I hate this olde thyme shyt. It drives me bananas. And why is Brooklyn the king ('s county!) of it? I mean… it’s outrageous. Steam Punk, Roller Derby, Bacon-soaked everything. Come on… how many different mother fucking types of cured hams do we need?
Okay, so it’s not just about being all olde thyme, it’s about Brooklyn in general. And its massive inferiority complex. Quick! Let’s get our organic seedlings from the co-op and plant them in our raised-bed garden in Bed Stuy or Greenpoint, where all aging hipsters retire to shortly before the move to Park Slope to have their babies, all the while drinking their canned PBR or Pork Slap or some other bullshit beer in a can.
Now don’t get me wrong. I was sucking the PBR tit many moons ago. But in Philly where it was real yo because we were all unemployed and couldn’t afford anything else. And we had to be drunk all of the time because living in Philly broke all of the time was depressing.
And now olde thyme hipsters are co-opting my youth. Well listen bitches, I can still fit in my skinny jeans while jumping around to Is This It? And my hair still grows long because I have some so don’t bring me down because the PBR has turned into a mini keg inside your flannel shirt that you bought (like an asshole!) from Freeman’s only to cover it up with your hoodie from – yuck! – Brooklyn Industries.
I’ll see you bitches at Urban Outfitters! Oh – no I won’t because you’ll be gardening your bacon.