We May Have Discovered The Earliest Video Recording Of Hipsters

We May Have Discovered The Earliest Video Recording Of Hipsters

Are these the first real recorded instances of hipsters in the wild?

Lessee; they’re riding “fixie” bikes. That’s strike one. Check out the ironic facial hair. They might not have thought that their facial hair was ironic. It might just be ironic. That’s so meta. That’s strike two and strike three. They’re doing pointless stunts on their fixies while being filmed. That’s strike four. The second guy with the slouchy hat is obviously a big fan of medical marijuana. And medical laudanum. And homeopathic opium. A bit of chloral hydrate, too, no doubt, but that was probably just recreational. There’s strike five. He probably washed it all down with absinthe. Strike six. The third dude adumbrates the parking of bicycles by attaching them to every object affixed to the ground in an urban area. Strike seven. Then they all got together to jump rope with a bicycle, taking up an area equivalent to an entire city park, discommoding everyone else but themselves.

Case closed. They’re hipsters.

Where I Come From, It’s Frowned Upon To Throw High-Maintenance Women Off Of Cliffs — If Anyone’s Lookin’

Where I Come From, It’s Frowned Upon To Throw High-Maintenance Women Off Of Cliffs — If Anyone’s Lookin’


The true Borderline Sociopathic Boy isn’t afraid to look spiffy. At high-falutin’ dinners, we know which fork to eat our curly fries with, too. When we’re tasked with making a speech at a public function, we’re way too suave to write crib notes on our palm. If our memory falters halfway through a wedding toast, or a charity dedication, or a wake, we know we can always fall back on our innate charm, and toss in a joke or something — like asking someone in the first row if they know anything about real estate, then grabbing the crotch of our immaculately tailored pants, which break at the ankle just above the shoe, of course, and if they say yes, we ask, “Well, is this a lot?”

[Many thanks to the always stylish Gerard at American Digest for sending that one along]

I Know Ali Could Have Beaten Tyson Because Ali Beat Foreman

I Know Ali Could Have Beaten Tyson Because Ali Beat Foreman


Boxing is less than a joke now. It was partly crooked right from its infancy, but it wasn’t like wrestling or anything; one man might throw a fight, but when someone punches you in the face, you have a tendency to hit them back. I wonder how many fixed boxing matches didn’t stay fixed after the first round. I think boxing, despite its sordid controversies, was still more real, and its outcomes more transparent and meaningful than say, NASCAR, or bicycle racing, or lots of other sports are today. Even lummoxes have pride.

I never saw a boxer bigger and stronger than George Foreman. Ali beat him. The rest is conversation. An interesting conversation, it’s true, but no more.

I Can Proudly State That I Have No Idea What’s Going On

I Can Proudly State That I Have No Idea What’s Going On


It’s not that I don’t know where Uzbekistan is. It’s just that I don’t care where Uzbekistan is. It’s over there near Trashcanistan and Beheadistan and Gasflareistan somewhere. Honestly, who gives a crap?

But even though I don’t know what’s going on, and for all I know the unintelligible lyrics in the soundtrack are about microwaving kittens or drinking latex paint or throwing puppies into volcanoes or something, I do know I’m up for a trip to wherever that is. Sign me up. Let’s go. Time’s wastin’. I’m packing right now.