hipster support group

It exists, a hipster support group

HipsterStories

Image from www.brokenstickmusic.wordpress.com Image from http://www.brokenstickmusic.wordpress.com

With things being so crazy lately, Jude and Clemmy decided they needed to find a way to get back to some normalcy.

A couple of days earlier, Jude found a flyer sitting on top of a newspaper stand outside of Randall’s that read: “Hipster Support Group; Be in the Know. We meet every Sunday night, 8 PM at St. Paul’s Catholic Church, basement”

He showed the flyer to Clemmy and they both decided it would be a great idea. On Sunday night, they arrived at St. Paul’s with smiles on their faces and renewed spirits.

They walked into the basement and immediately felt like they had found their long, lost home…… their heaven on earth. There were about 15 people already seated and it looked like a corduroy-beard factory.

Everyone was either sexily bearded, had cords on or both. A couple of the guys actually had fedoras…

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3 thoughts on “hipster support group

  1. [All this talk of hipsters reminds me of my famous 2013 comment about tattoos. I was awarded a statuette for Best Performance in a Comments Section, but only ceremonially.]

    I live in Portland, Oregon. (Waits for applause to die down from Portlandia viewers.) But, I live on the west side of Portland, Oregon. (Enjoys the indignant silence from same group.) That means the tattoos-to-SUVs ratio is comparatively low. Still, I get out a lot. Here’s what I’ve picked up.

    The proper etiquette for ogling body signage is as follows:

    You: “Nice ink.”
    Human billboard: “Thanks.”

    At this point, it’s important to note body language. If they track where your eyes are looking and turn to present art, you are allowed to get your zombie on and stare hard. If they roll up the sleeve or pant leg or (insert more personal article of clothing here), you have just been invited. Now, you are expected to lean in and critique their stains with no less than three appreciative adjectives. One syllable only each, if you are from east Portland.

    “Sweet.”
    “Cool.”
    “The snake coming out the bird’s ass is profound.”

    If they mention anything about self-design, brace yourself for more body reveals. There are doubtless several other sketches rendered somewhere intimate that were put out of sight for good reason, When the dude pulls off his shirt or the dudette tells you to “Go ahead and pull the collar down, it’s a big Death Butterfly,” you must be prepared for your childhood nightmares to be cut and reshot in your cerebellum. You now have new material. Heightened emotion is necessary at this point in the exchange to conceal either the bile rising in your gorge or the bulge rising in your pants.

    “Sah-weeet!”
    “Cool, man!”
    “Does that butterfly wrap all the way around to the. .uh…you know…front?”

    Closing comments often involve them thrusting the business card of the tattoo artist at you. Take it. Admire the artwork on it. Promise to check that guy out and nod a lot while you back away. Don’t allow the conversation to turn to whether or not you have any ink. Because you don’t, and when that disappointing information comes to light, you are never gonna see the rest of that Death Butterfly.

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