Less than 3 months ago, this blog was nothing more than a half-assed idea, thrown around by some bros and hoes drinking beers in brooklyn. now, we are the #1 blog for Indie Hipster D-Bags on the internets. and we have just one group of people to thank for that: ourselves.
That said - to our loyal reader(s?) - keep on doing what you do, when you do that thing that you do, that we like so much (reading our site).
And to the person who was page viewer #1,000 - you get a free t-shirt, whenever we get around to printing them.
(Pointing to the minority sitting behind two old white people)
Rich White Bitch: “Oh, look. Those people are bringing their maid to Canada.”
Chocolate donuts and Twitter. That’s what Entenmann’s does.
White socks, jaguar shoes
You look like hipster trash
Please cut off feet
What’s better than really dank weed, really heady thizz, and really metallic huffable paint? Motherfucking bath salts!
If you were wondering what your hard earned tax dollars have been up to, other than stripping old ladies from their diapers at the airport and funding bombs to drop on qaddafi, they’ve been going to something just as important to the national interest - bath salt.
That’s right - as first reported by the good folks at Gawker, los federales have made purveyors of the sweet, sweet salts NYC’s public enemy #1.
Kudos to the Federal Govt. for yet another job well done. You guys fucking rock!!!!
-hiz thizziness khalifa
the fucking muddy reds are saving goddamn rock n roll. finally. a band that Vladimir Nabokov would be proud of - a band that don’t play when they bring it - that hustles harder than ya’ll when they steady slangin that swanky sound to your dome piece.
rotfl lmfao pollute the airwaves with their unique brand of music high level toxic sludge, these mofos tear shit up from our jam van to yours. flossy funky fly fresh frEH FRESH.
Yoyoyoyo - what up my ninjas - Thizz Khalifa here, back from Bonnaroo, to let y’all know about the newest of new - the freshest of fresh - the shit that only computers know about - y’allknowwhatimsayin??? It’s that binary code for bitches, yo!
Old system for hoes - nooooooooooooooooooooo
New system - yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Fuck your couch, and your old 1-10 rating system for girls - that shit is played out. We got fucking smart like computers - we only need two numbers to know if a girl is worth taking into the bang bus - 1 and 0.
1). Yo! That girl walking down the street is so fly - I would fuck her 3 ways, then marry her - she is a definite 1.
2). Damn! That girl who hitched a ride with us to Tennessee was bunk! Next time don’t bring a ZERO to Manchester.
National treasure Brad Pitt heroically asserted America’s superiority over our southern neighbors, when he led a team of hapless Federales in arresting his vastly less handsome Mexican counterpart, the drug kingpin El Brad Pitt. But fear not, loyal IHDB readers - if El Brad Pitt’s “el drugs” are as poor an imitation as he is, this won’t affect your ability to score a heady stash. On the other hand, you might actually want to worry about how they’re going to figure out casting for el narcocinema.
- El Gringo Starr
Word on the street is that everyone’s favorite teenage Congressman is set to resign. Allegedly, this is news, but who really cares? We need something to boot this garbage from the 24-hour news cycle. What I’m hoping for is a WWF-style interruption to Weiner’s press conference. The culprit? None other than that batshit crazy dictator that everyone loves to hate, Muammar “I miss all the attention I got in the eighties” Gaddafi. With all the drugs he’s into, this is a distinct possibility. The way I see it, Muammar breaks past security, smashes Weiner (i.e. the big one, not the little one) with a steel chair, and grabs the mic to announce his surrender, thus stealing Weiner’s shine and deflating his political career, his ego, and his sculpted pecs in one fell swoop. The only problem is we might end up with this clown getting his own crappy TV talk show, just like his fellow sex-crazed, gremlin-looking former New York politician.
- Words by Rupert Stilinski, Image by Gringo Starr
What’s twenty-five stories above street level, filled with d-bags and serves drinks in plastic cups? Every rooftop bar in Manhattan.
I’m all for outdoor drinking, but whether you’re talking Sutton Place or the Rooftop at the Standard, the one thing every rooftop bar has in common (besides $18 cocktails) is douchebags. On the east side, you’ll find the run-of-the-mill Murray Hill/Turtle Bay Douchebag. These guys practically run 2nd Avenue. Or at least they think so. Heading further west, you encounter the Meatpacking Douche. This species, often confused with the Bridge & Tunnel Douchebag, is an interesting one - subspecies range broadly from Yuppie Trustafarian to Hipster Douche (a cousin to the IHDB). However, one species that knows no geographical bounds is the the Eurodouche. You can spot them by their tight pants and smug attitudes. Also, they’ll probably be drinking Rosé and bothering the waitress for fresh ice every ten minutes.
But for the promised land of the douche safari, a veritable Douche Serengeti, look no further than The Frying Pan. It’s not a rooftop bar, but that doesn’t really matter. These guys think they are at South Pointe in the Hamptons, but no one seems to have told them that they’re sitting on an abandoned barge in the Hudson River.
My dream this summer is a rooftop bar without d-bags, but that’s like finding a strip club with no breast implants. Until this epidemic subsides, my advice is to stick to bars with a good cross-breeze.
- Rupert Stilinski a.k.a. Stiles
Summertime has arrived in the city, and that means sunny weather, short skirts and overpriced rooftop bars. And while most New Yorkers would never forget their designer sunglasses on a hot summer day, they often forget something equally important - to lose some fucking weight. With subway ridership reaching record levels, we need all the space we can get. Besides, who wants all that hot, belabored breath in their face on a packed train? Compared to the ’80s, when greed was good and blow was all the rage, the average rider must be carrying an extra 10-20 pounds. The airlines finally caught on by charging fat fucks for two seats; when will the MTA get the message? Bring on the $4 Metrocard - with all the money these whales spend on food, they’ll be priced out of the system. Maybe then they’ll take a walk for once.
- Rupert Stilinski
“I’m an adult. There’s only one blog that I read - the indie douchebag.”
-Eddie in Beercity, USA