i found it online, not the original ad, but the text. here it is:
32 points 3 months ago[+] (3 children)
32 points 3 months ago[-]
To The Hipster Who Slammed His Bicycle Into My Car - 28 (Hipsterville) Reply to: firstname.lastname@example.org
[?] Date: 2008-11-19, 12:57PM EST
Yesterday, about 11;30 am in Bushwick, about two blocks from the Halsey street stop on the L.
So here I am minding my own business, driving back home to the Island from an appointment.
And here you come, on you “vintage” bike, with a pretty little scarf around your neck and tight adorable little girl pants, white ipod earphones firmly implanted in your ears. You are not looking around too much I assume, as you ignore the fact that YOU have a red light and proceed to do a full frontal collision with my vehicle.
****. I pull over and get out like a good Samaritan I am. Yeah it’s about lunch time and I jus drove for an hour and a half each way just to have an hour meeting and haven’t eaten since 8 am. But I’m nice like that, I get out and ask you if you are ok and if I need to start calling an ambulance.
Here’s where **** gets f-ed up. Instead of grabbing the hand I offered to help you up, you jump up and punch in the forehead. What the hell? And it just gets worse from here. You must have mistaken my utter frozen expression of amazement as weakness and proceeded to follow it up with something even dumber. You hit me AGAIN, in the shoulder this time and bust out with this line of “You ****ing white trash piece of **** you hit my bike I’m going to kick the crap out of you, you ****ing redneck”.
Now, I’m not a violent man, I’m too old for that, I’m nearing 30. I operate my own company, which is WHY I was out in the middle of the day going through your ****ty neighborhood. And kid, I used to LIVE there, which is why I took the detour to come check out what has happened to my old stomping grounds. Needless to say, you idiot Midwesterner emasculated metrosexual jerkoffs moved in and opened up a coffee shop and what used to be a goddamn CHOP SHOP. What idiot would spend time in an old car shop in the ghetto, don’t you mongoloids know anything about toxic fumes? So I was already a in a bad mood, and you just caught me at a perfect time.
So I started hitting you. A lot. And possibly kicking you, I don’t know, it got a little blurry for a bit there. And at one time I might have picked you up and tossed you against those old NYPD/NYFD call stations.
Then you started crying like a little *** hipster ***** that you are. I’m not blaming you for that, it looked like it really hurt, man. But what gives you even the slightest IDEA that a guy who has 80+ lbs on you and at least 8+ years, has long hair down to his ass, wearing a flight jacket and combat boots is going to let you hit him? You are 110 lbs MAX and 6 foot tall. I’m 5’10 and a good 180 lbs and I eat my meat and protein before hitting the gym, so I’m obviously even visually MUCH bigger then you. Is it your height, which would explain why you would punch me in the forehead (which incidentally doesn’t hurt, in case you ever grow the balls to get in a fight with a man again)? Or was in the fact that I was wearing glasses, which I looked for after they fell off in my rage of boots bouncing off your head? Next time you pick a fight, make sure it’s with one of your own kind, the self-loathing socially-awkward losers who pretend they have actually read Nietzsche and Dostoevsky and understood them (I hear they don’t actually TEACH anything other then finger-painting at art school though).
And then you, while spitting out bloody mucus (I didn’t hit you all that hard, *****, I’ve been ****ed up worse in moshpits by friends back in the day) you call to the crack dealers who were watching your beatdown to call the cops.
See there’s stupid here on two different levels. First of all, you calling for negros slinging rock on the corner to call the cops? You slow or something? Secondly, while before I was turning away and walking back to my car to go get a Cuban sammich from the place I remember not to far from years ago, now I whipped around twice as pisses and did something I almost
feel bad about. I snatched the cell phone from your hand and smashed it on the sidewalk with my boot. I probably should have sold your little iphone toy and paid off my electric bill, but **** it, I’ll work an extra hour or two to make up for it, the pleasure of knowing you cant call anyone to complain is just too much fun.
And you asking the chulo walking by to help you? Not too smart either, his poor broke border-hopping ass just got here last year and then your kind move in and his rent goes up. He ain’t going to help you, idiot, he wants you OUT of his hood. But yeah, he probably does speak English, but you screaming that a Nazi is beating on you isn’t going to sway him. Nor the black brothas who are still laughing at you and watching their mid-day entertainment of cracka-on-cracka violence.
So here’s the moral of this story, you ironic-shirt wearing, rent-raising, liberal hippy Midwestern piece of **** wanna-be artist. People like me, who grew up in NYC, are and will always be able to whoop your ass. Sure, I wasn’t BORN in this city, I came here as a child from a ****ty cold war-era soviet country and grew up in the Bronx, with meanest machete-wielding blackity-black crack-heads on one side and angriest drunkest Irish skinheads on the other of me. Don’t hit a guy who offers you a hand of help, I’m going to do a ****ing jig on your skull, boy.
And learn this lesson, kid, I am superior to you not just by the virtue of my rugged good looks, oozing machismo and not living off mommy and daddy like you do, but by the fact that I AM OPERATING A COMBUSTIBLE ENGINE VEHICLE MADE OF TONS OF STEEL. Car wins over a bike, you were THIS close from me killing you, doofus.
And as a side note, what sort of idiot wears an election t-shirt after the election? Yes I know you love your precious Obama, but the dude won, no need to display your zombie-like allegiance to a candidate WEEKS after it’s over.
And if you plan on filing a police report, I already called it into my insurance company and have the claim #, you owe me $700+ in bumper replacement.
But I feel bad taking all my frustrations of the day out on you, since you need a new phone, new bike, whatever was in your messenger bag that I heard crunch when I jumped on it and have at least two broken teeth that I saw you spit out. So here’s the deal: I have a garage full of older bikes in pretty good shape (I pick them out of the trash and donate them to abandoned children charities, stuff you don’t care about). I’m willing to part with one of them so you can get to your art gallery “gig” and make a few bucks for roofies so you can **** that fat short-haired lumpy-looking vegan hipster girl at the rooftop party you’ll be attending every night this week in Williamsburg.
I’ll be at the Agnostic Front show this Sunday at the Crazy Donkey in Farmingdale (That’s on Long Island, **** exists outside of Brooklyn and LES, go look into it). I’ll throw a bike into the back of my car for ya.
Send me a pic and I’ll send you mine so we know to look for each other. Just come and say hello at the show and we’ll work it out, bro.
P.S. I accidentally picked up an ipod too that day, which is strange because I never owned one. Bunch of crappy emo music on it, so erased it all and uploaded some Judas Priest, Venom and Slayer onto it. If you ask nicely you can have it back.
* Location: Hipsterville* it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests