LOL! There’s a new fashion line by a gritty urban designer “from” the gritty urban streets of Bushwick; inspired by the names of the streets in Bushwick, and BushwickDaily.com approves! Yes, check out the Michael Wright Collection if you want to look like a punchable beardo who weaves baskets in gentrification cafes. Just look at those photos taken in front of rusty fences and graffiti - like yaaaah, so urban it hurts. Look at this vest (for only $45.00!!!) that looks like a 5 year old cut it with safety scissors. And seriously, if your arms are as thin as a line of spray paint, it’s time to eat a few hamburgers there Joshy boy. It’s really so sad that these white picket fence, cul-de-sacian nobodies are trying to turn Brooklyn into SOHO. Get the fuck out of here already – your try-hard bullshit is embarrassing.
Today I saw Cooper who practically overnight went from 28 year old Minnesotan newspaper delivery boy who eats and drinks Mommy’s Rice Krispy treats and Sunny-D to Bushwick art gallery curator who eats and drinks locally-sourced foie gras crepes and absinthe. So I beat him unconscious with an aged and hardened sopressata from A&S Pork Store and sealed him in an iron maiden. End of story.
Today, I saw Palmer the Virginia Slim 120-armed urban cupcakeologist heading over to the Greenpoint 30 and over hide and seek tournament for creative types who are helping improve Brooklyn. So being that I didn’t have any of my hipster beating weapons on me I ripped a stop sign out of the ground and bashed him across his bearded inbred Spin Doctor face. End of story.
Today, I saw a 39 year old, fly swatter shaped, bearded transplant long boarding to the over priced farmers market to buy kale that was sustainably delivered by Schwinn from Iowa. So as he rolled by, I cast my fishing rod; hooked him by his protruding Adam’s apple; reeled him in and beat the organic shit out of him with my trusty Louisville Slugger. End of story.
Damn, this is really pathetic and not the least bit funny. The Improv Everywhere group – known for gathering useless, space-wasting, infinite leisure time hipster fucks for mid-work day pathetic pranks like the “No Pants Subway Ride” and other retarded “look at me” shit recently did another tasteless prank exploiting a 99 cents store and it’s shoppers who have no other choice but to shop in there. I shop in 99 cents stores for certain things: Why not? Those stores are everywhere and if you can get something for half the price than in a larger store it kind of makes sense. But some people simply must always shop in these stores because they have no choice; and here comes the smug, smirking, giggling brigade of attention starved bastards to make a corny-ass video about it at their expense. I swear, I’d love to give that bearded megaphone organizer the biggest hipster beating ever. Can you imagine that some people out there have to choose whether to buy dishwashing liquid or toilet paper and these recently arrived shit stains from Oklassottahio are making fun of them just weeks before their parents buy them iPhone 5′s and other gadgets for their 30th birthdays or Christmas or Hanukkah? Like yaaaaaah, this is like rillllllllly funny!
These are the kind of stories that really show how self-entitled and disrespectful these fly-over state fauxhemians are. Caprice Esser the hair artist flies in from Michigan (according to her website www.capriceesser.com) and moves to Moore St. in”East Williamsburg” or as real New Yorkers know it - Bushwick – and wants two Spanish record shops that have been there for over 40 years to stop playing their music on the street because it bothers precious little Caprice. She complains that they are playing the music “eight hours a day”. Hmm, sounds like business hours to me; the hours where Caprice shouldn’t be home everyday to hear it. Sure, anybody who sleeps until noon on a Wednesday would be bothered by the loud music, but hey, she’s entitled. Never in four decades have complaints been filed with the city about these stores until she arrived – now they’ve been fined.
A few years back I posted about Midwestern hipster marching bands walking up and down the streets of Williamsburg in the middle of the night waking up old people and children on weeknights with their tubas, banjos, and drums. I swear if I lived on one of those blocks I would have my whole family piss in a bucket and dump it out the window on those mother fuckers. Now, if a bearded Mason and granola Molly opened up a “Nebraska lob cabin themed” bar/restaurant right under Caprice’s apartment and used the back yard for seating, smoking, music, and loud nasal conversation about 19th century poetry, 1980′s trivia or this year’s Bushpointburg indie film festival – she would be happy as a clam; happy that the ‘nabe’ is finally changing for the better. But what’s a good hipster story without some irony? The thing is, she’ll soon be gone to another stop on the L Train or back home to Michigan leaving nothing but more hipster hate in her wake.
And here on Bedford Avenue we see Zoey or Zach, not sure really, taking a picture (with hybrid vintage accordion/digital camera of course) of what us uncultured, blind-to-art natives would simply call a garbage can. Little do we know that this is art – urban art that only the trained eye and deep mind of the amazing hipster can see. The contrast of a dented Coke can next to a half-eaten authentic Mexican taco made by bed-head hair-do guy named Quaid in a Scooby-Doo van next to an empty pack of all-natural healthy Amercian Spirit cigarettes all in a garbage can wrapped in yellow tape. Just stop! Stop trying to figure it out! Stop trying to see the beauty – you won’t. Only they can, only they can.
The photos he/she is taking will soon be hanging in what used to be Perez Collision Specialists in Bushwick which is now a gallery that still uses the Perez Collision Specialists sign for sweet ironic urban cred. For an entire month, nasally transplants from cul-de-sacs all over the country will be viewing these pieces that only they can understand and see the beauty in as they continue to help put Brooklyn on the map – something it hasn’t been able to on it’s own for 300 years.