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If Bill Murray was a Triple Bacon Cheeseburger

If this doesn't quite satiate your appetite for celebrity heartburn incarnate, head over to Bay Area artist Cahill Wessel's portfolio for more crazed prints and portraiture, including such deranged concepts as “Rhino and Elephants Having an Orgy While Baseball Players Hit Homers” and “Siamese Twins With Their Shotgun, Shrunken Heads, and Pet Tigers.”

[via Fecal Face]

GO TO THIS: Broke-Ass Stuart’s 10 Year Anniversary of Living in SF

We all know and love Broke-Ass Stuart (if you're somehow unfamiliar with the man, do go brush up by reading his site and/or watching this short), and his parties never fail to impress.  So do yourself a favor and wish Stu and SF a happy 10-year anniversary together tomorrow night at Public Works.

Here's the pitch:

Just because you’re young, broke and beautiful doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be able to put on your nicest duds and have a spectacular night on the town. When was the last time you spent just $3 to see some of the best musical acts in the Bay, fight cancer, drink free booze and slurp free oysters? That’s what we thought.

Fuck!

From what we're told, the band Social Studies is going to be headlining the shindig (and knowing Stuart, there'll probably be other surprises up his sleeves).  So head over to his website for info on how to RSVP (because you're not going without doing so) and make sure you clear your Thursday night calendar of plans.  Also, dress accordingly.

Noted Mustachio John Waters Spotted at The Uptown

After climbing out of a mid-90s LeBaron limo late last night, “The Pope of Trash” walked into the trashiest bar in the Mission while everyone pretended not to give a shit.  And after “not giving a shit” in hushed tones for a few minutes, everyone returned to their rapidly warming PBRs with the eager reluctance only faked nonchalance can inspire.

San Francisco 3rd Best City For Hipsters, Says Magazine You May Find On Your Hotel Nightstand

Three of Uptown Almanac's “plugged in” readers forwarded along this article from your podiatrist's waiting room rag of choice, Travel + Leisure, which—drum roll, please—anoints San Francisco the third best American city for hipsters!

Done patting yourself on the back/pointing at yourself saying, “not my damn fault”?  Okay, good.

This is amazing news to any Bay Area cool kids concerned with how they collectively stack up against other locales in the eyes of the elderly.  Only Seattle and Portland surpassed our hallowed streets, and I'm pretty sure Seattle died of a heroin overdose 15 years ago and Portland… well Portland has probably one of the best PR campaigns on television right now.  Also, who cares about Seattle and Portland?

The city which we're most often measured up against, New York City, didn't even crack the top 10.  That's right, NYC sits ugly down at the #12 spot, behind Portland (Maine), Austin, Denver, and San Juan, Puerto Rico—that last one being this biggest diss of them all.  I mean, who knew Puerto Rico was even in America, much less a tropical hipster haven?

Of course, the problem with this magazine's list is the scientific method used to make it.  Namely, they didn't use a scientific method. From the intro:

[We] ranked 35 metropolitan areas on culturally relevant features like live music, coffee bars, and independent boutiques. To zero in on the biggest hipster crowds, we also factored in the results for the best microbrews and the most offbeat and tech-savvy locals.

Basically, they defined the undefinable not by the exaggeration in their collective eye roll, but by their fancy tastes in beer, coffee, and iPhone apps?

Whatever, man.

Anyone want to take a vay-cay to Puerto Rico and scope out some off-shore hipsters?

[Pic via DIE HIPSTER SCUM]

Is Mark Zuckerberg Trying to Rebrand Himself as a 'Mission Hipster'?

When Mark Zuckerberg started turning up at Mission bars such as El Rio, The Royal Cuckoo, and pseudo-dive bar Dolores Park, we kinda dismissed it because everyone goes to those places.  Then he acquired Instagram, making us scratch our heads just a bit.

But last night, the 35th richest guy in the world was spotted slamming drinks at the notably cheap and filthy dive Phone Booth and making a 2:30am Farolito burrito run.  Which begs the question: was Mark just trying out his billion dollar toy in its native habitat, or is he attempting to rebrand himself as just a regular ol' Mission hipster?

See, he actually drove 45 minutes north from his fancy Palo Alto HQ to hang out at a bar known for its questionable indoor smoking policy and access to shitty last-call coke dealers.  That's not to say we don't like The Phone Booth, because we do.  But to claim the place is a “destination bar” for people coming from out of town is a bit of a stretch.

Unless he was trying to score some blow…

[Photos by PX Anon & Meesha | Thanks for the tips, Jason and Lindsey!]

The Urban Eating League is Coming to the Neighborhood (And is Looking For Some Additional Hosts)

Do you like eating? Hanging out with 30+ of your friends and neighbors? Cooking a big-ass meal without spending a dime?  Not having to leave the neighborhood?!  Well, the Wigg Party is (finally) bringing their famed Urban Eating League (UEL) out of the civility of the Lower Haight into the wilds of the Mission District and they'd be stoked for you to get involved and chow down with them.

Wigg Party MC Morgan Fitzgibbons (who you might remember from that delightfully brutal take down of C.W. Nevius' cycling journalism a few weeks back) fills us in on the details of UEL:

In case you aren't familiar, the Urban Eating League is the underground community dinner we at the Wigg Party produce. We find 5 hosts sites (homes/apartments) within walking distance of each other to cook a locally-sourced meal and create a dining experience. Then we get 30 people to sign up as Eaters ($20 a head to pay for the food) and organize them into 10 teams of 3. Each team goes to all 5 sites, sitting down with a different team at each site (there are 2 teams = 6 people at each site during all 5 rounds). After all sites have been visited, the teams grade each host site on food, creativity, hospitality and execution. We tally the scores and declare a host site champion (we line up prizes for all the hosts sites no matter how they finish) - there is also a prize for best team, as the teams are expected to have a theme, dress up, get creative, and be silly.

But as a primarily Lower Haight-based operation, the Wigg Party's network of hosts in the Mission is a little sparse, which is where you come in.  They're looking for sites between 18th-24th and Dolores-Treat (although are considering sites just outside of that range) to help with their March 25th (from 5-9pm) event.

And why would you want to host?

Lots of reasons. You get to practice/show off your culinary skills (with all the food being paid for). You get to meet 30+ fun people over the course of the evening who are all coming into your home with gratitude and trying to do their best to make you smile (singing songs and giving gifts is pretty standard from our teams of eaters). You get the thrill of competition and potentially being crowned champion (although nobody goes home without a prize - typically a gift certificate from a local merchant). AND, as a host site, you get preferred entry into future Urban Eating League events as an Eater (always a tough ticket and guaranteed to sell out).

Should you want to learn more before diving in, the SFBG wrote them up last year.  Otherwise, email Morgan directly to get involved & host a table.

BART's Finest Remain Calm in Tense Situation

Note: According to a direct witness, it seems that I misjudged the situation in haste and the dude, in fact, split laundry detergent everywhere, rather than peed himself.  My sincerest appologizes if that ruined your day.  Below is the original post, which remains unedited despite its incorrect analysis.  Refunds can be collected at the box office.

Rainy days in San Francisco can really be a blessing in disguise.  They force you to switch up your routine.  Wear that $40 North Face rain coat you begrudgingly bought at Sports Basement last time it rained.  Leave your bike in the garage and take public transportation to work.  Whine on Twitter.

I, like many of my friends and neighbors, did all of that yesterday.  Only my iPhone-equiped, North Face jacket-clad BART ride was a little extra special, because I saw this:

What's that you say?  Well, dearest readers, that's what happens when someone fucking pisses themselves on a rush hour commute BART train.  That's right, it's a pool of fucking urine.

Pee-pee. Jersey discharge. Liquid gold. R. Kelly's Viagra.  The Smello Yellow.  Whatever you call it, it's fucking gross.

And to make matters even more amusing?  This dude let it go down right in front of two cops.

Now, I must be totally clear here, I didn't see this guy whip out his most likely-syphilitic dick and hose down the floor with my own two eyes.  But if the ghastly, PTSD-Vietnam-flashback looks of horrors in everyone's eyes as they fled the train at Civic Center tells any story, there was most definitely a traumatic experience in his pants.

The cops, contrary to one's justifiable expectations, did not freak out and tase the relieved sonuvabitch.  Rather, they got on the radio and serenely called in “clean-up in car 1431,” as if they were fired from their minimum wage stocking job at Safeway just last week.  These cops have seen it all, goddamnit, and they weren't about to let some unkinked hose get them suspended.

It was around this time that things started to smell a little off and I bailed off the train myself, but not before noticing the reflection of one man's unadulterated terror in the puddle of piss:

Bro/Hipster Mutt Takes on Living in San Francisco

Drew Hoolhorst is among of my favorite writers living in the Mission, even though dude's kinda a bro.  Bro?  Yeah, bro.

He cops to wearing J. Crew button ups and A&F and having a full-time job (which apparently means you're a bro now), yet he also wears hoodies and Ray-Bans and listens to good music and drinking in dives.  To him, this makes him a bro-ster, and he's sick of all the Marina/Mission fighting preventing him from finding a suitable neighborhood to call home.

He explains in today's Bold Italic piece:

We live in a city where everyone bitches about how one group of people is more pretentious than the other. Hipsters usually hate bro's, bro's usually hate hipsters, etc.

And that's bullshit.

Any hipster who says they hate bro's? Acts like a goddamn Mission-bro: they're dicks to everyone, they act holier-than-thou and strictly date their own kind.

Any bro who hates hipsters? Stop it. In three months you'll be wearing whatever clothes hipsters are wearing now (skinny jeans, Ray-Bans, etc.) because, deep down? You sort of like it.

Bros, hipsters … for the sake of my finding an identity in this town: can we call a truce?

I’ve seen both sides pretty regularly. We're not all that different.

We all hate Muni. We all love beer, whether we’re drinking it out of a PBR can or a red Dixie cup with a ping pong ball in it. We all seem to agree on the film Wet Hot American Summer, the show “Modern Family,” and Aziz Ansari in general.

While I always thought being 50% bro and 50% hipster just made you “a dude,” Drew does make some interesting observations about life in the city.  Do give it a read.

You Don't get to 500 Million Friends Without Standing in Line for the Bathroom

Who wasn't in the park this weekend?  Even the billionaire boy-king of the internet turned up this weekend, presumably to reconnect with the masses and spend his fortunes on a lifetime supply of truffles and SpongeBob popsicles. And while this registers as a “meh” on the celebrity-sighting scale, he is pretty much the most famous person to ever squander a beautiful afternoon in the best 14 acres of grass this city has to offer.

UPDATE: Proof, via SFist:

[Twitter]

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