Q: How did the hipster burn his mouth?
A: He ate his pizza before it was cool.
Previously on hipsters
diehipster.com - A place for real New Yorkers to vent about the invasion of attention starved, useless adults that we know as hipsters
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Today, I saw a Pinocchio bodied, cupcake blogging, urban bee keeper preparing his supply of snowballs for this afternoon’s 1:00pm gentrified neighborhood adult snowball fight. So I cracked him in the jaw so fucking hard that his teeth turned into baby powder. End of story.
More here.
Previously on Hipsters <— A whole lot of funny.
Hipster warfare breaks out during performance artist Ann Liv Young’s show at Delancey Lounge
Young responded by throwing her wig at the stage, then lobbing the necklace that knocked Visco in the noggin.
When Young finally removed her shirt, Arcade gave her the ultimate dressing-down: “Being topless in the East Village [in 2011] is not radical,” she told her. Young left.
Hipster warfare breaks out during performance artist Ann Liv Young’s show at Delancey Lounge [Daily News]
Fucking love this.
Young, 29, who has performed at PS1, has included masturbation, urination and defecation in her work, and has both devotees and detractors. In a New York Times review, Alastair Macaulay criticized Young’s “startling ineptitude” after she spent 10 minutes trying to poop onstage.
A Hipster Walks Into Mars Bar…
Curly, bleached blonde ‘do — sides buzzed…
Skin-tight, distressed boatneck top, with a low enough scoop to show off some of that tasty — and Manly™ — burger meat…
Obligatory skinny jeans and Chuck Taylors…
Without a moment’s hesitation, confidently, like he’s done a hundred times before:
“Three PBR’s.”
Bartender:
“We don’t have it.”
Hipster:
[Look of utter disappointment and confusion. Noticeably rattled. You can see the immediate calculation going on in his head…“Dare I be caught drinking something as bourgie as…a Budweiser?” He regroups, poised just enough to mumble…]
“Bud is, fine.”
His order placed, he shrugs off this initial misstep and falls back into the comfort of his group while the drinks are prepared.
The bartender returns.
Our hipster whips out the plastic.
Bartender:
“Cash only.”
Hipster:
“Uh, oh…okay.”
Back to the pack. Hands struggle down deep into tight, practically vacuum-sealed front pockets for some crumpled up greenbacks.
Just enough.
Phew.
Our hipster takes a cool sip from the unfamiliar bottle, his hand shaking a little, a bead of sweat emerging from his forehead. He turns back into the pack and starts to bop his head to what he’s pretty sure is The Stooges playing on the jukebox.
The Hipster Cookie Collection, from Kristen’s Kookies.
They should change their name to ‘Derivative.’
Me, about your friend’s band.
Orgone - The Only One
AKA, REAL MUSIC.
Enjoy the Northside Fest, Billyburg!
Where every third song contains the word “menagerie” or “tapestries” and Casio keyboards abound!
Previously on Orgone
Me: “Who still uses a phonebook?”
Her: “I hear phonebooks are huge in Williamsburg.
@sloaneberrent, with the one-liner of the millennium thus far.
One just doesn’t see such comedic timing and delivery often enough these days.
(via nikkieeminaj)
