I’ve tried to mind my own business, but there is a certain problematic segment of society who I believe are ruining it to its core. They are known by many names. Some call them Indie, others call them Hipsters. I myself simply prefer to call them Stupid. And while my normal stance on public displays of stupidity is to live and let live, sometimes the stupidity of others encroaches on my very way of life. As a result I would like to submit a simple law to govern certain aspects of lifestyles of the dumb and proud of it.
Specifically, you cannot wear merchandise ironically.
I think I should probably elaborate on the events that led to this decision. I was very hungry Sunday afternoon, and despite how much I despise hipsters and every hipster friendly restaurant, sometimes food needs to be consumed, regardless of the source. So as I warily made my way through the parking lot at Chipotle, gingerly avoiding any cars with fedoras and tambourines on the dashboard (I am not even kidding), eventually gaining my food and finding an empty table. My goal was to get through this meal as quickly as possible, so as spend as little time in that foul den of irony as I humanly could. Still, the hope that someone of these wicked hordes might indeed have some form of humanity left within their oxidized soul is too great to prevent my eyes from peering at one, then at another, in the vain possibility of some semblance of personality and purity. All seemed lost, until I spied one young man in a group, specifically it was a faint splash of green that caught my eye. Further gazing prevailed upon my doubts to reveal an answer to my hopes; goodness could indeed be found in someone among these denizens, and here it was the proof before me: a man in a Green Lantern t-shirt! Dare I approach? I dare, for the prospect of locating someone else who found themselves so lost among this crowd of barbarians was too great to ignore. Slowly I picked my way across the room, the dismal din of soft cooing backed by repeated acoustic power chords caterwauling against my ears, enhanced by the faux-artistic style of concrete floors and steel walls. Halfway across the arena, I froze. My mouth agape, I spotted a horrible apparition that showed my previous discovery to be nothing more than a hoax. Joining the table, the same as the man who bore the emblem of the emerald gladiator, was some kid in a Thundercats shirt! The horror, the pain, the wretched ignominy! How dare he, HOW DARE HE! Thundercats was all the evidence I needed; no one wears anything Thundercats related in any way other than ironically. And where one person wore ironically, so did others, including he who would defile the mighty name of the Corps! Steadfast and manlike now I strode across the floor, before coming to a halt before the vile wretches at the table. With a look of stern reprimand wrote across my face, I stood with feet apart, shoulders back, and fists on hip as I stared straight at the man’s chest. My worst fear confirmed; his Green Lantern shirt was artificially faded. My lips spread involuntarily in a scornful grimace.
The wretch looked up at me, and confusedly asked, “Can I help you, space cadet?”
I ground my teeth and paused, lengthily, before responding. “Recite the oath,” I ordered.
“Excuse me?”
“Recite the oath, scumbag.”
“What oath?” while, puzzled he still managed to convey a sense of self righteous pride.
“You know very well what oath I’m referring to. The Lantern Oath. The Oath associated with the uniform you wear so callously.” Despite the fact that I did not use any “P” sounds in that sentence, I forced my mouth to spit extravagantly as I spoke.
“Are you some dumb comic nerd?” he asked, haughtily.
“Do not dare impugn the reputation of a Lantern wielder, evildoer. Now recite the oath or remove that sacred uniform from your person.”
“Dude, it’s a t-shirt.”
“This is a t-shirt!” I retorted. In retrospect, that didn’t make a whole lot of sense.
“No, that is a Halloween costume.”
“Excuse me?”
“What you’re wearing. Did you buy that at the comic book store?” He must’ve been referring to the green and black body suit I was wearing, complete with green domino mask and ring.
“And what is wrong with the comic book store?” I queried.
“Nothing, if it’s an independent comic book store…” I think that’s how he was going to finish that sentence. He really couldn’t have gone many other ways with that. I’ll never know however, as my fist (again, involuntarily) began to repeatedly punch him in the side of the head as soon as he said the word “independent”. Then I began to punch other people, too. I believe I exhibited a decent sense of self control during the whole ordeal, as I refrained from punching anyone not wearing scarves, converse shoes, or shirts for bands I’ve never heard of. But there were a lot of people wearing those things. I believe the police reports claimed assaults again 27 people, but I swear it was no more than 14.
Either way, this is my basis for enacting this rule from now on. Hipsters, you are no longer allowed to wear merchandise for comics, cartoons, movies, bands, or breakfast cereal “ironically”. From this point onward, any store carrying t-shirts, pins, stickers, or any other form of imprinted clothing or accessories must quiz any customer buying said products, to make sure they truly are a fan who is wearing this for the merit of displaying their affection of something. I know this may seriously damage the sales of certain properties, but if an 80’s cartoon cannot enough to support a thriving t-shirt industry without the crutch of indie people, it wasn’t that good to begin with. Many store franchises may go out of business, but if Urban Outfitters goes under and there’s no other place you can get shot glasses with filthy words written on them in cursive, I think the world will actually be a better place.
