Dads are the Original Hipsters

If a picture is worth a thousand words, this one is worth a Mike Tyson thunder-punch across the chin of every apathetic, fixie riding, balls-tight jean wearing, ironic hipster’s ego. It perfectly sums up this blog without having to say a word. I tip my cycling cap and pour of some PBR to this man. You sir, are an Original Hipster. 

Your dad rocked flannel before you did and he’s still got a closet of Pendleton to prove it. This testosterone weave was the body armor for his daily adventures. It was tough like the calluses on his hands and sexually irresistible like his beard. When the God of Manhood first created it on his Bigfoot femur bone loom in the backwoods of the Northwestern territory, he created it in your dad’s image. Ever wonder why most flannels are plaid? Your dad made it that way because the random association of colors helped mask the blood, oil and life that splattered onto his shirt while he TKO’ed existence with his awesomeness. 

So hipsters, next time you’re slipping emaciated arm and body into lumberjack uniform for an apathetic day of attempting manhood, remember this…

Your dad gave flannel the tough woodsman image it has today, and you’re slowly diluting his hard work with your lackluster life. 

P.S. Have you ever been so masculine that you grew antlers? Because your dad has. 

Thanks to Itsjoshryan on tumblr for the submission. 

This is a prime example of when my life and this blog cross. I was sitting at my desk looking at submissions when I saw this one. No big deal right? Except for the fact that we were wearing the exact same flannel… Dads are the Original Hipsters. 

P.S. if you need me, I will be curled up in the corner accepting defeat while crying over a PBR.

Your dad wore flannel before you did and he still has the Pendleton to prove it. In his woven expression of manliness, he could emasculate Paul Bunyan with his axe swings while effortlessly making the Brawny Man look like a bitch. Each of his lumberjack tops were broken in by adventure, bear boxing matches, shotgun recoils and occasionally baby vomit. He didn’t donate his plaids when it was time to retire them from his wardrobe. Instead, he gave them viking funerals to honor the tours of duty they served his upper body and set them ablaze at sea to ensure that no lesser man would ever disgrace his shirts by wearing them. 

So hipsters, next time you slide your frail body into the most masculine of woven wools with hopes that it, in combination with your shitty beard, will make you seem more rugged, remember this…

Your dad didn’t wear flannel to look tough, he wore flannel because it was tough enough to withstand him. 

Thanks to Jesse for today’s photo. 

Keep the submissions coming.