was “cool” because I refuse to pay an alimony payment for some craft beer with an eagle perched on a bear’s shoulder on the label.  He motioned to some frail looking murse wielding manboy, and said “I’ll tell you one place he didn’t get those pants, and that’s in the men’s department.”  Then I proceeded to fulfill a hipster’s yearly laughing quota in the next 30 seconds.

           He couldn’t have been more right, it seems that if Brian Boitano feels the need to discreetly inform you that your scared crotch turtle has reared its ugly head through your denim tights, you might want to punch every single one of corner table mannequinesque friends in the throat for not going Simon Cowell on your pansy ass every time you asked them to help you zip-up your fly while handing them a wrench.

       

             The sight of these tool sheds is about as tolerable as Kathy Griffin’s Chihuahua, yet still gets overshadowed by the feeling of envy of all those blessed deaf people, while within earshot of any true hipster.  Walking past the café’s and patios of bars filled with overpriced beer, I feel like I just was on the receiving end of the Dread Pirate Roberts, to-the-pain, treatment, due to the constant wails of male maidens commenting on the high oak content in their Riesling, or the flippant tone used to describe the “social peons” in the thrift store, said hipster, bought his new/used/who cares cardigan in July. 

              Now looking ridiculous for the sake of looking ridiculous is fine, not my bag, but easily tolerated, yet trying to sound like your brain was developed by some think-tank in Switzerland, or your taste buds have been nurtured and honed by your personal chef Wolfgang Batali, and your personality as a whole is so fucking astounding that is was not only gift-wrapped personally by Donald Trump, but then given to you by the Prince of Dubai and shat out by a gold-plated elephant for your 16^th birthday.  Balderdash. 

         

            This overwhelming social perfection, which can only be compared to the last 5 min of a captain Planet episode, is by no means a product of ridicule unless of course these qualities are not even closely possessed by the so-called personality Power Ranger.

     

            Now therein lays the sole driving force of the Hipster epidemic.  The constant combo of naivete and indifference of their unjustified smugness and arrogance towards all that enjoy sweating on occasion or wearing glasses out of necessity, is what defines them.  These purple auraed individuals know not what they do.  They are all a product of their collective cliques’ unobtrusive progression towards constant malcontent of the status quo, regardless of how fringe it may seem.

            I have accomplished only to scratch the surface of this 5 foot thick Titanium wall of inexplicable culture shock that has recently hit me like a dozen angry monkeys using their feces as softballs, and me being in the dunk tank with a pack of bananas.  Not once in this normal thought have I even delved into the newest fashion craze these urban pansy elitists have dubbed the new regal cloth, that being flannel, so I assure you readers myself and the Hipsters are far from reaching a conclusion.

To end here's an awesome video I found, by some brit who apparently is in agreement with me

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVmmYMwFj1I&feature=player_embedded