Wear alot of black.
Snap their fingers in appreciation of a well-read poem.
Play the bongos.
Drink the espresso.
Wear the turtlenecks.
Smoke the imported brown cigarettes.
They don't give a Royal Rat's Ass about either Al Gore or Ted Nugent.
Listen to Coltrane.
The men wear the Van Dyke beards.
They live in Greenwich Village and North Beach.
They drink Chianti.
Motorcycles are the preferred vehicles.
They are named Monique and Lawrence.
They say Daddy-o and call people Square.
They are all dead now.
6 comments:
The closest thing nowadays is a hipster. Hipsters are everywhere but they certainly don't snap their fingers.
First cousins to Goth.
That's all I got to say. Did I win the hotdog?
The results are not all in yet.
Please be patient.
I'm rooting for you, though.
Offer void where prohibited.
You forgot about the hats...
...the hats man!
Be cool!
http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DrTDSW7xwSI/TM4ikq0ET-I/AAAAAAAAC1A/_h-UFNzi368/s1600/Beatnik6c.jpg
I smell a hot dog!
I'm making some Amos n Andy chili.
"Dig it, daddy-o" is what I believe they said and don't forget the solo horn musak that accompanied the bad poetry.
You can give my hot dog to Ken.
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