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Hipster Slave Boy

By Nate Tanner

Smashwords Edition


Fucking hipsters…

You know the kids I’m talking about. They wear lumberjack shirts, tight jeans, and Keffiyeh scarves in July. They move to Brooklyn from Wisconsin, from Iowa, from Ohio. Because they’re not interested in holding down real jobs, they spend their time pretending to be artists, musicians, and graphic designers, and spend all day in fair trade coffee shops playing around on their Macbook Pros. They talk a lot about social justice, but you’ll never ever see them volunteering at the soup kitchen or knocking on doors to collect signatures.

So many fucking hipsters… driving up prices, driving out locals... riding unicycles and fixed-gear bikes... opening unbearable galleries full of pretentious art and overpriced handcrafted trinkets...

Although they live in the most expensive cities in America, hipsters have no problem filling their fridges up with locally sourced goat cheese, Mast Brothers chocolate, Magnolia pastries, Whole Foods prosciutto, artisanal sunflower seed butter, $10 loaves of gluten-free bread, and case after case of PBR. However, they never seem to have any money left afterwards for rent, utilities, or cleaning supplies for their disgusting apartments.

It would be hilarious, if I wasn’t a landlord, and a herd of hipsters weren’t my fucking tenants…

Like all native-born New Yorkers, I regard these kids with a mixture of pity and contempt --- despite the fact that I’m the same age as most of them. But while these kids were blowing $40,000 a year on degrees in Feminist Urban Critical Puppetry Theory at small Midwestern colleges, I was deployed to Iraq’s Green Zone as a logistics technician.

What? Yeah, sure I'm gay, you must have guessed that already... DADT? Sure, I suppose I’m glad it’s gone, although I can’t say it caused me tons of extra problems when I was in the service. It wasn’t much different from living here in Brooklyn, to be honest… No executive order will ever repeal my traditional Italian family’s own version of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell.

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