I Wish that all Children of the World could Bask in the Glow of the Hipster Working at Intelligentsia Coffee Right Now

I treat myself on Friday afternoons to a frou-frou coffee drink from the best coffee peddlers in town, Intelligentsia. I almost denied myself today, which would have been one of the biggest mistakes of my entire life. I would never have been able to spin for my children and their children the tale of one of the most magnificent hipsters thine eyes hath ever beheld. I believe in this case that the best way to proceed is from the waist up:

1. Red flannel lumberjack shirt
2. Red flannel lumberjack shirt sleeves rolled tightly all the way to high bicep
3. Black forearm spiral tat
4. Vest
5. Vest is brown corduroy on the front
6. Vest is paisley on the back
7. Striped suspenders
8. Suspenders worn outside of vest
9. Tom Selleck chest hair
10. Pec tats
11. Tight silver necklace
12. Necklace contains numerous charms which includes but is not limited to:
a. an old-timey key
b. quartz crystal
c. dream-catcher
d. picture of Jesus
e. picture of 18th century French noblewoman (Marie Antoinette possibly?)
13. Nose ring
14. "Bull Ring" style nose ring through septum
15. Those goddamned stupid assed fucking black barrel ear-plug thingys that create increasingly larger holes in your ear lobe as you increase the size of the barrel
16. Studded bar piercing through top of ear
17. Normalish hair cut in the front, which becomes a choppy faux-hawk in the back, which ultimately blends into......
18. A fucking rat tail

A straight fucking flush to the Ace. Lets see you beat that, and unless you're holding 5 aces, you ain't beating it. When you are that fucking rad do you even realize how much energy and strength it requires just to keep yourself upright? Do you? You're riding your bike to work? Guess what, fuck you. He's riding a unicycle to work. You're reading Dylan Thomas in the dark corner of a pub and drinking a Duvel? Well go fuck yourself. My man just finished reading a collection of Moliere while dressed as Charlie Chaplin and drinking a "Sidecar" out of a pewter mug next to a statue honoring Cesar Chavez west of Humboldt Park. Oh, you're driving a metallic green Ford Pinto with a Jimmy Carter for President sticker on the bumper? Well you're a douche-bag because our protagonist doesn't even have a fucking license. You can all take your skinny black jeans and your Pabst Blue Ribbon beer and ride your Dutch De Fietsfabriek bicycles right the fuck back to Wicker Park, because this hombre doesn't give one shit.