To the handful of hipsters that ruined a beautiful sunny winter day that was last Sunday in Coney Island just by being in my presence.

First, to the 6 or 7 fucking blogtographers who all look like they hatched from the same cocoon. With your disintegrating Converse sneakers, on purpose bed-head hair styles, and parentally funded Nikon XR2849Z4-LP190372.01 cameras. Do you really need to come down here and snap pictures of rusty fences and signage to post on the hundreds of pseudo-Brooklyn blogs that are run by people born and raised in Milwaukee? Doesn’t it get old you fucking wannabe media types?

Next. To the licorice-legged, gender-puzzled hipster couple with matching frisbee sized sunglasses. Yes! You did it! You’ve managed to stroll down a gritty Brooklyn street while looking like heroin addicts when we all know that only 18 months ago you were swinging in your hammock back in Pleasantville while Mommy was whipping up a fresh batch of Rice Krispy treats for you. Get the fuck out of here before I toss you in the deep fryer in Nathans.