I was in Seattle last night at a swanky event full of hipsters.  They were typical lefty urban people: weak, shallow, feminized, obsessed with image, skinny, arrogant – and pretty much unhappy.  In a room of a couple hundred people, I was the only man.  There were lots of “males,” but no men.

As I met people, I kept asking myself, “Would this person be an asset out at Pierce Point when the Collapse comes?”  The answer was consistently, “No.  Hell no.”  These people were so dependent I can’t imagine them lasting more than two or three days without the internet. I’m serious.

As I was driving home, I looked out at the Seattle skyline.  I must admit that it was beautiful.  The sun was setting on the Space Needle, the mountains, the ocean, the boats, and the bustle of a thriving and highly affluent international city.   I realized that almost no one in this beautiful city will be worth a crap when the Collapse comes.  They’ll be trying to order cases of bottled water on Amazon during a riot.

I’m not sure exactly how many people live in Seattle or what percentage of them are hipsters, but I came up with 1.7 million in my head.  (I’m a fiction writer; I get to make shit up.)  I kept thinking about 1.7 million worthless hipsters.

Then I pulled into a sandwich shop to get something to eat (I couldn’t eat any of the foofy crap they had at the event).  Ahead of me in line was a mildly retarded man.

We started talking.  He told me his name was Steven.  I found it really easy to talk to him because… I had more in common with him than with anyone at that event in Seattle.

Steven was happy and humble.  He didn’t have anything to be happy about by the standards of the hipsters, but he was genuinely joyous.  I had a powerful feeling that God was very happy with Steven, who He created.  Steven was modest and content; he was the opposite of the hipsters.

I asked myself the same question about Steven that I’d been asking all night, “Would this person be an asset at Pierce Point?”

The answer was yes with Steven.  He wouldn’t complain.  He would work hard.  He would be nice to people.  He would listen.  He would try his best.

Then it hit me: I’d trade 1.7 million hipsters for one mildly retarded man.

Steven: you’re welcome out at Pierce Point, my friend.