HEY KIDS!



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Notice how most of the gutterpunks you’ll actually hang out in a bar with are kinda queer like you and like the same drugs? Everybody hates the rednecks who live on the neutral ground, start fights, and terrorize women, even if they have a facial tattoo themselves. The lines of tribal fashion culture have blurred. As the aesthetics, sexual orientation, and ideology that separate these factions become more ambiguous, we come dangerously close to the glorious moment when we can get some work done.

The thing that has confused me for years now is the word “hipster.” I see kids with tight pants, flannel shirts, and handlebar mustaches who actually DO make great art. When I’m doing a bump of cocaine in the bathroom with one, I don’t ask them if the money for that coke came from their parents. Fuck, William S. Burroughs was the ultimate trust fund kid, but I don’t see anybody calling him a poser.

What I’m saying is this: we all accept the fact that for any scene to have a solid foundation there must be something to rebel against. People whose particular stylistic idiom is based on the premise that everybody sucks but them are being horribly short-sighted. For one thing, they’re making their target too big. For a movement to truly succeed, there needs to be a focus. If the idea is to wage war then isn’t it inefficient to wear a uniform that makes you easily identifiable? When the redcoats marched in formation against the tax evaders, fur trappers, and other criminal types who are our ancestors, they got their asses handed to them. Why is this?

It’s because they were in an environment where redcoats made them an easy target. It probably didn’t help that they couldn’t tell their enemies from the trees. We at SHUN put forth the proposition that our agents of subculture should likewise become harder to identify and attack.

As we all know, the frat boys on Bourbon Street all look the same—and you can identify them by smell because of the hideous perfume they wear. As of late these philistines and their subhuman ilk, who have already proliferated to the point that most of the country is a strip mall, have crossed the Frenchmen street line and are are now trying to score cocaine in our bars.

Now is the time to act.

We finally have the tactical advantage. Imagine that they’re the redcoats and that the hipster faggot with the neck tattoo sitting next to you is a fellow fur trapper just trying to make a buck.

Can you see where I’m going with this, kids? Viva la revolution!