Bourbon Hipsters. Goddammit.

Bourbon prices are on the rise as inventory begins to struggle to keep up with demand.

How can this be?

Hipsters, of course.

Listen up, you awful goddamn hipsters: You’ve ruined a lot of things for a lot of people, but you need to stay the HELL away from bourbon. We borderline alcoholics have little else to enjoy.

Guess what, assholes: Now that bourbon is “cool” you need to remain true to form and move onto something else while casting ridicule on the object you once claimed to love so wholly. Start hoarding rosé or crème de menthe or something else awful I won’t touch*.

My enjoyment of bourbon is actually greater than my distaste for pompous killjoys who define their trends by irony. My loathing of hipsters is, I suppose, no more intense than anyone else’s, nor is it of any greater intensity than the malice I stockpile for a great many other grievances in life. I could, nonetheless over the span of several dense paragraphs, trot out all the clichéd hipsterisms about tattoos and accessories for clothing and face, but flying into a rageful wish that while weaving in and out of city traffic on his retro bicycle a hipster’s 76mm ear gauges would get snagged on the handlebar mustache of an ersatz dapper gentleman in an Arcade Cab for Iver T-shirt, and the two would be spun around and flung in opposite directions, one skidding across the pavement and coarsely grating the koi fish sleeves off his arms, and the other being propelled headlong into a portly audiophile with a Paul Bunyan beard and his uptight girlfriend with horn-rimmed glasses and a summer scarf… would just make me sound like I’m ripping off a “Portlandia” sketch.

I disliked hipsters way before it became its own pervasive meme plastered everywhere in halting, 256-color animation; before these pretentious twits had ubiquitous representation in pop culture; before hipster bands and fashion became suicidally mainstream. Bashing these overtight-pantalooned pinheads is, for me, passe because everyone now does it eagerly and easily to the point of reflex**.

…I suppose this makes me a hipster in my own right…

Fuck.

* I have no doubt factions of zealots have laid claim to most every obscure or noxious inebriating substance, so you better choose quickly. Maybe start fermenting your own urine? No one else can make it and you never have to share it. You can declare that yours is THE BEST and MOST COMPLEX and LEAST UNDERSTOOD, and no one could ever disagree with you.

**All of this is equally applied, by the way, to the faux-geek /-nerd badge of honor, which is just an alternatively sour-flavored expression of hipsterdom. This offends Slappy far more than me, but I’ve got scorn to spare.