Every river begins with a trickle. And so it is with a blog. I suppose there's something vaguely idiotic about an introductory missive to an audience of zero when it will have been consumed by a tsunami of posts by the time the first aimless drunk staggers over here. Then again you'd have to be stark raving mad to undertake something this self-indulgent sans the delusion that the world awaits your monosyllabic flotsam the way Andrew Sullivan yearns to do body shots off of Guatemalan cabana boys.
I won't bother explaining what makes one a right-wing hipster. It is what it is. And while I'm inspired to start this because the moonbat left here in NYC has finally frayed my last nerve, I'm certain to delve into my passions in the realm of culture as well as matters political. Meaning there's a better than even chance that the blog's first pilgrims will be weepy vegans who googled some obscure indie band or the like.
So if you're one of them and reading this, I say: Sorry that much of what you see here makes you feel angry. Or sad. Mean people really do suck just like it says on those buttons! And it just breaks my heart that we didn't value how really smart and sensitive you were growing up. We were too busy going to parties, getting laid, playing sports, and generally enjoying our youth to salve the psychic wounds that were the natural yield of your social impotence in a world that just isn't fair.
I was the bane of your existence in every cliche-ridden teen angst movie since the beginning of time. And I've only grown more insufferable. So try to avoid this place for your emotional well-being. Go back to the cocoon you've forged with your fellow refugees from youthful trauma. You may find ample instances here of the cultural markers which you slavishly embrace to effect a superior posture among your self-satisfied cohorts. But go back to Gawker and get your snark of conformity on. Or go to Kos and stew in your anger. Here, you're just a twatwaffle and I am the Kryptonite to your veneer of sophistication.