Archive for the ‘Damnation’ Category

Hispters: For Starters…

June 9, 2009

So, tonight was a ravishing night hanging out with some Hipster boys and their more pleasant lady counterparts at Cha Cha- “A Place Where Bros and Hipsters Can Come Together Forever” ®™, but, through the midst of all of my fun, I had to wonder, what is it about Hipsters that bothers me so much?  I mean, I hang out with my fair share of them, on occasion I dress like them, I frequent the same bars and coffee shops… but, and I am going to break one of the following rules, I do not consider myself a Hipster and in fact, am relatively annoyed by them.  So tonight, while I was sitting there wanting to take a meat cleaver to my little wrists (and in clarity, it was because of one boy, and one boy alone out of a group of 6 of us), I came up with this list about Hipsters and what makes me so frustrated around them:

1.)  Bicycles:  It is one thing to ride a bike for exercise or to cut back on your carbon emissions by way of transportation or even for recreation purposes, but Hipsters take it one step further.  Hipsters ride their bikes in some sort of secret “cool kid” competition.  Particularly when it comes to the ever so impractical fixed-gears, or “fixies”, which serve little use in a town full of hills unless you are trying to be cool, in which case, it does its job fine to convey this message to other Hipsters.  
One last thing that bothers me about Hipsters and their sweet rides: the fact that they don’t wear helmets.  Ever.  God forbid you mess up your $10 great clips cut that you pull of as being from some salon of which no one has ever heard.  If you do wear a helmet, you are clearly not a real Hipster.  What could be more fun than speeding down the bus lane on a 15% grade with drivers who don’t give a shit while not wearing a helmet?  Oh yes, LIVING.  
2.) Being Self Absorbed:  I love this one.  I love it because there is no easy way to put it.  Some people have causes that they support: stem cell research, higher pay for doctors, making religion illegal, you get the idea. The Hipsters cause is being a Hipster and supporting the Hipster way of life.  This means, making sure they are up-to-date on everything that is fashionable before it is fashionable- but not too much ahead of the curve, because then you are just being silly.  And I am not just talking about clothing here,  it can be anything.   But, one has to be able to back it up with the statement “oh no, I was doing this a long time ago”.  Example: “I’ve been listening to vinyl since middle school”.  Bullshit you were, you were listening to cassette tapes of Mariah Carey back then.  I’m not afraid to ask your mother and prove it.  It all just goes back to self assurance.  Self assurance that yes, you are, in fact, a Hipster and you fit into a crowd, though you are indeed a forward thinking/acting individual, with individual style and individual plaid prints.  Though this is never to be spoken aloud, see bullet point number 6.
3.) Houses with names:  Some people name their cars, some people name their kids, Hipsters name their houses.  Why?  Just to be clever.  There really is no other purpose that I have found from this.  And if there was any doubt as to whether there was some sort of relation along the Bro/Frat Boy blood line and that that runs through the veins of Hipsters, look no further than this fact: They both name their houses.
4.) “Thrift Store” shoppers:  Take it from someone who actually has to shop at thrift stores due to an un-sizable income- other than maybe a pair of jeans that can be turned into cut-offs, Hipsters, true Hipsters, rarely buy from actual thrift stores.  On occasion they will, but mostly it is avoided.  Sure, their clothes may not always be brand new, but the trendy boutiques that they (and I am guilty of as well from time to time when allowance, well, allows me to) shop at, are not thrift stores.  Vintage is not thrift.  And if it is not vintage, which a lot of it isn’t, it is expensive.  Very, very expensive.  I’m talking higher than $30 for a shirt or some shitty canvas shoes.  But of course, when talking to polite company, always mention that you got your shoes from Value Village on sale for $3.  Oh yeah, and then give a wink, as to really say “I got this from Zebra Club”.
5.) Hang-out spots:  I hate when people “claim” spots.  Hipsters are like the Christopher Columbus’s of the modern world.  I am sorry, you did not “discover” Stumptown… it was made for you.  Same goes for bars, cheep eateries (as Hipsters love cheep stuff… I think probably so that they can spend more money on their bikes), and anything that is considered “divey” but caters to only a crowd of 20- early 30 somethings.  Let me tell you this, oh Hipster high and mighty, it isn’t a dive if I can’t see at least two people with out any teeth and one woman who has had 8 or so children and a crack problem,  otherwise its just a themed bar/restaurant/bingo lounge.
6.) Denial:  This is by far my favorite of the Hipster annoyances.  I love (and by that I mean I barf) when every time, and this will happen with every single Hipster, the term “Hipster” is brought up, they all claim they are not of that variety.  Paradoxical dear Watson!  How is it that there are so many effing Hipsters in Seattle Proper, and yet, I can’t seem to find anyone who says that they are a Hipster.  It’s almost a myth, like Big Foot.  I especially like when the clear-cut obvious types tell me that they hate Hipsters.  Maybe they are just trying to say that they hate themselves, which brings upon self-loathing/pity, which brings about being self-absorbed, which brings us back to bullet point number two.  Case solved.

D-Baggin’ It

May 31, 2009

Addendum:  I have removed a few names… but left spaces… you know, just in case I need to replace those names again.

Dear (any name from the following list)  you are dead to me.  You know why.  Love Love Love Love Love.. Love Love, more than I could even love a baby kitten, love,


Craig II
If your name is on this list, yes, there is a possibility it isn’t you…. but it might be.  However, if your name is, oh, I don’t know, something odd like, let’s say, Jax, it is probably safe to say it is, in fact, you.  
For questions or possible typographical errors, please submit them to the following: whitney whitworth c/o  Subject line should read, as in reference to the title, “Douche Bag” followed by your name.  Please see the following examples:


And no, I did not have to make out with you for you to be on this list… but it probably helped.

Confession Booth

May 26, 2009

Dear Father, forgive me for I have sinned… sort of.

1.) During the summer between the third and fourth grade I was outside my house in Nowhere, MT, USA.  As I was saying, it was summer and I was out in the yard riding my bike when I heard an indescribable crunch.  I drove back around to discover that I had ran over a small mouse.  It was still kind of twitching, still barely alive, so instead of leaving it or putting it out of its misery, I took it inside my house and let it “live” in the doll house my grandfather built.  Needless to say, it died later that day, but I didn’t want to move it, so it essentially rotted away in that doll house for about a week before I convinced my younger brother to get rid of it for me.  My mom still has that dollhouse and I managed not to get some sort of mouse flu.
2.) In the fourth grade, in Mrs. Laden’s class, we were assigned to create calendar pieces for the upcoming month.  The directions were simple and clear: color in the object, cut it out, and put your name on the back.  I turned my piece in and then took another (as there were more days in the month to be completed than there were students).  Instead of completing this second piece as assigned, I turned it in uncolored, not cut out, and with “anonymous” written on the back, only, I couldn’t spell so it read “annonimos” or something along those lines.  Mrs. Laden. was furious and threatened to punish the whole class if the author, who she hotly pointed out was a terrible speller, did not confess to their idea of a joke.  I, of course, did not confess and let this kid named Carl Tibbets take the fall for me.  For this he was punished and his privileges were taken away for the rest of the year.  I never bothered to correct the injustice.  Years  later I confessed to Carl that it was me but he had convinced himself otherwise and so I dropped the subject letting him believe his version of the events.
3.) I cried harder and for a longer period of time when my cat died than when my grandfather died.  He died when I was a senior in high school before Tripod- who died when I was in my senior year of college.  
4.) When I thought I was going to get fired at one of the retail locations that employed me, I decided to start giving every good-looking guy, elderly person, or friendly customer our employee discount on their purchases.  I wasn’t even allowed access to the code to issue an employee purchase “technically” but I knew it and, thus, used it liberally.  
5.) I submitted artwork for a t-shirt design once in middle school.  However, the artwork was not original, seeing as I traced over it using computer paper and a box lamp.  And even though I didn’t win, I was still a finalist.  In fact, two of “my works” were in the final 10. 
6.) Again, when I was a youngster, my family had several cats.  On occasion, one of our cats would have a litter of kittens.  I used to like to play this game with the baby kittens called “mama to the rescue” where I would remove one of the kitten s from the litter and hide it somewhere in the house and wait for the mama cat to come and find it.  I stopped playing that game after I hid one of the kittens on the book shelf and when the mama cat came to retrieve it, she dropped it on her way down.  Though the kitten was perfectly fine, I still felt really bad about it.
7.) It was the end of third grade and I decided to make a move on my year long crush.  I gave him a secret note at the end of school one day, as everyone was leaving their classrooms for the buses.  I told him it was a note from our teacher and not to open it until he got home.  He was with a group of friends and acted nonchalant and coy about the matter and began to open it, right there, in the presence of his friends and me.  It was at this point that I made a mad dash for the first open room I could find.  I hid in the boys bathroom (yes, the boys bathroom), as it was the closest thing, and I only had seconds to spare.  I heard him laughing, with his friends, in the distance.  I assume it was from the note’s contents.  That afternoon, I stayed in the bathroom sobbing for a good 30 minutes until I was sure the coast was clear, because now I had not only spilled my guts to, oh, about 6 people, but also trapped myself in the boys bathroom.  I also missed my bus.  Since then, and it is because of this reason, that I have yet to make the first move on a boy.  
8.) I once had a secret, well, we’ll call it “shrine” to a certain boy-bander in middle-school, though my friends and I all supposedly hated that type of music.  The shrine was in a shallow closet I had in my room, near my bed and was wall to wall, ceiling to floor covered with pictures from Tiger Beat types of magazines which I would also purchase in secret.  There may have also been some sort of candle in there… probably a tea-lite.  Incidentally, I also kept my science fair project in there, which were containers of moldy milk, arranged by date and how long they had been out of the refrigerator.  

O Hell-z No

May 13, 2009

As I commiserate on aspects of my current life- jobless, penniless, and unable to fall asleep/wake up at a decent hour- I find myself befuddled on where exactly I am on the charts; Dante’s charts of hell, that is to say.  

Upon further inspection of said chart, I see not where my criteria of punishment lies, therefore, I can not pin-point where I have been led astray, making it near impossible for me to repent and “better” my living situation.  
Thus, I have been, inevitably, led to update the outdated and pick up where ol’ Dante left off.  I have linked a recap of Dante’s nine levels of hell here so you can freshen up on the old before proceeding to the new.

Circles 1-6 The Unfriendly:
1.) Limbo– Also known as Dillon Montana, also known as Dillrod.  
Who qualifies: High schoolers and the unbaptized.
2.) Eternally having very chapped lips during a violent wind storm while eating habanero chilies with no ChapStick® to be found.  Ever.
Who qualifies: Haters
3.) Forced to wrap oddly shaped Christmas gifts in wrapping paper, with only one hand, and the only tape one gets to use is clear packing tape.  For eternity. 
Who qualifiesRe-gifters   
4.) Living in a room that smells very strongly of burnt popcorn.
Who qualifies: Englishmen 
5.) Stuck in a room full of Dakota Fannings.
Who qualifies:  Friends who do their friends dirty- as in, wrong doers, back stabbers, and gossips.
6.) Running in circles over un-even terrain wearing two left shoes…. and a Juicy™ sweat suit.
Who qualifies:  Tanorexics 

Level 7 The Obnoxious:
7.) Outer Ring: Having sunburns on the top of one’s feet while being forced to wear too tight of shoes.
Who qualifies:  Budgers and Line Cutters.
Inner Ring: Forced to eat Saltine Crackers™ with only peanut butter to wash it down with in the blaze of ten hot suns.
Who qualifies: Parents who let their children run amok in grocery stores, movie theaters and nice eateries.
Level 8 The Pushers:
8.) -Outer Ring:  Have to sleep, with out actually falling asleep, on a futon for the rest of eternity.
Who qualifies: Car salesmen
Inner Ring: Eternally having to live (?) with fingernails and toe nails that have been clipped too short, so that they sting, all the while eternally washing breakfast dishes by hand.
Who qualifies: Dirty Politicians
And of course, the 9th and final level of Hell is a special place, reservation: 3.  This level is for:
9.) The Annoying: This is that special level in the inferno where three lucky mortals get to spend eternal damnation with the worst possible torture imaginable.  
1. Dave Coulier– Spends eternity listening to his own jokes on repeat 
2. Carrot Top– Also spends eternity listening to Dave Coulier’s jokes on repeat
3. Hillary Duff– Teeth drilled upon with no novacaine.  Forever and ever.