hipstomp photo essays

Yesterday the sky looked down on New York and was angry.

To make her might felt, she wept massive tears of snow.

18 inches later, the city was brought to its knees.

It snowed all the way up to the graffiti.

Fire hydrants require dog urine to survive.
Deprived of these vital nutrients, many hydrants withered up and died.

Most business were closed, but that could have been because it was President’s Day.
I usually wait until the last minute to buy my president tree, to save a couple bucks.

One of the few business to remain open was, inexplicably, the village psychic.



“I predict today I will have no customers.”

Out of this vast white expanse, I keep expecting homeless people to pop their heads up like prairie dogs.

Faced with a severely reduced chance of being killed by a taxi, many New Yorkers had to walk in the center of the street, hoping to revive their agitation levels.

In this country it is legal for people to own dogs and humiliate them.

I mean c’mon, his sweater has a fucking pocket. What does he hold in there, dog cigarettes? Not to mention dogs don’t have opposable thumbs and even if they did, whose idea was it to put the pocket back there.

Imagine if there was a Planet of the Apes-type situation but it was Planet of the Dogs. Dogs would humiliate us by making us wear human-shaped approximations of dog fur. The only thing that wouldn’t change is we’d still be picking up their poop.

I screamed “The streets are mine! The streets are mine! John Blaze, John Blaze” before running into a tourist. I popped a cap in his ass for dramatic effect. Then I ran back to the dog and hid the burner in his pocket.