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THE HIPOCALYPSE – Part 1

“And the dead shall rise, and they will be wearing the shutteriest of shades, the skinniest of jeans…”

There was a period of time in which hipsters were safe, and their limitations seemed endless. The world was light, and even their Chrome bags did not weigh them down. They survived with substance abuse, while lacking any other semblance of substance and thrived with their look and their self-interest, bouncing happily standing placidly as hollow placeholders for souls, left completely unawares that their identities would soon be harvested as their giant Wayfarers blocked their view of the coming dawn…

Somewhere in the annals of modern day hipster literature, presumably amidst the liner notes of some formulaic Chuck Palahniuk novel, there exists the Hipster Book of Revelation. Within this fundamental work, the impending apocalypse was written about in dramatic detail. Little excerpts have been unearthed, in tweet-length verse, and will be shared today, with the timeline of the end of days as it is carried out.

THE HIPOCALYPSE BEGINS, The Prophecy of Irony

The Four Horsemen

“The ukuleles will strum as the Four Horsemen arrive, clothed in intricate fabrics, American Apparel’s gold lame and open vests…”

Who cares if your kid is getting speech lessons from a quasi-retarded rapper with a lisp? Your toddler’s gonna beatbox!

“The First Horseman, complete with his army of wiggly-appendages furries in tow, will come forward, as the first note sounds…”

The beginning of the end is often misconstrued, as the first two horsemen arrived within mere weeks of one another, but the inception of the Hipocalypse firmly falls upon the shoulders of hipster parents. Yo Gabba Gabba!, apparently Joey Ramone’s dying legacy-related wish, came to actuality in the summertime of ’07. The show succeeded in raising children with the important learning fundamental of ironic sensibility by way of irrelevant hip hop artists. They began realizing that tongue-in-cheek ironic humor is best started when there are no teeth to interfere. Meanwhile parents self-congratulated in between buying band-emblazoned onesies harvested from organic cotton and blogging about how young Aubergine or Rudyard or Belle or Sebastian was flashing the horns in the picture from the birth announcement.

Little did they know, the danger was starting, as the harbingers of hip from Yo Gabba Gabba! brought back the ghetto blaster, giving a nod to the antichrist himself and setting the ground work for the Hipocalypse. Soon, the Church of Children encroached upon more followers, as parents outside of the white middle-class found themselves falling prey to the persuasive powers of Yo Gabba Gabba!, blinded by hipster baby toys incorporating the laws of design and minimalism, deafened by instrumental lullabies of Nirvana.

Shortly thereafter, as stated in the prophecy, musicians were bewitched, as Lisa Loeb and They Might Be Giants offered forward their musical sacrifices and auditory abortions to the baby borne movement. Shortly following their martyrdom came directors Spike Jonze, Noah Baumbach, and Wes Anderson, entranced by the gilded occult, stretching their intrinsically hip sensibilities toward the fearsome young demons in the form of a never-before-scene art: the hipster children’s movie. This innovation simultaneously began breaking childhood conventions and giving way to an even more evil self-entitled, self-righteous generation indoctrinated with arguments over the best non-Motown soul album to come out in the 60s and the shining examples of chamber pop, whilst having childhood memories of their mother singing an Arcade Fire song to them, as they fell asleep.

“And soon, the second ukulele would begin to be played, as the second horseman came down to earth…”

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