Hector: Fuck, Frances, why are you calling me at 11:30 in the morning? I was totally sleeping.
Frances: Did you hear that that dude from Look at this Fucking Hipster is having a freaking photo shoot today? He’s, like, shooting pictures for his book â€˜cause he doesn’t have the rights for the ones on his site.
Hector: What the fuck, man? That’s so lame.
Frances: I kinda wanna go.
Hector: Why the fuck do you want to go?
Frances: It would be funny… I dunno… Kara went earlier and she was like the only fucking person there. Seriously, it was Ghostville over there. Still, I mean, it was, like, 11, and she’s always fucking early for everything. Anyway, she said he’s got this sick photo studio that his buddy’s lending him and, like, real lights and everything. I’ve always wanted, like, a legit pic of me.
Hector: What did they make her do?
Frances: I dunno, like, do some mug shot-type shit and then pose like a hipster or something.
Hector: What did she do?
Frances: I think she pretended to be doing on math on her calculator watch or something.
Hector: Bahahahaha. Do they…make you sign shit?
Frances: Yeah, I guess. I mean, for legal stuff or something.
Hector: Fuck that. I’m not signing anything anymore. Remember that time at the career fair when we were all bombed and I signed up for the U.S. Army mailing list â€˜cause I thought it would be funny? They’re still fucking calling me about shaping up and shipping out. Besides—doesn’t this completely cancel out any artistic credibility or something like that? Like, where’s the integrity? I’m almost tempted to send him a motherfucking e-mail chewing him out.
Frances: But you’d be in a book, dude…
Hector: Whatever. I’m not going to exploit myself like that.
Frances: Dude, you have, like, 5,000 pictures of yourself posing all over Greenpoint up on Facebook. What’s the diff?
Hector: Frances, honey, those pictures are for me… And my 2,500 closest friends.
For more emotional venom, check out Stuff Hipsters Hate.