The Day of the Dhimmi is Done -
Michael Lumish, PhD, proprietor. (firstname.lastname@example.org)
I hate having to go into Old City on Friday (or Saturday) nights. Bleh. Seven thousand douchebags from Cherry Hill, NJ screaming 'bro!' at each other in between bouts of throwing up on the pavement. Not good times. They make you appreciate the kids with the ironic mustaches and skinny jeans down in Fishtown.If I had a lawn, I would scream at them to get off it.
douchebags from Cherry Hill, NJ screaming 'bro!' at each other:O)Faux-urban hipsters are worthless.They stand for nothing, Jay, because they don't know anything. They honestly believe that "radical" is about style of dress.They're children.I've left it behind.
I had to pick something up down there a bit earlier. You can pick up the signature scent mixture of Acqua di Gio, cheap beer in red plastic cups and enough hair gel to block up the stormwater inlets if it rains as soon as you start heading up the steps onto Market from the 2nd Street subway station.The day of the douchebag is done.;-P
What in G-d's name are you two rambling on about pray tell?
Oh, just weekend weirdness... ;)
Poor ole' Benny Franklin is breakdancing in his grave, a few blocks over at Christ Church burial ground, at the alternate Jersey Shore set his neighborhood has become...
Shirl, he's speaking hipster ironic Americanese.The guy lived in Portland, Oregon for G-d Knows How Long, so what would anyone expect?:O)I promise you that Jay has not gone insane, tho.Anyways, I hope that you guys are having a pleasant weekend. It's a beautiful and sunny day here in the East Bay. Laurie has gone to Santa Cruz to visit relatives and now tells me that her cousin's new husband is an avid fisherman and that we need to hook up with those guys to see what we can do about thinning the trout population in the area.I am so with it, I cannot even tell you.
I will have you know, sir, that I did not contract anything like that while in Portland.;)The only reference to hipsters, actually, was the ironic mustaches and skinny jeans-clad denizens of a few blocks of Fishtown. In particular, those who hang around the stretch of Girard between Johnny Brenda's and Kraftwork. The rest was in reference to 'dude-bros,' which is a separate species of perennially hopped-up, jello shot-swilling, popped-collar males roughly between the ages of 21 - 35 (or sadly, sometimes even older) who spend their weekends in bars which are actually okay for most of the week, unless they're in them. These people generally all live in New Jersey and Long Island, though there are trace populations surrounding most major American cities.