HYPERTRASH Spring 2021 - Full Issue #5

HYPERTRASH

HYPERTRASH

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HYPERTRASH QUARTERLY CARS X CHAOS SPRING 2021 / VOLUME 2 / ISSUE 1

Illustration

JAMES SINGER

PUBLISHER / CREATIVE DIRECTOR NATHANAEL NAPOLITANO EDITORS JAMES SINGER RHYS HAYDON KYLE BARNES DAVID CZARNECKI TALIA LEDNER NATHANAEL NAPOLITANO ART DIRECTION NATHANAEL NAPOLITANO JAMES SINGER DANIEL H LACKEY DAVID CZARNECKI CONTRIBUTORS JAMES SINGER KYLE BARNES ANYA UDOVIK TRENT WHICKER VINCE PERRAUD DANIEL H LACKEY KEIRON BERNDT BRETT CLEAVER JON LEE JESSICA KITTSON AUDREY MIEYEVILLE CHRISTOPHER MAESTAS CALI PHOTOGRAPHY BRIAN HALL ED WESCOTT CAMEL JOE MCKEE NATHANAEL NAPOLITANO ILLUSTRATIONS JAMES SINGER WOLFMAN CURVES ON SURFACE NATHANAEL NAPOLITANO ADVERTISING DIRECTOR GTFO CONTACT OR SUBMISSION HYPERTRASHMAG.COM @HYPERTRASHMAG COVER ILLUSTRATION: Curves On Surface 'Prairie Rover' 2021 INSIDE FRONT COVER: James Singer 'A Socks Plan' 2021 $17 D.I.Y. / SELF FUNDED

© 2021 HYPERTRASH MAGAZINE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED



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CONTENTS

30 10 CORNER SHOP Defenders Northwest Words and photos NATHANAEL NAPOLITANO

20 A SERIES OF RISKS Build to suit then use heavily Words KYLE BARNES Photos ANYA UDOVIK, KYLE BARNES,

CALI PHOTOGRAPHY

30 DECADENCE DECAYED Slumming it with the proles Words and photos DANIEL H LACKEY

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48 BOTTOM DOLLAR DISCO Answers to questions no one cares about Words and photos NATHANAEL NAPOLITANO Illustration CURVES ON SURFACE

60 MARINE STREET A socks plan Words JAMES SINGER Photos VINCE PERRAUD

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HYPERTRASH QUARTERLY 76 DRIVING TO MONGOLIA London to Mongolia in a Yaris Words JON LEE Photos JON LEE / JESSICA KITTSON

ATOMIC CITY

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School cops and enriched uranuim Words TRENT WHICKER Photos TRENT WHICKER ED WESCOTT

104 STREET WOLF World exclusive interview Interview DAVID CZARNECKI Illustrations MEAN MACHINES

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110 WAITING FOR MAIL Stuck in the past, and there's nowhere we'd rather be Words BRETT CLEAVER Photos KEIRON BERNDT

124 OPINIONS AND EDUCATION Welcome to the nightmare

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Words BEN LAMVATI Illustration NATHANAEL NAPOLITANO



CARS X CHAOS

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Photo: CAMEL JOE MCKEE

W HAT S ORT OF P E R S ON R E A D S H Y P E RT R A SH ?

The sort who stands on top of a truck for that sweet photo-op and can make it look totally serious. The sort who can tolerate a certain level of acrimony and defeat. The sort who actually lives by the age-old adage that states, One person's trash is another person's treasure. We love personal motor transport just as much as the next upscale car snob—but a lot of us can't really afford to hang out on the same playground.

So we have to get creative and get in where we can. Maybe you can't afford to buy that hundred-thousand dollar mid-90s NAS Land Rover Defender on BaT. Maybe instead you find that used and abused Camel Trophy Defender 110 for a fraction of the price of that BaT auction 110. You know what we're talking about—that one that was part of a 20-car fleet of support vehicles in the 1988 Sulawesi Camel Trophy— yeah that one. You can actually buy those. But you know, it needs some work. So you're going to have to fix a bunch of shit. Then you drive it until something else breaks. Then you fix that and drive it some more. And repeat. It's like buying an old race car. It's not a museum piece. There's beauty and stimulation in failure. It makes life more interesting. If you can appreciate failure—then this trash mag is for you.

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Advertising: Do not advertise with us. We are not doing this for the money. We are doing this for the fun? Also, we charge ungodly ad rates to put the trash you are selling into the trash we are printing.

Contact information located on masthead. Send hate mail, it's motivating.

hypertrashmag.com

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CORNER SHOP

WORDS + PHOTOGRAPHS

NATHANAEL NAPOLITANO

DEFENDERS NORTHWEST (DNW), located in Gig Harbor Washington, has established itself on the West Coast as a training, service, restoration, and overland outfitter.

DNW initially started as a personal Defender purchase in Rancho Santa Margarita, CA. Founder, Brian Hall, imported a worn out 1986 Defender 110 from a North African service fleet by way of central Europe and eventually Scotland; and DNW was founded, sort of.

It wasn't until 2010 that Brian left a corporate day job in Irvine, CA and moved his family to the picturesque fishing-town of Gig Harbor. Within a year of their arrival, Defenders Northwest was officially born in an 18x60 storage unit just outside of town. One of the first projects was a customer-training program project. With a willing client and a bit of community support they developed what would become their signature DIY program through a TDi conversion and chassis swap on a retired Ministry of Defense—Tithonus Defender 110. After quickly outgrowing that space they relocated into town to the more spacious, industrial complex shop they currently occupy.

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A SERIES OF RISKS

More times than not we prepare for the what-ifs in life. Whether it is the insurance blanket that makes you feel a little safer skateboarding in your 30s, or the full coverage on your motorcycle so you don’t have to worry about it being knocked over while you get coffee.

It’s that little assurance that makes you sleep better at night.

WORDS

KYLE BARNES

PHOTOGRAPHS

ANYA UDOVIK KYLE BARNES CALI PHOTOGRAPHY



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" The what-ifs started to creep in... What if something breaks?

How do I get it to the track?

Blah.

Blah.

Blah. "

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words & photographs by Daniel H Lackey

ecadence ecayed

D



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BOTTOM DOLLAR DISCO WORDS / PHOTOS

NATHANAEL NAPOLITANO

ILLUSTRATIONS

CURVES ON SURFACE

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Here at Hypertrash, we answer the questions that no one is asking. Not because we are out of touch (maybe a little bit), but because most people probably just don’t care.

Most people aren’t interested in punishing themselves with old and unreliable cars.

Most people want to have the thing and they just want it to work. They want it to be easy.

And honestly—who can blame them?



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Spoiler alert: We got the Land Rover Discovery 1. Second generation. Model year 1998. Go ahead skip to the next spread if you can't wait to see the pile of trash we picked up for dirt cheap.

But before we get into the why, let’s talk about the what. The Land Rover Discovery (MK1) was first launched in 1989. Researched and developed under top secret conditions, it was given the codename “Project Jay”. This was the prototype. Classic boxy 80s styling with some JDM influence—I'm seeing a hint of Isuzu Trooper cross-bred with some early 4-Runner. Very clean lines and handsome.

I feel like with this styling these would definitely be in high demand these days. It was very 1980s space age.

The marching orders from the corporate office were to create a well behaved, middle market vehicle, with the abilities and strengths of the Defender 90 and 110, and the comfort and sensibilities of the Range Rover, in an effort to compete with the smaller import vehicles that were being produced and dominating the market at that time.

For Brit’s the Defender was considered agricultural and the Range Rover was “upmarket”. It was decided by corporate that the Discovery owner would be a “Middle Manager with 2.4 children who enjoyed leisure pursuits and outdoors in his free time." On the same level as the Jeep Cherokee or Ford Explorer. The new Disco pretty much nailed the demographic.

The very first iteration of the Land Rover Discovery 1 was presented to the world at the 1989 Frankfurt Motor Show. Available initially as a 3-door, to set itself apart from its 4-door sibling, the Range Rover.

It was well received and captured the British Design Award that same year for its interior styling and appointments.

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PROJECT JAY PROTOTYPE Full scale, concept version of the Project Jay prototype.

The first production version of the Land Rover Discovery available to the public. Three doors, no sunroof. Less space-age, more curvy, and more approachable to the masses, than the prototype.

Early naming options were Highlander and Prairie Rover.



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ILLUMINATING I get bad OCD if all the lights on a car aren't shining like the stars in the night sky. Which is a constant battle with Land Rovers as they historically have had Lucas Electrics, and Joseph Lucas was not-so-lovingly known as The Prince of Darkness. A quote he is either accurately, or inaccurately credited with is, "A gentleman does not motor about after dark."

Granted though this time it wasn't Lucas' fault. As mentioned, the bumper was crushed at some point. Probably dropped onto a boulder. It's not a critical repair as these are a marker light and a secondary turn signal on the lower, but helps with function and aesthetics. Would also be fine to leave it as is.

However, since I had access to another nonrunning D1 being completely cannibalized, there were parts-o-plenty.

Just disconnect the light wiring, remove four bolts, and it's off. While the rear crossmember of the chassis was exposed, I did a little clean up, rust abatement, and paintwork. Bolt the new-to-me bumper back on, reconnect the lights and bada-bing badabang, done.

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This was an introduction to our 2021 Hypertrash project. It's not the typical—take the latest and greatest, bolt on a bunch of new kit, and drive to the local cars and coffee for selfies and idle chit-chat. Sure, we might take it to cars and coffee a couple of times for marketing or whatever, but we like to think of ourselves a little more filthy and rugged than that. Our readers expect something trashy but approachable, something unique, something they can associate with and maybe do themselves.

Our D1 will be a homage to the early era Discovery—Project Jay. Sharing the same essential ethos now as it did when it was launched in 1989.

Design elements and colors from the basic all-around UK and US caravanning lifestyle of the 80s and 90s. A low key, mostly stock, purpose built, go anywhere comfortably, and take the whole family sort of build. Low budget—high yield. Check back with us for updates and progress on this project. 3

We would like to mention and thank our current partners who are providing us with generous support for this potential catastrophe.

Brian Hall at DEFENDERS NORTHWEST John Edelman at KNIGHTSBRIDGE OVERLAND

@defendersnorthwest defendersnorthwest.com

@knightsbridgeoverland knightsbridgeoverland.com

Artist rendering of the Hypertrash Bottom Dollar Disco project.

No build would be complete without a mood board.

This is where we pulled our inspiration from.

Very middle manager indeed. 

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MARINE STREET WORDS JAMES SINGER PHOTOGRAPHS

VINCE PERRAUD

I am standing on the beach when I realize that the weed Adam and I just smoked is not just weed as he starts yelling,

"Oh Shit!

I am shrinking!

Shit!

I am SHRINKING! FUCK!" I look over at Adam. He is the only thing I notice.

Everything else is out of focus. I cannot recognize anything else. I try to slow it down. I am at the beach. It is warm. It is dark out. It is a bit windy.

The Santa Anas are blowing out into the ocean.

They call them Devil Winds.

MODEL LOUISE ROPAGNOL  STYLIST FOR THE COMMONS

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I do not recognize this girl but she is not out of focus, which is good. I think the shock of cold water has brought my vision back but how long was I standing there? Only far away things look fuzzy now. The bonfire and the black shapes are far away and I cannot hear anything but this girl yelling.

“Brett! Brett!” I have no idea who Brett is. I turn towards the girl, “I am much better looking than Brett.” That is better. Thoughts are coming more clearly now. I can say the wrong thing much more naturally now. The girl comes closer, “You are not Brett!” She spills some more beer on me as she steps to push on my chest, “Some guy gave me this after I finished my Boone’s Farm!" She holds the 40 and her sandals high above her head in triumph then falls into my chest spilling beer everywhere, her sandals dangling uncomfortably close to my face. "I need to find Brett! Where is Brett? He is my ride home.” I have no idea what she is talking about. She puts her arm on my shoulder to steady herself and throws the sandals onto the dry sand out of my range of focus.

“Youuu arree cuuuute!” I take her Mickey’s and drink it but after a few gulps, I realize it is warm and flat, so I hand it back to her. She tells me that I am cute again and kisses my cheek.

Alex is suddenly next to me looking impatient.

“Yeah yeah, he is cute.” Alex is mad. “Where have you been the last four hours? Have you been standing here the whole time?” I cannot respond in time. “Did you see the fight? What happened to your pants? They are all wet.” My pants. “How is your hand? You can’t get into a car like that asshole. Come on man, get out of the water, let’s go, what the fuck?” Alex starts pulling on me. “I want some Mexican food. What are you doing over here talking to bitches?” Alex is pulling on me, driving a wedge between me and this girl who maybe thinks I am Brett. I realize my pants are wet up to the knees and I start looking at them.

“Come on man, don’t waste your time talking to whores.” This is all very confusing. Now Alex is pushing me in the back. “Hey! Fuck you!” The girl yells at Alex spilling more beer. I pull away from him. “Give me a couple minutes and I will meet you at the top of the stairs. I have to find my socks.” Alex gives me a shove, “Stairs! Socks?

The top of the STAIRS! STAIRS! We don’t have a ride yet so hurry asshole!”

My feet are cold and numb and caked with wet sand covered with dry sand now. I am barefoot now. “I have to find my socks now.” I wonder where my socks went. I think I had a plan about those for later. The hot wind will dry me. My shoes are in my hand now.

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The girl is looking all over the place again. “I have to find Brett.” “Why are you so worried about this guy Brett?” “My curfew was an hour ago and he is my ride. Brett and Amy. Amy is my ride but Brett is holding her keys. I don't know where they went.”

We walk towards a bonfire and she throws the half drank Mickey’s into it. A few people scatter as it shatters and sends sparks up into the sky. They are yelling at us as we are falling away from them laughing. Suddenly there are hundreds of people everywhere. By the stairs, I regain some sense of composure. “If I help you find Brett and Amy, will you give Alex and me a ride back to Poway?”

“Sure! But they are going to leave without me!”

“What is your name?” “Heather. What's your name?” “James.”

We hold hands and walk up the stairs to Marine Street. Alex is standing at the top of the stairs looking down, “Aw man! What the fuck? I got us a ride but you can’t bring anyone!” Alex is holding our skateboards. Adam is gone. Was I really standing there for four hours? My socks are gone and I have cuts on my right hand. Did we have our skateboards with us? My mind is only working in flashes and fragments. “Hey, I got us a ride too!”

Heather finds Brett and Amy sitting in Amy’s Silver Mercedes 280e with euro plates. “There is no way I am driving to Garden Road and there is no way THEY are getting into this car! Look at him!” I think she is referring to my pants and shoes. My shoes are on again now but it still feels like I am standing in wet sand. Alex throws a beer bottle down near the 280 sedan. The glass shatters under Amy’s car splashing the side of it with beer. “Why? Because we might get your car dirty?" Alex steps towards the car as if to kick it, "Come on man, forget these whores, let’s go.” Amy starts yelling but I am not sure what she is yelling anymore. The frequency of the high-pitched screeching does not register in my ears. Alex is yelling back. It is all just noise bleeding together. I start wondering if someone has stolen my socks. I know I must have left them somewhere specific. There is a great deal of sand in my shoes. There must have been a plan. I know I had a plan, a socks plan.

Brett is in Alex’s face with some threats all of a sudden. All the doors are open on the Mercedes.

I think he came from around the back of the car but I am not sure. Brett is wearing a pink polo shirt with white pants. I guess he left his brown leather boat shoes back in the Mercedes. I want to tell him that he is precariously close to the broken glass on the ground but he is not on my side. Alex and I are both wearing flannels and jeans. We have skateboards. It is all bad noise. Brett knows it but Alex would beat him down just for fun, so he keeps yelling, “Fuck you pussy rich kids!”

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DRIVIN

MONGO 76

NGTO

OLIA

WORDS

JON LEE

PHOTOGRAPHS

JON LEE / JESSICA KITTSON



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M

y wife furrowed her eyebrows.

“Why do we need six weeks to prep this car?”

She was referring to our Toyota Yaris, a rally car with a manual transmission.

I had spent the last several months researching routes and diligently shopping for the perfect specimen to hustle through the Mongol Rally; from London to Mongolia.

1999 Toyota Yaris. RHD 1.0L 5-speed, 120K miles. 800 Euros.

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She was in charge of all of the visas we needed to make it through each border. The rest was on me.

The Mongol Rally was “motoring stupidity on a global scale”. Drive something shitty and small and do it on your own. Our car, a piercing gold 1999 Toyota Yaris, was not typically used to trek across deserts and mountain terrains. I bought it for GBP 800 ($1100 USD) and it was right hand drive. I've always wanted to own a right hand drive car. My wife didn't know how to drive a stick.

The 68 horsepower Yaris was going to get us 10,000+ miles on and off-road to Mongolia. We didn't know anyone on the roughly fifty teams doing the rally. I diligently plotted a very long, precise Google Maps route and secured supplies.

Duct tape, JB Weld, Vaseline. It waterproofs the battery grounds for river crossings.

My wife sighed. "Are you sure we need all this crap?"

Our Yaris represents everything Toyota has to say about making an economical FWD compact car so affordable.

The digital cluster mounted in the middle gives it some uniqueness. It has cubbies for phones, Tom Toms, snacks, Coca-Cola. The engine, a 6250-rpm, 1.0L inline four, is distilled Toyota utilitarianism. I saw this up close when I dismantled the interior down to sheet metal. I read somewhere to line the floor with thermal reflective sheets used for building homes. Looking back, I'm glad the airbag didn't deploy since I doubt I unhooked the battery.



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So much for all the travel warnings.

As I collected myself to interact with the tall man in a black suit, he waved at me to stop the Yaris in front of him. There were raised tire spikes behind him. He didn't say much but I read confusion or disgust on his face. Was it the Yaris or my Hawaiian shirt? He had a long metal pole with a mirror at the end and walked alongside our car looking for a bomb underneath. This is what guards do before cars continue into somewhere protected. When we got the all clear and parked our car in an empty parking lot, the lack of cars and people stuck out.

We later learned it was a rally for Turkey after a failed coup. I wasn't sure what to ask about the coup, so I didn't ask.

We were in Istanbul a few days after a coup and had a few days to ourselves.

"It feels really strange that we're at the Grand Hyatt," I said.

My wife was in the middle of exploring our suite and was tired from sitting through France, Germany, Austria, Hungary, Bulgaria, and an intense off-ramp in Istanbul. She looked over. "What?"

"I just feel like we should be at a hostel or camping somewhere with other teams." I sat on the high thread count, well cushioned bed. "This is the Mongol Rally. This is a Grand Hyatt." I had a lingering desire for maximum effort.

The Mongol Rally paused while we explored Istanbul in peace for five days. When we left wonderful Istanbul, we were greeted by a Turkish man in civilian clothes, chest rig, and an AK-47. He waved at us and I slowly pulled next to him. I focused on him and not the other guys standing around their car. I don't know why I trusted him but it just felt right.

"We're going to Azerbaijan."

"Do not go to the South east [towards Syria]. Dangerous."

Göreme, Turkey. The sun came up around 5:00 AM, light shining through our tent, warming the canopy. With that hit of vitamin D, I woke up, stumbled to the trunk and moved our camping backpacks out of the way to get to four dusty storage boxes. I grabbed the breakfast box on the first try and the 4L water jug from our backseat. I poured dehydrated milk powder in my aluminum bowl, added water, stirred in whatever sugar cereal we had. Mmm. The videos I had seen before this whole thing never truly showed how hot it got. Driving across Turkey without A/C taught us what heat actually meant. The center console said 41 deg C. I didn't really know what that meant. It was for the better. Rolling the window down only made an unbearable situation worse. Sometimes, we rolled the windows down to see if it helped. It didn't. I wondered to myself if that thermal lining I cleverly glued inside the Yaris made things worse. We tried to hang towels on the windows and ourselves.

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Cappadocia, Turkey 

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WORDS

TRENT WHICKER PHOTOGRAPHS

TRENT WHICKER ED WESCOTT 

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I grew up in Oak Ridge, Tennessee. You may have heard of it before.

They enriched uranium there for the bombs we dropped on Japan.

With that said, there’s definitely something in the water.

O

ur local movie theatre was swarmed with every type of car person on Friday nights. The Oak Ridge movie theatre was the place to drive by. It was a typical small town mall with the new eight-screener being about two years old when I started high school.

Image is everything when you hit those awkward teen years. It is bullshit, but it is everything to own a car when you’re sixteen with nothing else to really worry about. The fact is we all wanted to be cooler than that dumb rich kid borrowing his dad’s 328 to take out one of the many Emilys that attended our school.

“You gotta play the game while you still can!” my dad’s asshole friends would say. “If you weren’t playing the field,” as they said, “you’re wasting away the years.”

The high school was conveniently located three blocks from the mall and we used to do time trials and donuts in the parking lot after school. We used Mountain Dew Bottles for autocross pylons. Officer Staffney was this big buff cop at our school that didn’t take shit from anyone. He hit on all of the teachers and wasn’t shy about that, nor revving his 5.0 interceptor in front of the whole school. His favorite pastime was to pull kids over on the way to school when they were running late. He never caught on to the bigger game that occurred less than a quarter mile away.

Officer Staffney’s D.A.R.E inspired livery Mustang 5.0

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STREET WOLF the TRUTH behind a world exclusive mystery: under the hood of this mean machine

HYPERTRASH spoke with Wolfman--the digital creative behind MEAN MACHINES. His artwork is the mittens. So check it out where social drops...

@mean_machines_the_game

Who are you?

Wolfman, born in the city of Bremen, northern Germany, 41 years old, married, father of two boys.

Tell us about the Mean Machines the Game project, what is your vision for it?

It should slowly become an authority for highend content, I want to make people a little bit happy, opening the boxes with mean machine content, looking at the graphics, wearing the clothes. I do not care about scale and profit. Main objective is the fun, thats why I started it, I wanted something where I decide everything, no bullshit, nobody else interfering.

The final boss is creating a game that is as much fun as the games i used to play on the Amiga 500 of my brother.

What is your creative process?

It starts with a feeling, then I build up a rough, stylized and stance enhanced 3D model of the car and the scenery i want to show. Proportions, perspectives, lighting, colours and composition are first done in 3D and than finalized in Photoshop. Everything happens quite spontaneous, I wait until everything falls together. When nothing can be improved I am done.

What’s inspiring to you, what fuels your process?

Music, it creates pictures and feelings in my head. Some people with their ideas and attitude. Movies.

Is there a specific song or type of music that you listen to while creating?

Evergreens of the 70ies, Hip Hop, Rap and a lot in between. From my point of view "Nights In White Satin" is as strong as „"Yamborghini High". Both create an intense feeling for me and give me goose bumps. With "Nights In White Satin" I see myself from 500 meters distance driving a Ferrari 400i on some street in slow motion. With "Yamborghini High" it is me parking my Testarossa in front of a supermarket in my swimming shorts. These images and feelings i transport to my artworks.



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WORDS BRETT CLEAVER PHOTOGRAPHS 110

KEIRON BERNDT

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WAITING FOR MAIL I am a huge fan of the 80’s and 90’s. I grew up in that era and spent the majority of my formative years amongst neon, action figures, BMX, skateboarding, Swatch watch, Oakley, Nike Air, Vision Street Wear, and so many other influential activities and brands. Those years are burned into my memory and I still wholeheartedly embrace them. Reissues or anything that embodies the colors, logos, or essence of that golden era catch my attention (and my wallet).



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— @notesfromourpast

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CASUAL VEHICULAR MATERIALISM Words DAVID CZARNECKI Hand Lettering LESLIE STEM As you race toward the impending car crash that is capitalism’s self destruction, I invite you do it in a noble manner, with vision and grace.

Are vehicles more important to you than spiritual values? Does nothing exist other than the movement and modification of matter? Materialist theory says that your consciousness is simply an interaction of your brain’s biochemistry, a biological hard drive, if you will. Descartes, though dead, tells us that the immaterial and the material can interact casually.

Materialism as an evolutionary need: why do you inherently work for that next thrill - that next car? To constantly sculpt situations, reinvent, and improve the engineering of a car is an innate moral force (bucking your homeostatic tendencies), and makes you feel progress when achieving that next level. It’s only natural to go where you haven’t gone.

The brain feels better gaining something than it does losing something.

Iron, glass, plastic, hide, petrol. The fabric of metal, we pagans. Making cars by harvesting and smashing earth’s elements at each other high energy. Each car a statue of admiration and gratitude to mother nature herself.

Let’s sit down at the local dumpster fire for a chat. Materialism depends on the person, how your talents translate into effect. Let’s agree that life is a game for a moment. From the outset we are shown the rules of the game, and if you ain’t first—you’re last. Observe where you exist. You could skim the surface of the game or you go deep. A driver or a passenger. There’s a car for you either way. Dive in head first, with a knife and fork, savoring every bite. Or maybe just a small morsel with a chopstick. If you dove in over your head, now risk begets reward: capital. Enjoy it. Widebody Diablo pull the seats out and insert Eames lounges. Scaled up Rollie. Two of them. Fuck man snort a little speed on the way to that cars and coffee. Now you’re crashing your extra hypercar on that left hand turn and people are videoing it and you’re your own dumpster fire.

Stop. Let’s turn back the clock and go through it again. In this world for the brave. Our epoch offers you great societal levers, that can engage great outcomes, for expressing your potential.

So here’s to champagne and real friends, rather than real pain and sham friends.

Motor force of your evolution: truth, self sacrifice, equality, generosity, aspiration, romance, education, momentum, simplicity, aesthetics, gratitude.



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HYPERTRASH IN PRINT

ALSO AVAILABLE IN DIGITAL! (back issues available sometimes)

WINTER 2020

SPRING 2021

FALL 2020

HYPERTRASH HOODIE

White ink on black

SPRING 2020

2.5" X 3" PEE PEE DIE-CUT STICKER

HYPERTRASH T-SHIRTS

Assorted Styles and Sizes

5.5" X 1.5" GLOW-IN-THE-DARK AND MULTI-COLOR FOIL STICKERS

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HYPERTRASHMAG.COM

SUMMER 2020

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