LET’S JUST ADMIT THAT YOU ONLY BECAME A HIPSTER BECAUSE NO ONE INVITED YOU TO THE ‘COOL KID’ PARTIES IN HIGH SCHOOL. YOU MIGHT HAVE THE SEXIEST FIXED GEAR EVER OR THE SICKEST RECORD COLLECTION ON THE EAST COAST BUT YOU BECAME THIS ELITIST PRICK, THE EXACT SAME KIND OF ELITIST PRICK THAT DIDN’T INVITE YOU TO TARA NEWTON’S BIRTHDAY BASH, BECAUSE YOU WEREN’T ATHLETICALLY INCLINED OR VERY SEXY.
INSTEAD OF BECOMING THIS ALL-INCLUSIVE PUBLIC FIGURE WHO EMBRACES THE DISILLUSIONED YOU GET A HALF-SLEEVE AND A CAFE JOB AND TALK SHIT ON EVERYTHING IMAGINABLE LIKE YOU INVENTED IT, ESSENTIALLY BECOMING THE THING THAT MADE YOU, IN SOME SAD SORT OF OUROBORIC FEEDBACK LOOP, WHEN YOU SHOULD IN FACT BE THE MOST WELCOMING, TOLERANT PERSON ON EARTH, KNOWING THAT YOUR ENTIRE PERSONALITY IS BASED ON BEING EXCLUDED FROM THE THINGS YOU WANTED SO DESPERATELY TO BE A PART OF AS A TEENAGER.
DON’T GET ME WRONG, I LIKE YOUR BIKE, BUT GO FUCK YOURSELF.
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WORD PIG, WORD.
