Sing to me, O Stella, muse of hipsters
Help me on my quest of nonconformity.
You, who are unique and individual, (except for all the other hipsters),
Send down your sweet knowledge.
Reveal to me the most underground and distinctive of bands,
Aid me in my mission to stop eating anything of substance.
You, who smells of coffee and mothballs,
Remind me to always wear ironic tee-shirts, and my grandmother’s clothing.
You, who are above all others in your intelligence,
Let me project an air of superiority, so that all may know my indie nature makes them inferior.
And let me not stray from the path for individuality, lest I begin to like top 40 music.
Oh, sweet muse, whose comebacks sting more than Zeus’ bolts,
Help me to avoid conforming to stereotypes,
By allowing me to conform to hipsterism.