Your dad partied harder than you ever will and he’s got the gapped-grin to prove it. In the whiskey-blurred memories of parties past, one liquor-filled legend raged harder than even god thought possible - your dad. He was a cyclone of drunken destruction that engulfed innocent bystanders into his vortex of debauchery. Going out with him was like stepping into a strip club that was inside a cocaine-dance party that was on a speeding train that crashed into a brewery where Mike Tyson was practicing assault.
So hipsters, when you’re drunk screaming yolo before doing something you’ll regret when you’re sitting in the hospital, remember this…
Your dad pre-gamed harder than you party.
Don’t forget to pick up a copy of the book Dads are the Original Hipsters yo!
Your dad played table tennis before you did and he’s got the forehand to prove it. Once an aristocratic parlour game of the elite, this now basement shunned sport was just obscure and ironic enough for his liking. It was one of few games the athletically un-endowed could dethrone the gym-jockeys and shame-slam them with sniper-shot precision. PBR was his performance enhancing drug and whiskey-spin was his signature serve.
So hipsters, when you’re hard bat battling over beers with loft shots because your hand-eye coordination is limited to apathetically updating your tumblr with the shitty, self important opinions of what you think the world needs to hear, remember this…
Your dad was feared on and off the table because of his strong backhand.
P.S. Shout out to American Tripps in SF for a sweaty good PBR filled time.
Also, don’t forget to pick up a copy of Dads are the Original Hipsters from Amazon or your local getting spot.
Your dad owned a typewriter before you did and he’s got the memoirs to prove it. Punching ink-alphabet bruises into 100 lb egg-shell white paper, he was a god of arranged letters and a heavy weight of words. His mentally armoury rivalled that of Merriam-Webster and put Shakespeare to shame. The clatter caused by his key-thundering could be heard for miles, but nothing could stop him from slamming his whiskey guided thoughts into existence.
So hipsters, next time you’re slamming your dick-beaters against the archaic mechanical printer and refusing to use your Mac Book Pro because it’s not a pure enough experience, remember this…
Nothing you type will trump the poetic prose that your dad penned to panty drop your mom.
Also - Like the blog? Well I turned it into a book - which is your dad’s version of a blog if a blog was on paper and you had to pay for it in a store. It’s filled with all new photos and content too. Your dad would buy it, so you should too.
Your dad was a DJ before you were and he’s still got the crossfader skills to prove it. Back when vinyl was un-ironically cool, he was the turntable Houdini of mesmerizing audiences with his musical mash-up magic. Each sonic blast from his ones and twos gave ear-gasms to the dance crazed party harem that stalked his house mixes. He could thread a needle onto a track like an audio tailor of sound, which got him the reputation of being The Sultan of Spinning and The Don Juan of Dropping Bass. You probably have never heard his DJ name before, but if you listen closely you might just hear your mom screaming some nights.
So hipsters, when you’re attempting to be Skrillix on your Mac Book Pro at your friend’s house party and bragging to girls about your skills, remember this…
Your dad will always be the king of spinning sounds.
Shout out to the Party Wizard in SF.
If you haven’t picked up a copy yet, don’t forget to pick up the book Dads are the Original Hipsters.
Hipster dad advice of the day - reach for the fucking stars. Even if you fail, your badassery might inspire your kids to write a blog about how awesome you were… Or don’t, I’m sure being an aging hipster with a barista resume will get you laid all the time when you hit 35.
Also, don’t forget to check out the book “Dads are the Original Hipsters”