Up in Arms
I, Anonymous
To all the newbie poseur hipster fucks who decided to come very late to the Raconteurs show Wednesday night at the Roseland and push your way to the front—GO FUCK OFF AND DIE! You know who you are—the skinny, latte-sipping douchebag with the Chuck Taylors, the fat wrestler fuck with the mutated ears, the tall make-up-faced cunt (with pussy boyfriend). I know your mindset: The rest of us are obviously less important than you, and you are so fucking cool we are lucky to have you blocking our view—even if you dance like Elaine from Seinfeld. You are so lucky the surrounding crowd didn't just decide to pound the living crap out of you. I realize it's your first concert and all (proven by the fact that you only knew the songs they play daily on WINK 102 or whatever lame radio station you listen to), but you need to realize you are no more important than the rest of us. As long as there are conceited pieces of shit like you in the world, I will always be forced to keep weapons around. Because if society should ever fall apart, I know exactly how you will act... —Anonymous
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