The Truth About Hipster Cafes.

Originally I wasn't going to write about cafes. But yesterday I was unfortunate enough to venture into the Smelly Bearded Forest (Brunswick) to pick up the T-shirts I ordered for you guys.

And by that I mean you have to buy one before you get it.

After a long day of avoiding people with beards and Ironic tattoos I wanted a drink and a place to sit down for a while so I went to the closest cafe I could find on Google maps.

I went down the street, turned a corner and then three more, lied to the crackheads about not having any change on me (Had heaps), went up ten flights of stairs and walked 10 kilometres across a tightrope that took me to a gate with a password to get inside the cafe.

All I want is a coffee why are these fucking cafes so hard to find?
— Everyone

This place was so underground it made the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles look like the Hundred Year Old Genetically Sound Normal Tortoises (HYOGSNT for short).

Obviously this place was so obscure that the staff hadn't even heard about it yet because there was only one bearded barista dressed in an apron (is there any other kind of barista) struggling to adequately serve the 45 hat wearing customers that you could probably make cry in unison with a sick burn about art degrees.

HEY HOW ARE YOU GUYS GONNA FIND A JOB AFTER UNI NOW THAT MACCAS USES SELF SERVE MACHINES?
— Professional Sick Burner
 I couldn't find a photo of crying hipsters so I drew beards and hats on these North Koreans. Use your imagination it's the same shit.

I couldn't find a photo of crying hipsters so I drew beards and hats on these North Koreans. Use your imagination it's the same shit.

After sitting down I get handed what looks like a clipboard straight from a 1920's factory with a menu printed on brown paper that could be recycled toilet roll from the dilapidated toilet behind the kitchen.

I can't read a single word so I just ask for a medium coffee. The barista looks like I just spit in his mothers face. So I sigh and pull out the Pretentious Sentencer App on my phone and read my translated order in a language he understood.

Yahhh hey man can I get a Grande Double Shot Soy Mocha-Chokea-Dick Latte with Cream?
— Pretentious Sentencer Translation

After a 45 minute wait surrounded by inane chatter about bicycles and the meaning of life I finally get my coffee brought to the table made out of old car parts I'm sitting at.

But it's not in a cup. It's in a jar, so I say thank you even though I don't mean it, take a sip and spill it all over myself like a dickhead because...

JARS ARE NOT CUPS.

GET THAT BULLSHIT OUT OF HERE.

FUCK HIPSTER CAFÈS.
I'll be sticking to the two dollar 7/11 coffees from now on.

I'm pretty sure they cum in the milk but at least they don't serve it in a fucking jar.