DEAR PHILLY: (WILCO-ED THE FUCK OUT)

DEAR PHILLY: Why does being around hipsters make me feel so empty? Do you know what I’m talking about? WILCO-ED THE FUCK OUT.

DEAR WILCO-ED THE FUCK OUT: Ah yes, the ever disappointing hipster. Intentionally unintentional. Disheveled just so. Hey, man, I live in Beacon fucking New York, brother. I recently read an article describing it as “Brooklyn North”. And before we moved here, we actually were in Brooklyn for a while. So, you know, believe me, I know EXACTLY what you’re talking about; I’ve been living with these rodents for years. But still, it’s rather hard to explain, isn’t it? I mean, what exactly is it that’s so sickening about their presence? You really can’t quite put your finger on it, can you? They’re smarter than you, wittier than you. They went to a better school than you. Their parents were better parents than yours. They never seem to get frazzled or stumped. They’ve seen all the important films, most you’ve never even heard of. They know the names of the directors and have seen everything else that they’ve done. They’re on the cutting edge of everything, music, art, graphic design. They’re just so damn politically informed and involved and correct, they almost make you want to start voting Republican. Their whole game is just such a well thought out, well executed little trick they’ve got going. They stand before you all meek and mild, and yet at the same time with all the swagger of a CEO, and enough judgement to fill a jury. The other day I was hanging out with a few friends and I found myself talking to one of these little nothings who was wearing a t-shirt and suspenders and I made the mistake of holding up my bottle of beer I had just taken my first sip of and all I said was: “Hey, this is really good. Have you tried this?” And for the next 15 minutes I had to stand there and listen to this skinny little turd go on and on about how he had just visited the brewery up in Vermont and then he went into the whole process of how that particular beer was made and how they used some special German hops and he kept saying the brewmaster’s name (I forget) and I said, “Yeah, I don’t know” and he said, “Oh,” and so he went into this whole spiel about how he used to be at some awesome brewery in Colorado I’d never heard of but there was some sort of falling out between the partners and so he left there and went to work for some other awesome brewery out in California I’d never heard of which used to make some beer I’d never heard of that won some big prize I’d never heard of but then he decided to leave there to start his own brewery back in his home town of Vermont which brewed the beer I was drinking but in his opinion, the brewery grew too big too fast and they just weren’t brewing as good of beer anymore. I said, “hmmm,” and knocked back the rest of my beer. It was then that I happened to look down and I saw that this little poser was wearing goddamn knee high cowboy boots with his stupid looking ill fitting jeans tucked into them. I then looked back up at his 30 something year old face and I thought to myself, “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up now, doesn’t it?” Does it not? NEXT!