Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Larryville's City Fathers Approve 16-Passenger Pedicabs! / Plus, It's Limerick Day!

Having apparently decided that smaller pedicabs are not quite awesome enough, city fathers last night approved the use of 16-passenger pedicabs. In an odd twist, however, these particular pedicabs will not be allowed to operate on Mass. Street, which would seem to be the logical destination for 16-drunkards in a foot-powered contraption. Are the boys excited?

Chip: "The city fathers will apparently not be satisfied until Larryville has a fucking pedi-Ark that takes up a full-city block and is filled with two of every kind of freak in the city."

Richard: "There are only two kinds of hipsters: those that prefer PBR, and those that prefer Hamm's."


Readers, did you know that May 12 is Limerick Day, which celebrates the birthday of Edward Lear? At the LC, we enjoy a good dirty limerick as much as the next person (Chip: "It's so easy to rhyme words with 'fuck.'").

Here's a nice one for you:

There once was a fellow McSweeny
Who spilled some gin on his weenie
Just to be couth
He added vermouth
Then slipped his girlfriend a martini

(source: interweb).

But what we truly prefer are haikus, whose short form is perfectly suited to lazy hipsters. Indeed, we often finding ourselves turning to the fine work collected in Siobhan Adcock's Hipster Haiku, such as this:

Hand-rolled cigarettes
You call everything “po-mo”
I think I love you

We'll happily buy a PBR (or Hamm's) to the person who submits their best hipster limerick or haiku in the comments (they must be hipster-related). Come on, poets, reveal yourselves! Here's ours:

The Transmittens coo
sweet songs of sparklemittens
Cow clouds make us smile.

Please order your copy of Hipster Haiku today:


haikai! said...

Don't forget that seasonal reference, haiku writers!

Kickball players run,
chasing Hamm's and Pabst beer cans.
The Replay beckons.

Capt. Chanute said...

Through thick-framed glasses,
plaid Goddess I view 8-) Betrayed!
Too much Pabst, limp dick :(

(Hipsters are totally down with emoticons, as they convey much more and less feeling all at once. A contradiction worthy only of hipsterdom)

Personal's Column said...

Fuck my fuckers... Bitches.
For their dogs thirst to bone slappy,
Happy, in wet dreams.

And that's a fucking poem (Hah! Puny, bitches!) both artistic and accurate.

--Or some shit like that. Hay, Hay, Leroy -- let's slip this shit sassy. Sassy, Mother Fucka! Sassy!

poser/poseur said...

Where is that Ruscin?
Quick, try hard, look aloof,
pose like it's no pose.

hipster zombie undie run! said...

Hipster girls' undies
what do they look like? Lacy
and crotchless I hope!

"(C)hip" said...

Ode to That Fucking Hipster

My fanny aches to
fuck some Betty (Archie?) And
get my ass online.

Q's haikus said...

My waitress at Q's
leaned over to leave my soup.
I had a boner.

poor hipster bastards said...

Shitty bands, bad beer,
ugly, ironic clothing:
hipster life. Sad fucks.

Dr. S-- said...

Ok, what in Fuck?!?

What is this shit?

Kindergarten poetry corner?

--This is why I leave this place to Dr. X (He breaks for this poetry bullshit!)

who is Dr. S? said...

And where is his pony blog?

X the Indicator said...

Don't you fucking worry about him.

He's nothing.

Now get back to the hard core shit lest I whip your ass like I did to Kip last night!

--I make that bitches scream like he wishes the Woodchuck would for his limp and tiny joint!

Bad Poets Society said...

Rose are red, violets are blue....

Shit, let me start again.

Roses are red, violets are blue...

Ah, fuck, I suck.