Today’s post was going to be epic. There was going to be pathos, and gravitas, but not so much that it overwhelmed the inherent humor. I was going to cause you to completely rethink the way you looked at the world, while putting a smile on your face at the same time. I was going to change your life. All in about 600 words. Unfortunately you don’t get to read that post. Why? Because I’m too tired to write it. Why? Because on Saturday the Notorious D.O.G. came into our life, and he poops at midnight and 2am like clockwork and since the LR is gainfully employed and I’m not so much with the real job, guess who’s taking the Notorious D.O.G. outside.
So instead of poignant social commentary you will get something else entirely. I’m going to do something that comes easily and naturally to me, something that I can do despite losing brain cells to worrying about whether or not the pup’s poop is too watery or not. I’m going to complain about hipsters. Now, I miss a lot of things about New York. I miss the fact that there were more Indian restaurants that delivered to my apartment there than there are within an hour’s drive of here (and it’s not even close). I miss tricking taxis into taking me to the airport by hiding my bag behind a mailbox while I hailed them. I miss Ditch Dogs (that would be some amazing hot dogs with mac and cheese on top found to the best of my knowledge only at a place called Ditch Plains). What I don’t miss are hipsters.
Which leads me to Saturday. The LR and I are somewhere in the New Mexizona desert having just picked up the D.O.G. We stop at what appears to be the only rest stop in a 700,000 mile radius. I walk inside to use the restroom and get us some sandwiches, and what do my eyes behold. Three guys and a girl, all with bangs (obviously) two with those annoying plastic sunglasses with brightly colored thick temples (the part of the sunglass that connects the lens to your ear, and yes I had to look up what they are called), and skinny jeans. It’s the middle of the freaking desert. There is literally nothing but a highway and sand around for forever and they are in skinny jeans.
It comes as no surprise then that they were shopping for little gimmicky souvenirs in the rest stop store. Ironically of course. Four incredibly annoying people in Brooklyn had evidently somehow wandered into a worm hole that pooped them out in the same cat litter box of a desert I was driving through. I didn’t even want to see hipsters when their center of the universe in Williamsburg Brooklyn was one subway stop away from my Manhattan apartmentn and I certainly didn’t want to see them on my authentic trek through the southwest. I wanted to see the guy in the beat up army camouflage hat who looked like he hadn’t bathed in a week. That’s authentic, especially when he mentioned that Golden Retrievers are great dogs (that’s the Notorious D’s breed) and that his always kept the freezer full. I must have looked somewhere between confused and horrified as he explained that it was a great bird dog. Yup, that’s what I plan to do with my puppy, hunt birds so I can eat them.
Still at least that was expected. I mean really what’s next. Are there going to be hipster Mexican drug dealers? They still sell drugs and smuggle them from Mexico to the U.S. but they do it ironically. They’re just making fun of the real drug dealers. Maybe they can argue over which obscure smuggling route is the coolest. Then, if one route gets too popular they can say it sold out and it really sucks. I can see it now, hipstercanos. After all, they already have the coke.
This blog has been gang violence free for 36 days
Body Count: 0
Photos please
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