Tuesday, May 24, 2016
Over 15 years into the game, and certain things still get on my nerves. The cool kids and the Johnny-come-lately type of mother fuckers who show up, make some heavy observations, then try to crank the street creds knob to 11. These are the guys who drink pabst on a Friday night while scanning through old ass "In the Wind" magazines saying, "Bro, look at this rowdy mother fucker" while his homie gives himself a stick and poke tattoo of a dagger and the saying, "This machine kills Fascist" or something gnar to the gnar-gnar. These dudes buy filthy tweaker ass pans and knucks, pay another hipster to rip into the motor and get it running somewhat decent (but not too good, because they need it to breakdown for epic roadside repair stories and tweets) they use only the filthiest, and rarest of parts, nothing is cleaned or put together with any regards for over all aesthetics, as long as its sixties wacky style and not reliable or newer than 1970 something. They usually get featured in DiCE a few times, start a company that features black T's and vintage band shirts that their FIDM drop out girlfriends cut up and charge an extra 60 bucks for. They also sell beer koozies that say stuff about tits and pussies, or fuck you! type rowdiness.These jack-a-lopes are the funniest, because they literally go from zero to hero in a matter of years, just from hanging out at the right bars, and clanking booze with the right photographers, and bro-ing out to the same vintage beaver from playboy September of '72 while wearing jeans that they choose not to wash to smell the same way as their smelly friends.