Hipster Jew » jewish guilt

Combat the 4 ‘real’ questions at your Seder

The Duckman — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 17:33:50 +0000

So people know when it comes to aesthetically presenting ancient barely-edible foods, you don’t fuck around.

These are the 4 questions that aren’t written into the Seder. The ones that you dread, that don’t discriminate by age, race, or gender. The ones asked to every Hipster Jew throughout the country EVERY FRICKIN’ YEAR.

Question 1:
Got a job yet?

Answer:
Yes, Dad, I do. I spend 50 hours a week as a barista, selecting the finest fair-trade beans that money has to offer, slow-roasting them over Venetian pears. Serving the coffee at a perfect 125 degrees Fahrenheit. Don’t forget about my Norwegian death metal band Froot Fuzion. So yes, to answer the question I wish you asked me, work IS going well.

Question 2:
When are you going to settle down with a nice Jewish girl/boy?
(Whilst staring at shiksa girlfriend/boyfriend right at the table)

Answer:
Only when you accept Jesus into your life. What? Didn’t you know that’s the hidden agenda of all shiksas? Don’t give me that look. And yes, I do trust that she’d hide me if there was ever another Holocaust. Inappropriate? YOUR question was inappropriate.

Question 3:
Why don’t you wear nice clothes to synagogue for once?

Answer:
These are nice clothes, Mom. The shoes were $130 Nikes, the pants were $150 at J. Crew, and the shirt was $75 American Apparel. This look would KILL at the Bowery. Don’t get upset because the old Jews at synagogue wouldn’t know fashion if it was presented on two tablets by Moses.

Question 4:
Why can’t you be more like your brother/sister?

Answer:
Oh, you mean the one who was smoking weed and getting drunk in high school all the time, but you never noticed? Or the one who slept their way through Greek life and college? Or what about the one that got married young and now hates herself, her life, and her children? Did that get too real? Then stop comparing me to these fuck ups.

You’re too Skinny, Have Some Jewish Guilt!

Schlitz Lipz — Tue, 08 Mar 2011 02:00:14 +0000

Readers of hipsterjew, We need to talk. I am the only woman here. If I don’t start getting hit up by some male hipsterjew readers I’mma cry. If the Duckman gets more requests for love then I do, I might actually just drop out of college and become a stripper so at least someone will love me. I know I don’t have a profile like Senor Duckman-o, but look, if you like hipsterjew, are a heterosexual man, and are single or at least “it’s complicated” you don’t have much of a choice.

When I found out hipsterjew was starting a dating service, very similar to the one my grandmother tries to offer, (You know, my neighbor’s grandson Joel is in town, he’s such a good boy) I was certain the hipsterjew mailbox would be filled with love letters for the sheebster-in-office. I was anticipating a flood of emails pleading with me to put up a profile so these young gents could get to know my inner workings in order to plan the perfect seduction tactics. I was so sure I would find my one and only nice jewish boy hipster, extra-lanky preferred! But alas, not a single one!

You disappoint me. This time it’s worse then the time you tried to pretend you were a hipster because you like old cartoons. And almost as bad as the time you tried to go to the beach in disgusting, un-modest outfits.

You might say, “Well Schlitzy, maybe if you put yourself out there, set up a Who Wants a HJ profile, I would be more inclined to attempt the art of the woo.” To which I can only say, NO. the only way I would put up a profile was if it seemed like there was interest. And is there interest? Apparently not from the readers of this blog.

Here begins the jewish guilt: I thought you were my friends. I thought you read me. Loved me. I see now that when I spent hours upon hours writing posts for you, you didn’t care. You just thought you could read me and then rip my heart out. Hit me with your fixie and then leave me dead by the side of the road, my skinny jeans and flannel covered in green blood (red is so mainstream) and vomit. I have never felt so used. Why couldn’t I have been blessed with readers who didn’t have ice in their souls?

I may not have the impressive facial hair of the Duckman, or the epic travel-log of Chicky, or even the timeless hipster sports knowledge of The Coach, but I am still a writer for a blog you like and I deserve to be stalked and admired just as much as the rest of them!

As I have said time and time again, you disgust me. You will never be lawyers or doctors like the children in the Rabinachemchemwitz family. Get ready, there’s an alimony check in the mail with your name on it.

This is how you make me feel.

: These feelings lead to a life of gluttony.

I hope you’re pleased with yourselves.

Got a smoke? Stop blamin' yo mamma

Chicky — Fri, 07 May 2010 13:30:40 +0000

Always faithful and pedantically-Anglo BBC News has reported a scientific study about smoking cigarettes. Jewish hipsters, listen up because this one is for you.

Psssssttt. Over here. I’m going to whisper so your mother wont hear us. Hey, guess what? You can stop blaming your mother all the time for causing you so much grief, eventually leading to your chain smoking. Why is that?

Because guess what? It turns out that there are several genes in your body that may effect how much you smoke and how likely you are to quit smoking.

So I’m not saying to continue blaming your mother, but you did get half your genetic make-up from her. Oh, and before I forget, stop blaming the economy for the fact you live in your parent’s basement. No one made you get that studio art degree at a private university. Can I have an American Spirit?

On a side note: I love BBC because they get terrible quotes from terrible people who don’t matter. The quote for this article was:

“Smokers who want to quit should not wait for treatment tailored to their genetic make-up” – Amanda Sandford, ASH (a public-health charity).

Because obviously Amanda knows that smokers are spineless SOBs looking for any excuse to continue giving babies and the elderly secondhand smoke. Definitely not because it’s addicting or makes you look really really really bad ass.

No mom, that facebook status was just a joke

Chicky — Mon, 22 Mar 2010 13:30:48 +0000

This phrase is being uttered by young people (and Jews) more and more these days. And frankly, hipsters and young adults alike are forced to deal with this new ‘breach’ in ‘privacy with some grace.

Let me ask you a few questions.
1) How many of your college/post-college friends have randomly ‘friended’ your mom on facebook, as a joke or otherwise?
2) How many times are you scolded for writing something hilarious and mildly offensive?
3) Does your mother ever ask you who those cute girls are who write on your wall?
4) Does she then ask you which ones are Jewish, only to immediately tell you ‘well why don’t you ask her out?’
5) Is she always asking you about that girl who you are in a ‘complicated relationship’ with?
6) Does she see pictures you are tagged in and tell you to stop partying and start studying more?
7) Does she read your blog and always takes posts about mothers personally?
8) Are you feeling increasingly guilted through the interwebs?

These are just a few of the growing problems young Jewish adults are grappling with in the ever-open world of facebook. Sure, we could read through the ‘privacy laws’ of facebook, navigate the clunky preferences, and make sure she never sees anything offensive. But I’d rather spend that time facebook stalking. And blogging.

I think the chorus of this new youtube video explains what we are all going through. Mark Zuckerburg, I hope your mother nags you the most.

CHORUS
My mom’s on Facebook.
She found a new way to nag me.
My mom’s on Facebook.
Comments whenever friends tag me.
My mom’s on Facebook.
She only got it to stalk me.
My mom’s on Facebook.
My childhood photos cock-block me.

Be a Lazy Douche and Change the World

I Love You, Mom

The Duckman — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 19:01:36 +0000

These people are the worst. The idea that one would want to marry a younger version of their nagging mother must scare all. I’m not going on another date until I go through a check list of how said girl is not at all like my mother. Man, my mother’s guilt is getting to me now. I wont let her win.