The Hipster movement really took off in the summer of 1994, where nearly every weekend was a drunken revelry, with uninhibited shinanigans in abundance. The last weekend of the summer was no different. Realizing that the school year was fast approaching, we took it upon ourselves to follow a truly hedonistic path: "go hard" and "don't go home" were familiar phrases to the Hipsters. Living for the moment and enjoying teenage life certainly came to a climax in this final weekend of the summer -- the summer of '94.
It was a peaceful night, no rain in the forecast, and winds were from the southeast at about 10 km/h, but it only felt like 5 km/h. Like most Friday nights (or ANY night of the summer), we made a trip to the "Christmas Store" to buy "Christmas Gifts", the Hipster's coded reference to the local LCBO (if you are a stupid American, that means the liquor store). We bought a variety of beverages, including sambuca, rye, vodka, peach schnapps, and beer. Yes, it was going to be a fine evening ........ or so we thought. As we drove up the mountain in the Big Shit, our spirits were up, and would soon be in our tummies!! We arrived at the top of Big Baby (ski slope), and commenced a mass exodus from the mighty machine. It seemed like forever before we arrived at the camp site, which was actually just a spot on the slope which had a good view of the countryside. We quickly erected The Condo, the giant tent that has served the Hipsters well over the years and have passed out in on numerous occasions. Hipster Urinator has also peed on it, hence his name, but that's another story for another time (actually, I believe it's our first story). We took little time in setting it up and tossing our worldly possessions inside; eExcept of course for our drinks. Don't be silly: we wouldn't forget them. We piled back in the Big Shit, and Urinator started the engine. He was sober -- we don't condone impaired driving for those of you who might be wondering. Only dumb people drink and drive. Anyway, back to the story.
Like Jesus Christ, we came down from the mountain. Other than the fact that there was a shitload of us, none of us looked like Jesus, none of us were remotely religious, and nobody wrote a book about us, we were like Jesus Christ. We stopped by a bonfire party held by a guy named Cute-Riff (that's another story). There we drank to our hearts content. Highlighting this part of the evening was a firedance by Hipster Kev. His feet were soon engulfed in flames, and if it weren't for a prissy girl (that we all hated) that yelled at him to "grow up" and "get out of the fire", this might have been Kev's last encounter with the deadly element. Actually, it wasn't so bad -- he sort of melted part of his shoes, and his laces were scorched a bit, but I digress. This was only moments after Hipster Kev scammed a mickey of rum (argh!!) off of a "friend". You see, Kev didn't plan well enough, so he had no "Christmas presents" to enjoy. Anyhow, we all became intoxicated, and a few of us were inebreated including Cornboy, Goober, and Kev. It was time to leave -- we overstayed our welcome, which happens quite a bit with the Hipsters. On to bigger and better things right??? Wrong.
We piled back into the Big Shit, and Hipster Urinator put the key in the ignition, turned it, and voila, the engine roared like never before. Much like a lion. Or an elephant in heat. Have you ever heard an elephant in heat? That's another story. Urinator was sober, remember? Only dumb people drink and drive. And it is impossible for Hipsters to be classified as being "dumb". Maybe "a little slow" sometimes, but that's usually when a Hipster is hung over and has the stupids.
...Back to the story. By this time Cornboy was talking nonsense and Kev was complaining about something nobody else really understood -- maybe he's really a genius and nobody could even remotely comprehend his radical ideas; but perhaps he was just really drunk. It was time for food.
The Hipsters pulled into the local 2-4-1 pizza shop, a favourite eatery during our high school days. Most of the time we had good experiences at this local establishment, but not this time. I vaguely remember buying a gorgeous-looking slice, and as I vacated the premises there was Hipster Kev. A little tuckered out, and a lot hammered (poor lil soldier). He was lying across the hood of the Big Shit in the Jesus Christ Pose. He would not be woken ..... for a few minutes, until he puked -- poor guy, he must have had the flu. While the rest of the Hipsters were inside, Cornboy felt the need to flee, to go "find his friends" we heard him scream. After realizing this, the Hipsters piled into the Shit, and drove up and down the bad streets of Collingwood in search of our lost Cornboy. On our last run down the main street, we located him walking in a furious manner, oblivious to the world around him. As Urinator slowed the vehicle, we yelled to him (except for Kev -- he was puking out the window at this point). Cornboy had forgotten who we were, and kept reminding us that he was "going to meet his friends at the mountain". We tried convincing him that we WERE his friends, but to no avail. It was like trying to persuade a little boy to get in your vehicle (only kidding -- Hipsters don't condone child molestation either). We were forced to tackle him to the ground and throw him in the back of the Big Shit. We were now ready to head to the Condo -- or were we??
As we drove back towards our campsite, I remembered that I had forgotten my knapsack at Cute-Riff's party, so we had to return to where we weren't wanted. I quickly jumped out and returned in only a few minutes (the party was over because these people weren't hip enough to party like a Hipster). When I returned, Cornboy had run away again. Apparently he was still not convinced that the Hipsters were his friends. So we left him for dead.
It was late in the evening (or early in the morning) when we arrived at the Condo. Hipster Kev immediately fell into a deep slumber inside, while the rest of the Hipsters present took in the magnificent view of Collingwood and surrouding area, and indulged in a little night cap. Soon Hipster Goob (aka Hipster Cuffs -- another story) and his strumpet at the time Saint Steph said they were "tired" and retired to the Condo.
Unaware of the going-ons around him and maybe on top of him, Hipster Kev was an unconscious witness to the deflowering of the Condo. In other words, Goob and Steph chose to explore each other's bodies in the company of sleeping Kev, breaking the Hipster rule of "No Sex in the Condo". Hipster Kev is still haunted by this incident even to this day. He has to drink to make the pain go away ...... yeah, that's why. As the rest of the Hipsters make there way to the Condo, the grass has become dew-covered and they all get wet feet. Oh well -- shit happens I guess. As we lay our heads down to sleep, we are surprised to hear something walk up towards the Condo. Could it be a bear? A wolf? An elephant in heat? No. It's Hipster Cornboy! He has finally found his friends!!!! But his energy having expired, he collapsed a few feet short of the Condo. Oh well, the rest of the Hipsters needed to sleep. We were awoken hours later by the shivering and generally strange sounds emanating from Cornboy, so we figured the cold and wet probably got to him. We dragged him inside but made him sleep at our feet like the dog he was.
As the sun arose, Saturday was upon us. Another Hipster day, another Hipster party.
-Hipster Barf