#SXSW hath begunne. Felawshipe is wrot amongst many fyne hypster pilgrimes. The pathwayes overflowe with dangley baddges.
As the evenning aproacheth, hypsters hath desended upon our towne, drinnking our wyne as unikornes feast upon rayes of the sonne.
O that marche daye wan the sonne shone so bryte, vishones of glorye from hypsters’ mirrored sonneglasses stabbeth at myne fase.
Crulle lokkes shoote fromme the eyes of thyne bartender. Typ welle, mashine minion. Else you shall earn a boote in youre arse.
The prys paide by a lustye bacheler is this: hypster femayles groupe like flockes of paynted chikennes. Cocques are foresaken. #sadcocques
Flocke of hypsters mightily roarred past my hoarse-carte, stampeedding olde menne offreing free memorees on stix.
Hoarse-carte dryvers watcheth mappyng devises, forsayking welffayre of inosents. Dangere hydes betwixt all lyte polles.
A nobil armye of gentil knyghts appeare to vommit in thyne alley. Alas, they forsayke cleen chin stubbel to partee forthwith. #boot&ralleye
Wat ho, goatee’d man? Thy skinnee jenes hath byrn’d my corneyas.
Fye the dregs who weareth blootooth sets upon theyr heds. Do you speeketh to me or to demones wither sleepe tween your eares?