Rather than seek to improve society, I much prefer to sit behind my computer and launch hate-bombs at large groups of people for no reason, because this is America goddammit. Nothing showcases my strength of character quite like mocking the lives of others via cowardly internet articles while I do absolutely nothing to improve my own life. I am so awesome. But this post serves as a public service announcement- not a rant -against the greatest threat to this great American nation of greatness: hipsters. What is a hipster, you (and my mom) may ask? They are people who purposefully hate good things and go out of their way to love bad things. A dive bar that only serves $19 designer grilled cheese and $12 beers made from organic turtle tears, all served by asshole bartenders with regrettable tattoos who have read one chapter of Aldous Huxley so now they’re suddenly an intellectual titan who is too good to check on your table? Hipsters love it. A clean upscale restaurant that serves reasonably priced delicious entrees in a timely manner? Ew, the worst, hipsters hate it. A movie about a guy who spends three hours having feelings on a beach in black and white? Hipsters love it, so genius. But Transformers, a movie where cars turn into robots and PUNCH EACH OTHER IN THE FACE while Megan Fox walks around in jorts – aka the best thing ever? They hate it. That’s what hipsters are; they are demons who seek to destroy beautiful things like sexy robot punching and replace them with terrible things like bands that only play Oasis covers on xylophones. They are the destroyers of worlds. They are the reckoning.
Some of you may be wondering why we need to be warned about hipsters. Because really, there’s no threat to your life just because you have to share the bus with a person who converted their repressed family issues into a sleeve tattoo that looks like it was drawn by a blind child. But that is where you are wrong, dear reader. They infest entire neighborhoods and cities like cockroaches, or Nazis. Are they Nazi cockroaches? Hey, if that’s your conclusion, it’s not my job to correct you. Look at cities like Austin or Portland or even my old home of Pittsburgh. They thought it wasn’t a problem either, but now they have to listen to all of their music on vinyl discs made of repurposed yarn (I hope you like the adjective “repurposed” because hipsters spit that word like hot fire). Instead of grocery stores they have food co-ops that sell stinky vegetables still covered in animal poop. They have outdoor art shows with talentless paintings of sad animals. They think Lena Dunham is talented. THEY WEAR VESTS. Not so “harmless” now, buddy. As my wife and I fled Pittsburgh during the great hipster blitzkrieg of 2013, I remember her screaming, “We left the baby behind, we have to go back” and I shouted in reply, grabbing her hand from the open door of the final evacuation helicopter, “No, he has a moustache now, he’s already gone.” That child we left behind now runs a café where the patrons have to power the lights by pedaling stationary bikes made from repurposed oil cans. RIP Fictional Kid I Made Up For This Mediocre Joke– moustachioed, but never forgotten.
So, how can we deal with the growing hipster menace? How do we stop this encroaching madness into our American way of life? Most importantly, we can vote for whatever 2016 presidential candidate supports carpet bombing Austin and Portland (I’m looking at you, Rick Santorum). We can also band together to support the awesome patriotic American mainstream stuff they hate. So go buy a Vampire Diaries halter top at Wal-Mart. Eat fifteen appetizers at an Applebees. Cook your food using only ingredients grown by our benevolent Monsanto overlords. Because if you don’t support mainstream corporate America, the Hipster menace will slowly work their way into your city, your home, and your life. They will silently move themselves into position before the kill, like sharks. Are they Nazi cockroach sharks? Once again, these are your conclusions and I can’t prove they’re wrong. Soon your local movie theatre will stop showing awesome movies with sexy robot punching and you’ll be subjected to four hour “art” films about Millenials thinking about trees a lot. Goodbye, Michael Bay presents Sexy Punch Robots 8: The RePunchening of Sextown; hello, Wes Anderson presents A Boring Moving Vintage Postcard. Soon your local bowling alley will still be a bowling alley, but filled with terrible people who smoke pipes and wear derby caps. Soon your son or your daughter will bring home a boyfriend or girlfriend with a Clash t-shirt, even though that person has never listened to the Clash in their lives. “You’ve never rocked the Kasbah, you son of a bitch,” you’ll scream, but your screams will fall on deaf, unprofessionally-pierced ears. So be vigilant, brave citizens. Be alert. And the moment that a restaurant opens in your town that sells $25 hamburgers served on repurposed wooden plates with apple chutney instead of French fries, you burn your house to the ground, salt the land, and you never look back. If your family makes it out of the house then all the better, but YOU CAN NEVER LOOK BACK. IT’S TOO LATE.