Monday, August 01, 2005

An Ode to Ye Olde Hipster

Ye Olde Hipster,
Thou art an inspiration.
As the lesser of your peers
long ago abandoned their pursuit of The Cool,
in favor of jobs and families,
you remain relentlessly committed to party,
fearless and unconcerned
with trivialities like mortality
and financial stability.
A champion.

Ye Olde Hipster,
Thou carest not that your mere presence
bumeth out the younger revelers,
your generous beer gut and cigarette-wrinkled jowls
a living warning of their folly's fate,
like a sad ghost of party's future.
Buzzkilling aside, you still fucking rawk.
Your wheezing laughter at your own jokes,
rasping and resplendent.
Awesome, dude.

Ye Olde Hipster,
Your cup of Sparks runeth over,
lubricating your lascivious leering,
at the scantily clad emo girls
who weren't yet borne when you first visited this bar.
They titter and giggle at you from across the room,
which you mistake for flirtation,
but they're amused by how tight your vintage AC/DC shirt is,
your pasty white flab both appalling and enthralling.
Tattoos faded and stretched.

Ye Old Hipster,
Though dost has blacketh out a host of Pabst ago,
Your slurred dementia and pleas of afterpartying,
a delightful amusement for all to behold.
As you loudly brag about having made Vice's "Don'ts" list
that one time you passed out on top of a bag lady,
we enjoy a spirited laugh at your expense,
but you don't seem to mind, thou Hipster of Olden time,
for you have seen much with your bloodshot eyes,
even The Ramones (so you say).

Ye Olde Hipster,
this is but a small ode to your glorious nature.
May your Pabsts stay cold and your Parliaments plentiful,
as you regale the infinite river of eager youth with tales
of an entire live lived jaded, detached and really fucking cool.
Your endurance and longevity engender great respect
in the hearts of all those whom you encounter.
We see your grim reminder that the party always ends,
and we feel a deep empathy and reverence.
But mostly we laugh at you.

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