Herpster
-
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Blogger Nicki Daniels Indicts Herpster Beardery
Over on her blog, someone named Nicki Daniels unleashes a righteous smackdown of hipster bearditude that summons the best of the HCwDB mock.
Here’s an excerpt:
—————-
Dear Bearded Hipsters,
YOU GUYS ARE RUINING MY BEARD FETISH. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve loved a man with a beard. To me, they meant strength, power, MANLINESS. Someone who could protect me. Unfortunately, you guys have turned it into a fashion statement. The beard has turned into the padded bra of masculinity. Sure it looks sexy, but whatcha got under there? There’s a whole generation running around looking like lumberjacks, and most of you can’t change a f@#king tire.
Look, I get it. I really do. I understand the motivation behind your beardedness. In fact, I even pity you. Thousands of years of evolution priming you guys to kill stuff, and chase stuff, and f@#k stuff… and now what? You’re stuck at a desk all day. No battles to fight. No wars to wage. So you assert your masculinity the only way you know how. You brew beer. You grow some hair on your face. I’ve seen you, hipsters, sitting in downtown eateries, with your rock chick girlfriends, dipping your truffle fries, trying not to get the aioli in your mustache. I’ve seen the quiet desperation in your eyes. I know you’re screaming into the void.
But I still hate you for it. You’re confusing me. It’s now on me to suss out who is the real man and who is the poseur. Sadly, I fear most of you are the latter. Before this explosion of whiskers on trendy men everywhere, if I saw a bearded man it was safe to assume certain things about him. Like, he probably owned a hammer. Or washed his hair with a bar of Irish Spring. His beard was probably scented with motor oil and probably had remnants of last night’s chili in it.
————–
Head over to her blog for the full quality rant, it’s good stuff.
Thursday, January 2, 2014Herpster Frank is Not Really a Hustler
It is, how the kids say, ironical.
Librarian Patricia is stern in her warnings to me not to extend my allotted time at the microfiche machine. I apologize, but her disciplinarian stance requires me to shine her boots using ony a nearby dishrag and a gallon of egg whites. I apologize profusely. But Patricia is not moved. And so I whimper softly in the 600.00-600.75 section. Which covers technology.
Thursday, December 19, 2013Herspter Logan Is Way In Over His Head
Oh Giggle Blonde Ashley.
How sweet and innocent your anklet jangles.
On pretty little feet that would make a 19th Century Japanese concubine weep for the many hours of bindings that could have been avoided if only if.
I lightly powder your lower to mid thigh section with Stevia mixed with bacon juice, and then line up a hundred hungly wolves bribed only with Snuasages to howl in four part harmony as I help you with routine garden work until you grow uncomfortable and tell me your boyfriend will be home soon and reject my repeated offers to run to CostCo and buy you a crate full of Pepsi.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013Meanwhile in Brooklyn…
Logan: Hey, Maya! Dig my ironic artisanal scarf!”
Maya: But it’s cold out and most people are wearing scarves, so how is that ironic?”
Logan: Uhm, well, it’s ironic because I, like, totally, am not this guy. I’m just pretending to be a hipster douche. So it’s like mocking the hipster douches, but in such a subtle way that most people can’t tell the diff.
Maya: So, then, if no one can tell the diff, then aren’t you basically just the same thing as the actual hipster douche?
Logan: No, you see, it’s like a test. Those truly in the know can, like, figure out that I’m not really what I seem. And then they and I share a laugh. Ha. Ahah. We are not as we appear.
Maya: Wait, don’t you share a loft in Bushwick with a techno-grunge-synth-pop band featuring two DJs, a didgeridoo and a ukulele player?
Logan: Well… yeah. So?
Maya: I suppose that’s ironic, too.
Logan: Of course. My lifestyle is fully dedicated to postmodern deconstruction of alternative lifestyles as a form of meta-commentary.
Maya: I see. I heard that commentary and dissent merged to form dysentery.
Logan: Whoa! Did you make that up?
Maya: I gotta go. My raccoon has hepatitis.
And…. scene.
What, you thought today would be filled with pics of uberdouche Hanz? Then you get this. Smell it… smell it… smell it… now take it.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013One Herpster To Rule Them All
Hear ye! Hear ye! All Movember wanabees with the tasty artisanal cheeses? Lay down your PBRs, your mustache grease, your scooters, and vinyl and gather round!! Attend the tale of McSweeney Todd!!
For thine efforts have been in vain. They are now moot. Irony has crawled into an alpaca sphincter and expired like parrot.
The game is over. The gig is rigged.
One Herpster To Rule Them All has arrived.
His name is Rob. But he goes by Alistair. And Carole titters whimsically before agreeing to tune his mandolin.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013Douche 2.0: The Herpster
Lets hear it for the herpsters!
For without their farm-to-table Movember asswankery, sweet cupcakes like Marissa might be forced to date someone who doesn’t cheat on her at Burning Man.
As Rashi once said, you can’t spell artisanal without anal.
Thursday, October 17, 2013Herspters
Herpsters with stupid ‘staches.
A plague on Los Angeles’s Silverlake area for the past ten years.
Ther is only one ‘stache that is forever exempt from mock. It is The Holy Stache of Oates.
The rest are mere pretenders to the throne.
Thursday, August 1, 2013Kenny The Redneck Herpster Says "Yo!" to Tiny Giggle Ashley
Tiny Giggle Ashley’s dad does not approve.
Nor does Tiny Giggle Ashley’s granddad.
Nor does Average Guy Juan, who just wants a tasty Mr. Pibb.
Monday, June 17, 2013Herpster Juan Assholio Macks on Hottie Suckle Lauren
There are many flavors of herpster rotting the cultural discourse in these lo herspterian times.
Having once lived in Los Feliz, directly adjacent to Herpster Mecca, I have seen more than a lifetime’s worth of handlebar mustaches, artisanal cheese shops, and jorts.
My current status as a homeowner in the low lying hills of Sherman Oaks has cast me to the pit of suburban Valley sun dappled spiritual malaise.
But that is a story for another time.
For now we mock Herspter Juan Assholio.
For all the rank putritude of his everything.
And we honor the sweet smile perfection of Hottie Suckle Lauren. For she is the cheerleader dreams that resides within us all, man, woman, fowl and beast alike.
Monday, May 13, 2013When Irony and Herpsterism Collide And Score Slutty Sophie
It’s like a riddle, wrapped in an enigma, surrounded by a mystery, on top of a retro-ironic cassette tape.
