Bash Compactor: The Biggest Boner of All

Gavin McInnes, Vice defector and founder of [TV Carnage] (the website of hipster-elite criticism for street fashion and bad TV), threw a party at Party Expo in East Williamsburg last week to celebrate the release of his new book, [Street Boners: 1,764 Hipster Fashion Jokes](http://www.amazon.com/Street-Boners-Hipster-Fashion-Jokes/dp/0446546356). It was to be a night of caustic ribbing, rock ‘n’ roll mayhem, off-the-wall dancing and the ever-eclectic hip-hop of Das Racist. This is not what happened.

I was an hour-and-a-half late because, well, what the fuck do you wear to a party thrown by the founder of the most biting street fashion column in history? When I got there around 10:30, the space, which doesn’t serve booze, was nearly empty.

I found my way to the backyard where the real fun was being had: In a fenced-in lot full of trash and shopping carts, a throng of about 50 swigged from brown-paper bags and smoked vehemently.

“Who is this guy?” 20-year-old Elana, a blonde with a septum ring, asked, referring to McInnes. “It’s cool to have this party, but where the fuck is the music?”

Others shared the sentiment. While there were a few aging fashion plates in attendance who easily appreciated McInnes’ Do’s and Don’ts legacy, most were there to get loaded on the sly and cut a rug.

Before McInnes took the mic, it was announced that the front doors had been locked and the gate pulled down. “If you wanna leave,” we were told, “you gotta do it ghetto over the back fence.”

Anyway, the admittedly cheap McInnes gave away only 10 free copies of his book at the $5 door, but that’s cool; he gave a PowerPoint presentation chronicling the abysmal press the book’s been getting and he chronicled classic Do’s and Don’ts. With mic in hand and a pal running projections, the mustachioed 40-year-old got angrier as his set went on. He took stabs at Look at This Fucking Hipster and Gawker’s Don’ts and Don’ts.

“I invented this shit! And these people aren’t even trying,” McInnes said. “This is a delicate art form that takes criticism and praise!”

Crowd control seemed to be the night’s biggest hurdle. At one point, an irate McInnes shamed a trio of teens who were laughing at a cell phone picture.

“You’re drunken youngsters, which is great—I used to be a drunken youngster. But get the fuck out of here,” he said with a grandfatherly tone.

“That guy’s a dick!” one of the three, drunk and 18 years old, said. His name will be withheld because I couldn’t make it out through his slurs. “We just came here to dance!”

Back on the main floor, McInnes handed the mic to Dangerous Dave of dirty rock ‘n’ rollers Wyld Life.

“This song’s called ‘Girls in Fedoras’ and it goes out to all you babes who made it into this book!” Dave’s mic cut out quickly though.

Out in the back lot, cops were at the gates and panic was visible on the faces of the terrified, washed in the blue and red of siren light.

“The party’s fucking over!” someone yelled over the mic.

Bottles began smashing. Girls in knee-high athletic socks and coordinated Keds heaved toward the front door. Greasy-haired dudes with sleeveless T-shirts and awesome sneakers chugged their bagged tallboys and tossed them to the ground. The band—now shirtless—looked dumbfounded, instruments idle in their hands. Das Racist would never take the stage.

With lights on and the place emptied, Party Expo was just a filthy warehouse. A bleary-eyed dude in a blue hoodie walked up to Dangerous Dave. “Are you going back to New Jersey?” he asked, “because I have no idea where I am.”