The World's Last Hipster

Why I May Be the World’s Last Hipster. If you’re reading this, chances are you either hate hipsters with a passion, or you have a passionate desire to be a hipster. If you’re the latter, it’s likely you already call yourself a hipster. However, if you were in the first category, it’s possible that you actually are a hipster.    What is a HIPSTER? [   If you are way to hipster to even know the term hipster, stop reading right now. You’ve lived a nice life. Don’t ruin it for the sake of hipsters. ] Most people know what a hipster is, or at least they have some idea. A hipster, in its original form and meaning, is generally  a person who doesn’t conform to society norms or stereotype. Hipsters say they want to be different, they don’t follow trends. At one time, there had to be a real hipster. Someone who just didn’t like the trends but liked unconventional things and followed them. And I admire that person. They were a real person who only cared to do what they liked, not what anyone else liked. They were a true hipster.   The evolution of the HIPSTER: That first hipster must have seemed like a pretty neat person, because others began jumping on their bandwagon. People renounced their old likes and instead favored the same likes of the hipster. People began battling to out-difference and out-weird the other hipsters. Gradually, being a hipster became a trend, and with that, every hipster became a hypocrite. The original goal of the hipster was to not follow things simply because they were cool. But when hipsters became cool, people started being different so that they could also join the hipster trend. Hipsters became the most hypocritical people on the planet. They renounced trends to be Hipster, but to be Hipster was to follow a trend, and on it went, until the hipster became the common, stereotyped beast it is today. I found a really good definition on Urban Dictionary to highlight what I’m saying here: (hip-stur) n. A 20 something white, upper-middle class suburban transplant to any gentrifying neighborhood in any major city, but Brooklyn, NY in particular. Disheveled, hand-me-down appearance to present the image that they are not a slave to trends or fashions(ha!) They typically wear thick, Andy Warhol-like glasses (whether they need them or not), unshaven, unkept shaggy hair and retro Converse sneakers sometimes with no laces. The term is often used as a pejorative considering a "hipster" detests being called a "hipster."     Who is the last HIPSTER? I’ve always hated hipsters. I thought their look was ridiculous and so was the fact that they were their own fallacy. I rejected their ways, I thought I was just happy with the trends, thanks. But as I grew older, I noticed that I didn’t follow the trends. For example, the “in” clothing changed, and I did not. I wouldn’t just wear whatever I saw on a Mannequin, I still had my own sense of style – nothing outrageous like a hipster, and nothing that even comes from a category or trend, my style was simply what I thought was cute. So when bright red jeans and flowed pants became popular, I hung back. I thought people looked ridiculous in them, I was happy sticking to my blue jeans, skirts and yoga pants. When all of my friends started buying smartphones, I continued making calls on my Env3, which I regret to say that I regarded as “adorably vintage.” I asked my friends why they wanted an iPhone when they already had an iPod and a regular cellphone. Weren’t those the same thing? Why would you want a phone so big? Why would you want  phone that breaks every time you drop it? I thought my Env3 was perfectly efficient. A good size, free internet, a seemingly unending memory and indestructibility were included among it’s features. I once dropped it in a river, it was fine. Once it sat outside in the road for a rainy week, getting soaked and run over constantly. It still turned on. The Hunger Games came out and the world went crazy. “Read it!” All my friends said. “It’s so good!” They said. I picked the book up and immediately thought, “What a badly thought out rip off of Battle Royale.” Before the Hunger Games came out, I could have told any about the concept of Battle Royale and they would have thought it sounded sick and disgusting. But the Hunger Games, which suddenly became popular was, according to my friends one of the “deepest, most touching stories” they’d ever read. I realized that I had a tendency to dislike trends, and when it occurred to me that that made me a hipster I grew angry. I didn’t want to be one of those stupid brainwashed followers. I even found some trends that I did like, and I was so proud of them, as if they were my shield against being a hipster. But that is why I am the World’s Last Hipster. I don’t follow trends, I do what I want. If I like a trend, I follow it. If I think the trend is stupid, I turn my back on it. Hipster-wannabees are not hipsters because they are trying to follow the hipster trend. But I am not, I think the trend is stupid. And the fact that I am don’t follow trends and also have no desire to be a hipster, ultimately makes me possible the only true hipster.*   *I guess I may not be the last hipster. I’m actually sure there is someone out there even more hipster than me. But I have not found them yet, although I would like to. Together, we could wipe the hipsters out and just be who we want to be.   -Tramp Now that's just funny.

The Hooker Anthem

In this world there are many people-

Of every race, every size, with brown hair, with blue eyes

Some are fat, some are thin, some are mean while others grin

They're all great, but they're not first rate!

Cause the very best kind of earthling

Is the kind clad in only a G-string

Donning red lipstick, making hearts tick,

For money, she'll suck any old dick

The best type of person is a hooker

They get action, even if they're not a looker

Everybody likes a prostitute

(Except those guys who stab them and hide their bodies in the laundry chute)

But hey! That's what pimps are for

They protect those awesome whores

Everybody loves to see a bimbo

Bending back to do the limbo

& Some horny guys like to take them home

Those hookers know how to make them moan

Then the hooker gets paid for giving naked hugs

and she spends the money on illegal drugs

A few days later, she'll come crashing down

and the story comes back around

some desperate guy with shoulders slumping

pays the hooker to do some humping

Yes it's true, everyone likes a tramp

They'll sex you up until you get a cramp

You can try any position

Without asking their permission

Touch em', whip em'. suck em', spank em'

Just as long as you don't shank them

Later they will buy some pot

While you're still feeling spicy hot

Yes a hooker leaves guys feeling good

When the girlfriend's "not in the mood"

If a guys just hit the bank,

he'll be delighed to come acrosss a skank

When the girlfriend's away he can take a chance

and pay a hooker to seductively dance

By taking off her dress,

the hooker relieves you of your stress

It's great how when you're all alone

Somewhere there's a hooker for you to bone

Yes it's true, a hooker makes a day better

When she reveals whats beneath her sweater

For some, a hooker is the only way

to lose their world-of-warcraft loving virginity!

It only costs a couple bucks

To ensure that you're night wont suck

And that's why everyone loves a whore

They're willing to give you sex galore!

But it's not always sexy magic

Sometimes hookers leave things tragic

The girlfriend finds out, requests you leave her be

and meanwhile you've contracted an STD

It's better to have a ball and chain

Then to have your reproductive organs in fiery pain

And the hooker who made your penis a rocket?

She only cared for the money in your pocket

And while you're dealing with infected loins

She'll be off spending all your coins

And if you think your lifes gross?

she's just died of a drug overdose

Now her body's gone so limp

and you owe money to her pimp



Ultimately, it would be best

To have stuck strictly to your girlfriend's chest

If only you had kept your class

While waiting for your sex drive to pass

Then you might not be alone and single

With only your right hand to help when the testicles tingle.

Vacation: Demon Dad

Vacation.
My heart breaks a little each and every time that word is uttered. This summer Tramp and I took a brief but magical vacation.
It was filled wiith beautiful sights

such as pictured above.
And yet even though this is all magical and beautiful the one emotion that clings to me still to this day when I think of our vacation is fear.
It all started on a hot summer afternoon. . .
Tramp and I were at her grandfathers house which just so happened to have sprawling meadows, miles of forests, hunting forts, swamps, you name it. Her grandpa was also in possestion of a golf cart. Tramp and I being the simple beings that we are were constantly preoccupied with the cart. When we weren't watching talking monkeys in the house we were cruising through the acres in that old jalopy. Which is exactly what we were doing when IT happened.
Tramp was driving at a comfortable pace and everything was right with the world, teh breeze blew past and we held a light happy conversation, but then I noticed something. . . It was eerily quiet. Where were the birds? The bugs? The deer?
Then it happened.
"GRAAAAHHHHHH!"
The noise was directly behind us, knee jerk reactions kicked in, Tramp slammed on the gas peddal as we both spun around to see our attacker. Tramps father was right behind us waving his hands and making strange noises the whole time.
In all truthfulness he probably looked like this:

but to me in that moment all my brain showed me was this:

We drove as fast as we could, at that point simply because he was chasing us.
The paths that ran through her grandfathers land weren't complicated in any way so the whole family pretty much knew them like the back of their hands. We were on a path that would led us through the forsest for a while and then have us pop back out into a medow like area. Of course Tramps dad, being on foot could cut through the grass and get there must faster. There would be no way to avoid him. Turning back I saw him stop running and point over to the other side of the trees. He was taunting us, telling us his exactly plan but also knowing we had no way to avoid him.
As he sprinted off to go hide to scare the crap out of us again, Tramp and I had one of our silent conversations that comes from being a brain twin.
T: We can't let him get us again
V: OH DEAR LORD THAT SCARED ME SO BAD
T: Hmm your right we'll have to turn around and try to get him!
V: I THINK I JUST PEED MY PANTS I WAS SO SCARED
T: So what your saying is we'll need to go on foot for the last leg of the journey so that he won't hear the golf cart coming
V: WHY DID HE LOOK LIKE A DEMON?!
T: Alright lets go!
With that we made an ill fated turn that made a large mark in the tall grass on either sides of the path and we were off.
Tramp and I raced to catch up with her speedy dad and finally we caught sight of him. Thanking our lucky stars that he was partially deaf we stopped the car a few yards from where he was sneaking through the grass trying to see us in the forest. Tramp crouched low and moved through the grass right behind her dad. Seeing as I didn't have shoes on I crawled on the shorter grass of the path from a few feet away.
Unbeknownst to Tramp, just a few steps ahead of her hidden by the tall grass was a huge ditch, so when she lept out and screamed "GRAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" she landed inside of said ditch and was not able to climb out in time to stop the following from happening. Her fathers demon face was priceless, he was shocked to say the least. But then a few things occured to both her father and I simultaniously. . .
If we were here on foot...
Then where was the cart?
Tramps dad and I shared a look before the race began.
I jumped up from the ground and dashed towards the golf cart that was sitting still running in the middle of the path. The demon shoved through the grass and was neck and neck with me for a long time. It was unknowable for a time with Tramp screaming at me to run as fast as I could and my heart leaping in my throat. I felt as if my whole life has led up to this moment. I added on an extra burst of speed at the very last moment, slid into the cart and stomped on the gas pedal.
The golf cart lurched forward not so fast at firts but gaining speed. It zoomed past Tramps dad and made it to where Tramp was waiting in the path. She jumped in while the cart was still in motion and we rode into the sunset feeling accomplished and avenged.

Sleepover From Hell

Once, I went to spend the night over at one of my best friend's house (Not Vamps! Though I have stories from those sleepovers too!). I had been to her house before, and had always had a good time. Little did I expect that the night would turn out to be one of the worst experiences that every happened to me while I was wearing pajamas.

We had done plenty of fun things earlier- she has a pool, so her house is pretty much heaven. But it was late and we were ready to go inside. Another thing that (usually) makes her house heaven is the fact that her TV has On Demand.

We decided to hang out on her couch and watch The Proposal in her downstairs living room (which, since she is the only member of her family with a downstairs room, is basically just a second bedroom for her. (Jealous yet? They also have regular bonfires, every video game invented, and a keurig!)

My friend is terrible at staying up late (Which is more of a curse for her friends than her) and fell asleep about halfway through the movie, roughly around midnight. I didn't really mind, I figured I would just finish the movie and then go to bed on my end of the couch, which is huge and blue, and I assumed would leave us both plenty of room.

I was wrong.
After the movie (which I thoroughly enjoyed) ended, I curled up on the two enormous pillows that were on my side of the couch and shut my eyes. This was when disaster struck.

It was a bit too early for me to fall easily to sleep, and after maybe a half and hour or so of lying there I was finally getting drowsy, and ready to fall asleep. Then, a foot made contact with my face. In her sleep, my friend had turned sideways so that she was lying completely across the couch. And, her couch is large, but it's not one of those huge L-shapes ones that three people can lie on at once (I am proud to say that I have one of those). Her couch, was not large enough for 1.5 people to lay on. (Her being the full person, me being the half since I was still in a sitting position).

I did my best to uncomfortably inch away from her foot and curl up further in my corner. This worked for about five minutes, when her foot ended up kicking my face again. So I pulled a pillow off the couch and moved over even more. By this point, I thought I was far enough to give her enough foot-range and me enough room to fall asleep. This was not the case.

Both feet got involved, kicking and moving and getting in my face no matter how hard I tried to evade them. Both pillows were off the couch by this point and I was simply laying against the hard frame. By now, it was almost 2:00 A.M I was miserable. It was the worst. I just wanted to fall asleep and in the morning I figured everything would be okay. Unfortunately, falling asleep was difficult.

Then I got an idea. Since she, in all her moving, had ended up pushing both of her pillows off the couch, and I had pushed both of mine off the couch, I had access to all pillows and the floor.
I pulled the four pillows together into one giant super-pillow, and curled up in the fetal position on them. Since they were such big pillows, I was both several inches off the ground and I was even kind of comfy. I shut my eyes and thought that, all was well.

But then, the On Demand channel, which had been silent while it waited for further command after its movie ended, switched back to the channel we were watching before The Proposal. That channel, regrettably, was cartoon network. And on cartoon network, they were playing the most obnoxious shoes, which were all set on obnoxious volumes. I spent an entire episode of the Boondocks trying desperately and unsuccessfully to fall asleep through all the noise. I spent half an episode of The Oblongs, first looking for a way to kill myself to end the torture that is Adult Swim, and the second half realizing that maybe I could change the channel and wondering how I would get the remote.

The last I had seen of it, my friend had been using it to order the movie. Now, as I looked at her, sprawled across the couch with a blanket half on her and half on the floor,  I had absolutely no clue what had happened to it.

I decided that maybe I would just have to suffer, and maybe I would just fall asleep, because I didn't want to go poking around my friend who gets very upset about being woken up. But, when the next stupid Cartoon Network show came on, I knew I had to find the damn remote.

So I spent time carefully crawling across the floor, and ever-so gently pushing around the blanket so as not to disturb her. Finally, I found the remote, wedged just between the bottom of the couch and the carpet. Thanking God for his mercy, I raised the remote to my hands and hit a button that looked like it would turn off the TV.

The TV stayed on. Cartoon Network continued torturing me.
I hit the button again. And then I hit the channel button. Then the volume button.
And that was when I realized that the remote was missing something.
Batteries.

WHAT THE HELL? I was thinking, as I crawled back under the couch to look for the batteries. There was no back on the remote, so it made sense if they had fallen out. After all, this was the remote she had been using, hadn't it? But alas, there were no batteries to be found. 

Broken, I clambered back to my pillow island and went into my fetal position, kind of wanting to cry (though the extra emotion definitely came from the fact that it was about four a.m. now, and I was really getting tired.) I tried to sleep again. No such luck. I needed quiet. Or at least something other than a television screaming profanities at top volume.

Then, I got the fabulous idea to check the TV. Most TV's have volume adjusters on them, right? I could turn it down and then the television would have to mouth profanities, that I wouldn't be able to hear and would therefore be able to sleep through. Oh, it was perfect!

Until the TV failed to have a volume adjuster on it.

I was really downhearted now, so tired I could barely move and so completely irritated by the television that I could never sleep. And just as I lost all hope of this sleepover ever being at the very least, a mediocre memory, I noticed, tucked between the TV and the cabinet, a second remote.

I paused. My eyes widened. Could it be? Or was life just playing a trick on me again? Getting me excited about the remote, just so that it could rip my heart in half again when the remote had no backing and no batteries.

Cautiously, I lifted the remote and turned it over in my hands. It had no backing either, but it did have batteries inside! I spent a quick second trying to process how my friend's remote had ended up on the cabinet across the room, when as far as I knew she had never gotten up from the couch, but it was about five a.m. and thinking was an impossible feat.

I tried to turn off the TV, but I found that the button labeled "TV" was just one of those trick buttons that doesn't do anything at all. As far the other white, unlabeled buttons, I was to scared of breaking anything to try them (I have been known to break most and all things I touch) so I just turned the volume down as much as I could (For some unfathomable reason I couldn't get the damn thing to mute!)

I then, feeling better than I had all night, lay on my island pillows and prayed for sleep to come.

But sleep didn't come, and guess why?
Adult Swim was so obnoxiously loud and irritating, that even on low volume I couldn't sleep near it's existence. So once more, I picked up the remote and tried changing the channel.

Miraculously, that actually worked!
Unforunately, I don't know Comcast channels, and I didn't have a good, quiet channel number to go to. So I settled on flipping through the channels until I finally found a nice, boring documentary around 6 a.m.

And finally, finally, I managed to fall asleep as I listened to the drone voice of an old man discussing astronomy or something that I didn't care to learn about.

And in the morning, my friend asked me why I slept on the floor.

Becoming an Iconic Sex Symbol

"I have a dream."

     - Martin Luther King Jr. 

First and foremost, I'd like to congratulate you on surviving the 'rapture' that was supposed to occur last Saturday. Since we're all alive, I think we shall all keep striving toward our dreams just like Martin Luther King! Today, in honour of the continuous survival of our hopes and aspirations, I shall tell you about my personal dream.

I have a dream that I will someday be noticed for my talents of seduction and sexual appeal. I have a dream that my name will be on Wikipedia. I have a dream that I shall be known for my famous deerwoman pose. I have a dream, that someday I will be awarded the title of Iconic Sex Symbol.

This blog post is going to be dedicated to the things I'm doing ahead of time, so that I can assure I can get my Iconic Sex Symbol position at a later time in life. These kind of things take strenuous planning and often many a gymnastics class, so I need to start preparing now.

First off, a little reseach.
This is a clipping of the Wikipedia page on Sex Symbols:

A sex symbol is a celebrity of either gender, typically an actor, musician, supermodel, teen idol, or sports star, noted for their sex appeal. The celebrity "star system"—the tabloid papers, paparazzi, and gossip talk shows—play an important role in creating and sustaining the public perception of which stars are viewed as attractive. These media industries are in turn sustained by a strong public demand for sexually alluring photographs or footage of celebrities,^{[citation needed]} including both posed, scantily-clad publicity shots for magazines like Maxim and unauthorized beach or nightclub photos taken by paparazzi with telephoto lenses

From the above, I have made a list of some necessities required if this Sex Symbol Dream is going to work out:

- Be either male, or female. Probably not both. [check]

-Should be famous and noted for sexual appeal. [Must become famous for having sexual appeal. Though that supermodel idea could work out! It's worth mentioning that my measurements are very similiar to Marilyn Monroe's. . ]

-If people aren't making up horrible lies about you in the tabloids, you're doing it wrong. [Have Vamp feed the paparazzi some of my 'dirty secrets'. Some ideas for this are STD's...Boob implants...etc.

-Must be featured in some kind of magazine that teenage boys will keep under their beds and take out when the girlfriend's not enough. [Can't check that off yet, but hey, I can see if playboy's hiring.]

-Nudy shots that SEEM like they were taken without my permission must be leaked onto the internet. [Attend several topless beaches and maybe just ditch shirts and bras altogether. And hell, while we're at it, screw the pants!]

Then, I was going to investigate the Wikipedia biographies of former sex symbols when I realized that heaven forbid many people had been removed from the list. I KNOW Wikipedia can be edited and isnt always 100% trust-worthy but it's also somewhat moderated and has those helpful citations.
Well, that iconic sex symbol page was edited severely. As you may have noticed in that paragraph I took from them, the citations are needed. And if you had looked at the list, you would see that many many many sex symbols are currently removed from it. Some stupid bimbo even took Marilyn Monroe off the list! Are you saying that Marilyn Monroe is not a sex symbol? Much of the world would disagree.
So I decided to search other sources than Wikipedia.
I did some googling on 'becoming an iconic sex symbol' and I didn't find much of what I was looking for.
As a matter of fact, I didn't find much at all.
But I think I know enough about how to become one by now.
So I just need to work on putting this plan into action.
Step 1 is to be noted for my sexual appeal. And by "noted" I mean really fricken famous.
This how I'm going to approach this.

1. Red.
It's a fact that red is the sexiest color.
So, if I use the power and allure of red, my sexiness should be thereby increased.
Therefore, I must expand my closet and add in some more red. Infinitely more red. Bright shades of it in every form of clothing, shirts, pants, shoes, dresses, lingerie- you name it!
2. The Deerwoman
The deerwoman shall be my go-to sex position. It will be Tramp's characteristic move, and the fact that I have my own move is pretty sexy. And if anyone doesn't think it is sexy, well no worries, I'll have a few other adventurous positions lined up. ;)
3. Pure Seduction.
Pure Seduction is the perfume I use. It comes from Victoria's Secret and is basically the best thing since flavored condoms. It isn't those disgusting perfumes that are so obnoxiously strong that they molest you with their stupid flowery scents. You don't smell this perfume too much, unless you get close enough ;).
That little trick can definitely lad you some sexy times.
It's also pretty great because whenever I get mildly wet (like say, sweating) the smell like releases and suddenly a huge wave of fruity scents roll off of me, to cover my bodily odors.
It's magically sexy!
3. Battalion of suitors.
If I'm going to be noticed based on my outstanding sexual allure, I'll definitely need some suitors who religiously court me, hoping that someday I'll wander off into a dark alley whilst drunk to the point of zero comprehension. I'll of course be using the color red and my Pure Seduction and of course the Deerwoman to gain all these suitors. I think I shall start collection my army of admirers right away, because I can't be noticed for my sexiness if I don't have a pile of men with bulging pants spreading word about how damn hot I shall be.

To summarize what I have discovered, I made a math equation!
(Red + Pure Seduction + Deerwoman = Battalion of suitors = Iconic Sex Symbol.
_______________________________________

Another thing I'd like to do is make "Iconic Sex Symbol" a better known term. The wikipedia page is messed up, Google has nothing helpful, and even Urban Dictionary had very little to say about it. (It's a rare day when something that has 'sex' in it doesn't have a million raunchy definitions on urban dictionary)

Surprisingly, there is not much out there about it. I shall make it my personal goal to fill the web with a better knowledge of Iconic Sex Symbols. But that is another dream, one that must wait to be fulfilled after I complete my current dream.
Actually, when I have been noted for my sexy appeal and are horrendously rich, maybe I will start some kind of charity or fundrasier or awareness event for Iconic Sex Symbols. I mean, a good Iconic Sex Symbol always gives back to the public. Gosh, this is just coming together!

I hope in making this blog post, I have caused you to think about either A) the steps you must take in order to solve your dreams or B) My extreme sexiness.
(It's totally B.)

Sexily yours,
-Trap