Portland men, I am onto you. You can't hide behind your beards and your Levi's, your fixed gears and your thick glasses, your affection for all creatures cute and fuzzy. I bet you like to dance, and you paint/draw/sew/play music. You say the most charming, adorable things. You have tattoos, or not. But if you do, I'll bet you one million bucks there's a "mom" one in there somewhere. You know your coffee and good food. Your record collection would make me blush. You like comics (see, you really are a nerd) but all of this, all this seemingly boyish charm you possess is all a ruse. I'm so effing sick of you all. You're cowards, you hide behind those winter beards. You're not special, not different. You all look the same. You end up with the same type of girl, and I'm so sick of your faces and your thrift store finds. Fuck fixed gears, by the way. Have you ever even ridden on a track??? I hope your knees go out from all your stupid track stands. You're so caught up in keeping up this image. I'm just so over you all.—Anonymous
Beardos Are Not Weirdos
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