Fucking Hipsters: L Train/Union Sq Edition

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This young person with shoes+socks, cart, plastic box, and bootleg DVDs NEEDS your help :) to get home.

Can I get a break please? Can someone break me off a motherfucking Kit-Kat bar, here? White 20-somethings who probably went to college, and obviously know how to read books have taken to begging (read: hustling) commuters for spare change in the subway. What? What? Is this necessarily a race thing? Well, maybe and maybe not. I've only seen one sort of mixed looking kid begging similarly. The black kids sell you candy. The white kids sell you your own pity...

 Look, I get the whole economic fail that is everything. It's just so hard for this generation (and every other generation) to make ends meet. But things are rarely ever what they seem, or what they promise to be. Catch on that the thing you call Reality is not real, and that Logic is a joke, and the Government isn't here to protect you but to encase you, and the only breaks you're going to get are the ones you make yourself. Get off your ass and actually do something about your condition. No one's going to come and hand you anything you fuck...

But given that much, if these are my opinions, how much can I hate on these hipster-douches? I suppose only so much as my own personal Vanity allows. I mean I'm totally judging them because they're sitting on the subway right? Like, god... I don't doubt some of these assbags are homeless. I also don't doubt that's probably entirely voluntary. But these kids are fucking sitting around with dogs and signs asking you to get them home. How much is the fucking ticket you scab? I'll buy it for you. 

Alas, before I get on with the f-bombs and the name calling, lets examine the facts of this performance in detail:

There are roughly four (4) lost 20-somethings in Union Square with at least two (2) books between them.

They want to go home.

They have markers. 

They have shoes, and their clothes are not torn. They also have jackets. From their dress we can conclude they haven't been "stranded" very long. 

They are not obviously or overtly filthy. 

They don't appear to be ill. 

People are giving them money. 

Four lost adults are striving to "go home," and are clever and resourceful enough to devise a strategy for acquiring the necessary funds to achieve their goal. At which point do these literate, able bodied young Americans decide to phone home? (Don't you think mom and dad, bro and sis, or Nana might like to hear from them? Supposing they intend to return to wherever home is, shouldn't someone be expecting them? #JustSaying.

Now with the shit talking.

There's this one lanky one who panhandles on the train, pitiful as all hell with his dirty fucking hands, and the most adorable dog-friend in his backpack. He's got the classic hobo-sadface on, and I wonder to myself, does his mother know? I wonder, is it Meth? I wonder...why? Sometimes I wonder that they aren't a network of educated Columbia University students conducting the ultimate social experiment on wealth, greed, guilt, and survival in the most ridiculous city on Earth. I wonder where these fucks are getting the dogs, the dvds, the clean clothes (except for grimey fingernails guy), but mostly I wonder why well-to-do assbag in designer spectacles is giving them money.

I saw this twit attempting to cut her hair with a boxcutter on Saturday Night. Jokes on us.

Is it Guilt? Should people who work for what material gains they've accrued be guilted into giving money to others? Is it anyone's responsibility to provide anyone else with money? And taking it a step further is it anyone's responsibility to provide anyone else with the opportunity to make money? Is money the most important element to this or any situation? If the Lost Hipsters' goal is to go home then money is only a means of achieving that goal. And in the set-up of  modern industrialized civilization then money is just a means of achieving comfort, and control. The Lost Hipster plays on the working man's emotions, the same way Government plays on Citizens' basic fears regarding security, shelter, employment, food, and whatever else. Yes, yes, you read that correctly. I just went there.

But anyway... Hey, it's New York. This is HUSTLE CENTRAL. So if you got one, run one. Get your life, get your paper. You're not fooling me so whatever. And don't expect me to feel one iota of pity for anyone who sits on the subway begging with a cardboard sign drawn with different color markers, and adorned with * *** everywhere. I don't have sympathy for beggars. Every aspect of our lives is the result of a choice we made previously. Them bitches like sitting in the subway. Me, not so much. I'll tell you what else, I always have the good form enough to look  everyone I ever hustle right in their eyes... These scabs.

But... It's just so hard! I thought growing up was going to be easy, like FRIENDS. I thought that I was going to get some money for college, go to college, get a sweet job in a field that corresponded to my degree, and I was going to be promoted as a natural consequence of my being qualified and steadily working. I thought I was a talented and original artist. I was going to come to New York and play shows and get discovered. I thought that when I grew up things would be awesome! Help me!! 

Wait, disregard that up there... that's from my personal diary...