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Mostly satirical short stories
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Hendrik the Temporally-challenged hipster (1)

Posted 08-24-18 at 02:01 AM by Luthien
Updated 08-24-18 at 03:06 AM by Luthien

Hendrik was a hipster, though not a very successful one. Other hipsters looked strangely at him whenever he tried to socialise with them in the cool places in town and they would roll their eyes demonstratively behind his back. Hendrik's problem was that he had indeed a marvellous sense of what was hip and cool and hot and swell - but it was simply way too good, so that he was into hip things from just about any period in history.

This was obviously a bit of a problem because, as every aspiring Hipster knows, it is of the utmost importance to only be into things that are Hip right now. Being into something that was hip yesterday is worse, they say, than not being hip at all.

Luckily though, Hendrik was entirely oblivious of all this and he had a swell time indulging in a bewildering array of groovy styles, habits, music and clothes. He was definitely a cheery fellow.

He had a friend called George. George wasn't a hipster at all. He was so much not hip that he didn't even realise that he wasn't hip. Hendrik took pity on George even though he didn't need to be pitied at all: like Hendrik, George was quite content with himself because he was free to like whatever he fancied without the burden of social peer pressure.

One day, George visited Hendrik. He sat down on a very stylish sofa designed by Norman Rockwell.
"What'll you have, George?" Hendrik informed, wearing his latest Zoot suit, hoping that George would be dutifully impressed.
"Oh, anything ... some lemonade would be nice."
"Dude! Wow! Have I got the hottest thing for you!" Hendrik swivelled quickly around, assuming a fancy pose, pointing at George with the index fingers of both hands and grinning meaningfully, the eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, what's that?" George inquired.
"Waaaassssup! Wanna bercool sizzling refreshener, Mista X ? Hendrik droned with his jaws clenched.
"Nah, just a lemonade is fine .. whatever.
George had gotten used to this sort of thing.

Eventually Hendrik brought him a strange blue drink, pulling a funny face and winking maniacally as if desperately trying to convey some hidden message.
George could do little but ignore all that, as it was like trying to understand Sanskrit to him.
Thanks Hendrik, he said and took a sip. Tastes fine! he added, though he found the blue goo way too sweet; and he wasn't too fond of ginger, either.

"Dude!" Hendrik rasped with a hoarse voice, sipping from a fashionable Mexican beer, pushing the elegant slice of lemon nonchalantly inside the bottle with his tongue. "Let's listen to some music, huh?" He jumped up, inserted a cd and pushed a button. "Dis is what all them hep-cats are really Gone about ... veritable Atomic Boom-Clap music, sssueee-weeet!"

A prissy beat filled the room, composed of a stiff electronic hand-clap, alternated with a miffed bass-drum kick, glued together with a swishing high-hat: "D'K-tss-CLAP-tssch-D'K-tss-CLAP-tssch-D'K-tss-CLAP-tssch-D'K-tss-CLAP-tssch-D'K-tss-CLAP-tssch-D'K-tss-CLAP-tssch-..."

Hendrik had assumed a theatrical disco dancing pose, gently rocking to the rhythm.:
"Dude. Isn't this totally mesmerising? he said.
George listened to the "D'K-tss-CLAP-tssch-D'K-tss-CLAP-tssch-D'K-tss-CLAP-tssch-D'K-tss-CLAP-tssch-D'K-tss" filling the room. Presently, a very high falsetto voice was heard, singing something about how someone neednt be beautiful as long as they gave him a kiss.
It sounded to George as if the singer was in pain. He tried hard, but he could not find it very mesmerising at all.

Hmm", he said eventually.
"Ha! Maybe a bit too wailing, too hep-cat eh?" Hendrik took a sip while wiggling his hips.
"Maybe a tad too fancy for me", George admitted, "well, you know me ..."

"Now then cock, let's giv' yer 'ead a wobble ... " George looked on, fascinated by the sudden change in Hendrik's presence, from sophisticated Philadelphia dancer to a square-shouldered working-class Mancunian. Hendrik slapped the CD player and chunky distorted guitars filled the room. As Hendrik ambled up to the sofa, the band took off, shouting in unison: "Rhaahrhah Rhah RHAAAH KILL **** *spit* BAH! .... Rhaahrhah Rhah RHAAAH **** KILL *spit* BAH! .... Rhaahrhah Rhah RHAAAH **** KILL *spit* BAH! .... " to the rhythm.

"What is it right, someones seen their a**e avent they ... still, they go' a' sound point there cock, nah? Hendrik snorted, gulped down the rest of his beer and burped.
"I say", George said neutrally.
The angry band had now reached the verse of their song, assuring the listener that they (the band) did not have a future, and neither did the listener.
This made George feel a bit glum.

Hendrik noticed the look on George's face and he jumped up yet again.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa ..." he said, "... do I see sad little faces? We can't be having with that! Come on, let's cheer up a bit ... " he selected another disc, silenced the contumacious musicians and hit play once again.
Hendrik turned to George, now wearing sunglasses that he seemed to have produced out of nothing.
"Groovy, baby! Listen to them vibes ..." he played 'air guitar' as the music started.

George listened, sipping the blue hipster-nectar, trying to ignore its taste.
He heard an electric guitar played in a fast soulful rhythm, that was being picked up in the background by a line of people whooping and clapping their hands in a very bright and upbeat manner.
George decided he did like this record, nodded approvingly and tapping one foot to the beat while Hendrik was completely absorbed by his air-guitar act, yelling things like "Whoo-Hoo! Fun-kee, ma brudda, fun-kee!

Then, the guitar-player on the record switched on a wah-wah pedal and started to work it furiously, alternatingly dampening and loosening the strings while quickly strumming them. This produced a most curious sound, somewhat biological in nature, which slightly unsettled George (though he couldn't figure out why).

As a result, the music was now reaching new pinnacles of uncharted Funkiness as the guitar-player feverishly wah-wakkah'd on: *WAKKAKOOKKA-KOOOH-WEKKAWAKKA* *wah wah wah wakka BOOKA waw* ("Yeah!") *TCHAKKAWAKKA* *booka-kooka* *wk-wkkawk-kwkk* - this cat played the wahwah guitar like a Gatling gun!

Poor George didn't know where too look: he felt like a nun at a gangsta rap convention.

Hendrik, on the other hand, was completely freaking out, venturing into hitherto uncharted realms of elated funkiness.
*BHW-DEDCK kkka ooOOO-KOOH-yekkawkka-bokka-wokka-KOOKA tsschakka* ("Yay!" "Whoo-hoo!") *koOWAKKAWOKKA IEUWKKA wakka WOKKA KOOKA-WAH* (Yeah! Ooooh, Mama!") *wah wakka-wh WH-wah* *ooOKOoh dahbKka ww-ww-ww* - and so on, and so forth.

George sighed.

(Continued in part 2)
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