Hipster Boxing

I get a text about 8:30 on Friday night from my boy telling me were going to a Friday Night Fight Throwdown event at 88 East Broadway. I don't follow boxing or MMA, so I figured it was some big fight that I had skipped over reading in the sports section this past week. I agreed and Googled the address for directions. I was confused, as the address given turned up a Fung-Wa bus depot, Chinese restaurant, a Chinese employment agency, and a variety of other small businesses with Chinese names. I realized the address was the Chinatown mall, which was built in the early nineties to replace a bunch of shacks under the Manhattan Bridge. I assumed the address he sent me was a typo and said I was down. Plus, it was BYOB, so I could bring a couple six packs and a flask and avoid the regular Friday night of $14 drinks.

As we leave my apartment my buddies tell me we are going to a party that rotates locations every few months and hosts actual boxing matches. The address was right; we were on our way to an underground boxing match/party at the Chinatown Mall. I had walked past this place hundreds of times over the past 20 years, never venturing inside past the phone card stalls and chain smoking, snot-rocketing, fresh off the boat Chinese immigrants and the Snakehead Chinese gangsters who had smuggled them into the country in return for a decade of indentured servitude. I knew what was up as soon as we got close and I see Sherlock Holmes waiting to enter the mall, fresh off the plane from Idahoklahoma .

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?"

I turn to my boy and laugh saying "you are fucking kidding me right?" Luckily I was about 8 drinks in at that point and ready to see what trouble awaited us inside. Of course, the first thing I saw as I walked in the door was a sign informing patrons that by entering the premises, you were aware that a "documentary" was being filmed. Of course it was. Just like the 8th grade graduation video shot by my parents was a "documentary". The "bouncer", who was about 5'7" and 140 lbs of flannel asked us if we were cops. Brooding about how authentically underground they were, I guess they didnt notice the actual plainclothes detectives standing about 10 feet away, who I'm sure were there only to ensure none of vacationing hipsters got hurt or misbehaved in this actual immigrant and very low income neighborhood, not to bust this "secret" event.  

After getting in, I humor myself by striking up a conversation with Tyler, "from" Brooklyn. Asking him what the deal is with this event, he said its his first one, and as an engineer he was stoked to see the equipment the producers and band were working with. Drunk and confused, I had no idea what being an engineer had to do with this. I asked him what sort of engineer he was, mechanical, architectural, computer, or something else. He looks at me with great shock, as if I have just told him his father respects him, and nasally snorts "I'm like, a sound engineeer". I laugh in his face and walk away, taking this shot as I mock him from three feet away:

Brooklyn Sound Engineer Tyler proves that Hipsters dont have to be svelte

The fights start up and I'm hanging out about 30 feet away with a decent view. There are four bouts scheduled, plus a few shitty bands (of course). All the fighters are obvious amateurs, and while they have enough technique to beat me in the ring, I wouldn't be afraid of any of them or their entourage in a street fight. To increase authenticity, three of the eight boxers seem to be hispanic, while one is black. All are matched up with white boy hipsters with tattoos and non threatening patterns of facial hair. The little black dude is overmatched and quickly loses to some doofus who acts like he just won the Superbowl. Two of the three hispanics win, matched up with equally douchey flyoverstate transplants that I would bet my ass call Brooklyn home.

Proof I was actually there and didnt just Google Image "douchey Hipster" for the first two pics.

I honestly had a fucking great time. Where else could you be in a smoky room with 500 people that you are obviously superior to in every facet of life (except the abilities to tap dat trust fund and make papier mache), while openly mocking them and getting drunk with a few good friends? I can't wait for the next match! I also apologize for the quality of all my pictures, as I dont have an authentically deck iphone so I was forced to use my shitty Blackberry.

My search for Natalee Holloway

I be back from Aruba bitches! My search for Natalee Holloway in Aruba was unsuccessful, although I uncovered a few new leads and I did find some shells on the beach. I also found this rope (see below) which may or may not have been used in her disappearance:

Evidence? Probably.

When I first arrived, I headed to the place where Ms. Holloway was last seen; the bar. After four martinis, I was ready to start the search. She was not at the pool bar nor the beach bar. I scoured various other beach bars, only to find the locals and vacationing Brooklyn Jews very hesitant to help. What were they hiding?

I found myself in a deepening mystery similar to the Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys crossover caper titled Tropic of Fear. The local police were of no help. What were they hiding?

As in the tale, my wife suspected greed and corruption were behind the disappearance, while all my evidence pointed to a gang of art thieves. Ms. Holloway must have uncovered their crimes, and she was murdered to silence her!

In order to find her body, I chartered a ship to scour known dumping grounds. Here I am diving into the investigation via a super kewl and effective rope swing:

As the week ended, our leads began to dry up. The gang of art thieves seemed to vanish without a trace. I could only promise that I would return year after year to continue the search. The leaders of one of the many local Vacation Clubs agreed this was the best idea, although I suspect they may be behind the disappearance as well.

Literal Versions of Things

Something a little less sociopoliticasim . .

Jews for Jesus

Super Kewl Jews for Jesus Clubhouse

I have known this group was stupid for as long as I can remember. Supporters of Jesus already have an official name and a place to gather. Called "Christians", for over 2,000 years they have gathered not in cool clubhouses like the one pitured above, but in actual churches. Jews for Jesus is like a group called Catholics for Allah. Or Hindus for Hamburgers. Or Black People for Keeping Their Voices Down at the Movies. Or Chinese People for Decent Hygeine and Letting People Off the Subway First Before Pushing Their Way On.

This has got to be one of the dumbest ploys to get Jews to convert. They don't call us "model minorities" for nothing. We know better than to accept spiritual advice from a flier some Habitat for Humanity reject hands us in front of Yankee Stadium. If you want us to convert, the Spanish methods during the Inquisition worked pretty well. Convert or Die is much more effective than tri-fold pamphlets.

If you want to boost your #'s, you got to highlight whats cool about Christianity. There's not much after bacon and Santa, but I'm sure you could figure out something. Like every Jew that converts gets double Christmas presents for the first five years. Or refer a friend and you get to cut the line at Communion. And finally a welcome basket including t-shirts and pins highlighting Crusade victories, a free ham or two, some Jesus/crucifix jewelery and some pictures of Jesus or a giant Jesus on the cross to put up in your living room.

P.S. Im in Aruba right now continuing the search for Natalee Holloway. I'm making progress. I started at the pool with a few drinks in order to go over search patterns. Then I continued my search on the beach. I will keep you posted.

Hippies Vs. Hipsters

For too long, us peaceful hippies have stood on sidelines – allowing the true and beautiful nature of hip culture to be fouled by the pungent nature of the hipster. Many in mainstream culture simply group us together and wish to throw us all into the East River, but there are several notable distinctions that establish hippies a few steps above hipsters on the social ladder. This post will discuss these distinctions.

1. Daily Life:
While most hipsters come from wealthy families who can afford to subsidize their Williamsburg apartments and expensive American Apparel/fixed-gear bike purchases, hippies literally come from every walk of life. Unlike hipsters, however, who are only capable of working at tea houses and waiting tables at non-corporate restaurants – hippies can be artists, doctors, lawyers, teachers, members of our nation’s armed services, street pharmacists, or even nitrous-filled balloon salesmen/women.

2. Fashion
Hipsters: tight jeans, ironic t-shirts with popular childhood images that were lame as a kid and are still lame now, keffiyahs (only if they are not actually members of the Islamic faith).
Hippies: tie-dye, dreads, strange odors, comfortable shoes, sandals, or no shoes at all, beat up boots in the winter.

3. Politics:
Hipsters: liberal but in a brain-damaged way, have set back the progressive movement in this country by thirty years simply by dumbing themselves.
Hippies: “We live no particular way but our own.”

4. Drugs
Hipsters: marijuana, cocaine, 4loco.
Hippies: literally anything and everything, often at once.

5. Important Cultural Icons
Hipsters: Bret Michaels, Barack Obama (until he actually took office), Sarah Palin (ironically), Stephen Malkmus, Wu-Tang Clan.
Hippies: Jerry Garcia, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Trey Anastasio, Hunter S. Thompson, Ken Kesey, (insert name of shitty jam band musician here)

6. Concert Etiquette:
The average hipster at a concert is no more advanced than a 6^th grader at his first dance, standing in one spot, clad in black, arms folded over his chest. In contrast, the hippie will sway, dance, jump, sing, smoke, twist, and melt – all while sharing bowls of the kind with his fellow man, woman, or child. Another key difference between hippies and hipsters at concerts can be noticed on the level of how much they are enjoying the show. Ask a hipster if it is having a good time, and they will either respond sarcastically or simply move away from you – as to enjoy anything runs counter to the hipster personality profile – to enjoy is to be unhip. Ask a hippie, however, and they will respond with several “wooos”, high fives, and possibly even bowls of the kind.

7.Jobs:
Ok… well… neither of us have those.

Why Hipsters (and you) Suck

Hipsters are hated not because of the color of their skin, place of origin or religious beliefs, but because of their ridiculous "look at me" behavior and smug sense of superiority. We can all thank the Baby Boomers, the first "look at MEEEE" generation, for instilling their misplaced sense of liberal entitlement into the next generation of useless douchebags. Congratufuckinglations Baby Boomers. If you are reading this and you have a Hipster child, you are solely to blame. Your shitty self absorbed generation has created one that is far shittier and more self absorbed than you could ever be. Fuck you. Fuck you all to hell.

These authentically deck cta's speak for themselves

P.S. Still in Aruba. No sign of Natalee Holloway. I am scheduled to return tomorrow, but I might postpone my flight to keep searching.

The Hipster: Natural Victims

Although Hipsters call 911 to report any perceived infraction such as non-organic food sales, buying mainstream music or using non-Apple products, this post regards actual crimes committed against Hipsters such as severe beatings or robberies. Crimes against Hipsters are at an all time high although thousands go unreported each year due to the reluctance of the Hipster to admit failure. Crimes against Hipsters mainly occur when an unsuspecting Performance Artist/Production Assistant/Barista from Florituckyconsin moves into a neighborhood such as North North East Williamsburg or South West South South Park Slope. They read on a blog somewhere that Tyler and Meghan just moved there and its super deck and safe! Like Yah! Salivating brokers grow their beards out, get some fake glasses and tell Hipsters how authentic the neighborhood is in order to obtain the parentally funded sales commission. Not until it is too late does the unsuspecting Hipster realize they are living in a neighborhood far more dangerous than the most dangerous cul de sac of the upper middle class suburban community they grew up in.

Hipsters move into outlying neighborhoods in droves and become immediate victims. From leaving their $2,500 custom made unicycle chained up on the street overnight to strolling home from the J train at 2:30AM watching an indie movie on their ipad, Hipsters remain perpetual crime fodder. They think they are street savvy because they saw Chris Rock live in college and have twice seen the episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air where Will must stop Carlton from going to McArthur park. To the poverty stricken residents of the neighborhood in which the Hipster is attempting to gentrify, the newly arrived Hipster is a natural victim, comparable to a hand fed and nurtured Kobe cow wandering blindly into a den of starving lions.

These bruises and busted mouth are so ironic. Click on the pic for more beaten Hipster goodness

The gentrifying Hipster is like an endless piggy bank to the welcoming criminal class residents of the "next up and coming" neighborhood. Every time they are robbed of their custom fixie, ipad, iphone or other expensive Hipster toy, funds magically appear in the bank account they share with their parents, allowing them to replace the stolen gear, which allows them to get robbed again, buy more, get robbed again, buy more.... This symbiotic relationship allows the Hipster to gain valuable street cred authenticity while criminals gain valuable cash money in order to purchase highly desired liquor, drugs and Jordans. The Hipster, once a strange feared intrusion into the hood, has become a valued member of the community. No longer are the migrant Hispanic day laborers or Chinese food delivery men robbed for their meager earnings, as there is a new, far more attractive and lucrative victim in town; the Hipster.

Smashitandbang!

There are just too many amazing things to say about this video, I don't know where to start . . .

BREAKING INSIDER NEWS: Hipster Proposal for Street Use

Below is the horrific proposal to transform NYC streets into Hipster friendly zones. I came across it on one of my favorite blogs, diehipster.com, and it has been confirmed by my sources inside NYC government at the Mayor's Office as well as the Department of Transportation. My media sources have also confirmed its existence, and it should hit the major daily papers by the end of the week.

Hipsters are a problem not to be taken lightly. I know it is difficult to spot them in the winter, when their scarves, wools hats and beards cause them to blend in with the general population. However, if you see any of the following you have a genuine hipster on your hands, and it is highly recommended that you dispose of the Hipster by throwing them into the East River or by setting them on fire: Keffiyah, Chuck Taylors, tight pants, multiple Apple products, or artisanaly made chocolate bars. The Hipster must be stopped at any cost.

Reverse Suffrage NOW!

"You find me woman with brain, I find you horse with wings". This timeless saying can be applied to modern life, as the downfall of American society can be traced directly to the feminist movement and women in the workplace. Not only am I required to wear pants at work all day, pornography is strongly discouraged. How am I supposed to sit in front of a computer for 8 hours a day, 40 hours a week, without porn? Women should just stay home in the kitchen and bedroom where they belong. Everyone knows womens brains are much smaller than mens. In fact, according to leading Kazakh scientist Dr. Yamak, a woman's brain is actually best compared to that of a squirrel.

Women are still kept in their place in one notable exception to American egalitarian (i.e.gay) culture; the Orthodox Jewish community. Segregation within the Orthodox Jewish community has served this population extremely well, as women are required to stay home and cook, clean and raise the children, while the men just chill all day smoking weed, drinking 40's, making rap videos, and racing motorcycles.

Their high standard of living allows each family to have a fully equipped Honda Odyssey, pimp ass black hats & coats for the men, and all you can eat brisket. If it wasn't for the ban on eating bacon and lobster (plus the 6,000 other arcane rules and regulations), I would totally be an Orthodox Jew.

Where Black People Really Come From

Watch the entire video for some real knowledge, but the answer to the question above is at 2:00.

Steve's Rap Debut

My dear friend and resident Dolphin Porn aficionado Steve Soph makes his rap debut in Posta Boy's comeback video. Posta Boy was 106th and Park's first Freestyle Friday Champion, and went on to slight fame as a member of Jurassic Harlem. Steve is the proprietor of the establishment in which the video was shot, Clinton Park Cafe and is the one white dude in the background.

 

Today's Things That Should Happen but Probably Won't

(1) Person Who Deserves to Die: Justin Bieber by falling on Lindsay Lohan



(2) Person Who Deserves a Pat on the Back: the guy who made this- FUCK YEAH



(3) Person Who's Success Should be Investigated: Nicholas Cage (simply research who his cousins are and acknowledge that somehow how he is in financial distress)



(4) Person Who Deserved More Success: THE RENEGADE-
Lorenzo Lamas



(5) Type of Pudding to be Enjoyed Today: Pistachio



(6) This one doesn't really qualify, but I am going to guess what Josh Lanzara is thinking about right now- Sandwiches.

Obesity is Awesome

Imagine a world where everyone looks the same. A world with no fast food. No all you can eat buffet. A country in which our GDP is decreased by the $700 trillion dollars we spend each year on non-essential food items, lap band surgeries, and vehicles, MRI machines, and coffins designed to fit humans the size of small water buffalo. It is not the one third of Americans who are obese that is the problem, it is the two thirds of non-obese Americans who are not pulling their weight. If your BMI is less than 32 than you are a terrorist.

Our economy is reliant on fat asses staying alive longer so they can eat more, get fatter and need more medical attention. The Bloomberg nanny state and Zionist advertising industry has repeatedly told us that obesity is wrong. Who are they to tell me I should not eat 4,500 calories per day?

Who would want to live in a world without this?

McDonalds stock is valued at almost $75. What would happen to the $68 trillion dollar fast food industry without fatty fatty fat fats stuffing their faces with 1400 calorie breakfasts or 450 calorie soft drinks? The plus size clothing industry would be decimated from the 9 year old Chinese children making the clothes to the minimum wage white trash sales people.

A healthier population would decimate the global health care industry. The $16 billion spent each year on Lap Band surgeries would disappear. The female population of the Philipines would face unemployment at unprecedented levels. Doctors would be forced into poverty. Plus size coffin makers and heavy lift operators would be lose their livelihood. We would lose drama filled television programming such as The Biggest Loser, I Didnt Know I was Pregnant, More to Love and Dance Your Ass Off.

Without Obesity, health freaks would not have to overcompensate. The health food industry would be destroyed if everyone just ate normal size portions and exercised minimally. Gym memberships would be obsolete and without the need for specialized and organic foods based on strict dietary requirements, hipster yuppie supermarket chains such as Whole Foods, Wild Oats, and Trader Joes would shutter their doors.

The American public has spoken. 10 additional years of life expectancy is just not worth it if I cannot enjoy my KFC/Taco Bell Combo at least three times per week. What kind of life is that anyway? Certainly not one I would wish on my worst enemy. Support Obesity or consequences will never be the same.

Fatty Fatty Fat Fat Attack

For an inaugural blog post, the following may be a bit inflamed and in poor taste, but I had to get this off my chest. Who am I kidding - it’s a factual diatribe about fat people. Everything written, singularly and in combination, is fact; so if you think it is in poor taste then that’s a problem with your filter, not my factual analyses.

Fat people, is it not bad enough that we of normal girth suffer the inconvenience of stepping aside whilst you lumber across entire sidewalks? Are we not patient; waiting for you to articulate full thoughts interspersed with audible breaths and guttural noises emanating from your throats? Can we be more tolerant; fitting neatly in the ergonomic seats of public transportation vehicles, looking straight ahead with nary a glance askance (yeah, that’s right, I used assonance, the greatest building block of verse) when your “rotundness” overflows defiantly into our personal space?

I’d say, fat people, that we are quite accepting of your social improprieties. Which is why I do not hesitate to request, nay demand, the following:
Please , for at least 5 seconds, fucking reason with that beast in the mirror before you parade yourselves in public like an overinflated Macy’s balloon of screaming nylon and spandex. If I can’t wait to get home and throw on sweatpants, why the hell can’t you just acknowledge that they are the only appropriate covering for your hemispheric mass and wear them all the time? The purpose of clothing is not to test the limits of tensile strength upon every exhale. What the hell is that thing sticking out from the front of your legs to your pants line? What is in there? That’s not a stomach is it? Is it a Darwinian adjustment to preservatives? A Volkswagon?

Let's get one thing straight: NO, YOU DO NOT LOOK LIKE THE PEOPLE IN MAGAZINE ADS!!!

Seriously, fat people!? Do you really (1) wake up in the morning and (2) brush the Hostess Tasty Cake crumbs from your chest, (3) wade through the morass of pizza boxes and Chinese take-out paraphernalia, (3) make your way to wherever it is you keep your parachute-sized clothing, (4) stuff yourself into garment-like sausage casings like I’d imagine Ron Jeremy has to try to “stuff” all his glory into a Lifestyle Condom, and finally take a gander into a mirror and say to whatever parts of you are visible, “Yep, this is exactly what I want to look like in public. People need to be able to count the stretch marks on my saddlebags.” You are not a tree, and we don’t need to count your rings to tell your age. No one cares how old you are, because you are so fat that you will probably die of Type II Diabetes before completing this sentence!

What happened to a little self-restraint? I fucking love pudding and sex, but you don’t see me slopping gobs of deliciousness all over every vagina I luckily fall into (although it is a good idea and STOP FUCKING DROOLING AT THE MENTION OF PUDDING YOU FAT ASSES). Could you at least consider going out into the yard, taking the garden hose, measuring your circumference and purchasing a wardrobe accordingly?

And do you know what really takes the cake (aside from the plump kid pushing over the birthday boy)? You fatties have become increasingly grumpy and entitled. There is a difference between being big boned and proud and just plain fat. You used to be tolerated because of your assumed jolliness and good humor; the belly jolting laughs and coronary disease indicating rosy cheeks somewhat made up for the smell of skin flaps chaffing against each other all day. But now? You are literally throwing your weight around as if you should be respected for being grotesquely obese. You should have to buy two tickets for anything that you occupy two spaces for. There should be a “too fat to walk on the sidewalk” tax that pays for the rest of society’s inconvenience for having to avoid touching some nondescript part of your body. Don’t sue McDonalds and theme parks when you can’t fit in the ride restraints, FUCKING PURGE AFTER MEAL #9.

OK, I’m done. Oh wait, I’m not done. Don’t even get me started on the, “I can’t help it, it’s glandular,” argument. Glandular is getting mono or having growth spurts occasionally, not having a whole pizza for a snack and washing it down with a diet cola. Yeah! Good job fatty; you just consumed more saturated fat and calories than your average annual salary, but choosing diet soda is really going to make a dent in the long run. High five . . . followed by some weird under-arm skin clapping. Ugh.

Top 10 of 2010

Inspired by my extremely bohemian cousin Lola Rain and her recent top 10 of 2010 blog post, I have written my top moments of 2010. Since my cousin is so much more authentic than me, I only have 8 moments instead of 10.

1. Starting this blog- Although I started it on the last day of 2010, it's like, one of the greatest accomplishments ever known to mankind.

2. Trip to Europe & visiting my sister in Israel- My fiance and I had a romantic week in Paris & Rome. Then I drove over a cat in Israel. I splatted the shit out of that cat and ate hummus. Then we went to Amsterdam with my sister and awesome cousins. One of us fell through a large glass display case in the Vodka Museum. If you ever get there, mention that you know the person that fell through the display case. They said it had never happened before.

3. My Bachelor Party- Just superb. 

4. My first trip to Vegas- I cant believe I have never been here before. I never want to go back. I'll be there in April. 

Pool party at our hotel.

5. Cabo-Johnny's Bachelor party during college spring break last March. So much house music. All the college kids thought I was 23. Sick.

6. A week in Maine with Grandma- This trip could be like five blogs on its own. When Grams had a stroke in 2009 she transformed from a nasty old lady with a bitch streak from here to Californy to a mild mannered senior who thinks everything is "just so great!". Who is this woman who tells me and my shiksa fiancee she "love, love, LOVES" us, and what has she done with my grandmother? The whole trip was filled with hilarious and awkward anecdotes from a bad family sitcom. From getting yelled at for cooking dinner later than 5:30, cleaning too much or too little, our forced trip to the bottle redemption center, Grandma's first frappuccino ("mmmmm this is SOOOO DELICIOUS, I LOVE IT!"), causing a scene over the $25 checked baggage fee, to her inaccurately pointing out landmarks from the plane to strangers, there was never a dull moment.

                                    

7. Dancing with Precious on New Year Eve.- It was either Precious or her fatter, more AIDS infected older sister. Whoever it was, I literally could not get enough of her.

8. Planning our wedding- Nothing brings out the Jew in me like a good negotiation. And that's all wedding planning is! Engagement ring, venue, photographer, flowers, wedding rings, menu, music- everything is negotiable!

New Years Resolutions- 7 Rules to Live By

Most people try to figure out some awesome resolutions to make them a better person. Since I am practically perfect, I have prepared a list for you to help improve your quality of life:

1. Delete people you dont like from your Facebook account. You dont like them, they probably don't like you. So why do you care what is their favorite TV show or where they last checked in on foursquare?
2. Delete people you don't like from your life. It doesn't matter whether they are friends or family. If they suck, tell them to go fuck themselves. Or if youre a giant pussy, just do #1 and they'll get the idea. The proverb "Blood is thicker than water" is a bunch of horseshit. We all die alone, the least we can do is spend our time here with whoever we damn please. Also, you're probably adopted, so that's not even your real family anyway.
3. Calm the Fuck down. Whatever you may be concerned about is really not worth the stress.
4. If you live near or with a hipster, set them on fire. This is great karma.
5. Stop making excuses.
6. Get drunk on a regular basis.
7. When all else fails and you are sad, lonely or depressed, just think of Haiti or Africa. If you lived there you would most likely have 6-7 dead siblings, Cholera, AIDS, Sickle Cell Anemia, and/or Malaria. Your fucking 2006 Maxima with 70,000 miles on it doesn't seem so shitty anymore now does it?