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It's Friday afternoon, and that can only mean one thing. The decadent joy of summer hours? Nope, not yet, kids. It's even better: The mockilicious joy of Blue States Lose. You know how it goes: As he does each week, hipster-hatin' Joey Arak fights his way through the photo galleries at The Cobrasnake, Last Night’s Party, Misshapes, and Ambrel, and he gets all Mr. Blackwell on them so you won't have to. After the jump, it's Joey's world, and we're all just visitors.

10) Last Night's Party. Oxy photo #3227: Unfortunate Cultural Mixup, Chapter 372: We hate to state the obvious, but if you're wearing a derby hat paired with matching purple shirt and glasses and you're not a Vegas street pimp you are probably someone who should not be wearing fronts.

9) Ambrel. Trash photo #5635: In a bit of performance art brilliance that was mostly lost on the crowd of drunken revelers, two RISD post-grads performed their joint thesis, "What We Saw the Zebras Doing at the Zoo." Don't worry; he was gentle, but he still left a mess for the barback at Rififi.

8) The Cobrasnake. Wedding Singer photo #2384: "Dude, you're getting married! Yeah, I can't wait! Yeah yeah, I know, black tie and all that. Yes, I'll leave the jacket at home. No, I won't get out of control. Yes, I'll keep my mouth shut. Wait, what?! Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa... whoa... whoa.... whoa. Sorry man, I love you and all, but the ironic mustache and attempted goatee stay. It took a Delilah to cut Samson's hair off, you know?"

7) Last Night's Party. Oxy photo #3493: He took out his eye in a tragic argyle sweater incident (that's why you always keep your lids shut when pulling a sweater over your head, kids), but you check out the way he's got it draped over his shoulder and look him in his good eye and tell him it wasn't worth it.

6) The Cobrasnake. Nylon Keds photo #313: How those dudes got into a party with these girls we'll never quite know or understand, but the one thing we're sure of is that these twins were definitely separated at douche.

5) Misshapes. April 22, 2006 photo #115: Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Tanktop Retardstein, not to praise him.

4) The Cobrasnake. Double LAX Duce photo #166: There is no better representation of the fallacy of Los Angeles hipsterdom than this. Someone who latches on to an emerging trend in this case, A Bathing Ape clothing and beats it into the ground so fucking hard that it gets buried under six feet of overexposed shitfilth. Oh, and also there's a Madden.

3) Misshapes. April 22, 2006 photo #004: A lot has been said about Axl Rose's appearance at Misshapes last Saturday, but how come there has been absolutely no buzz regarding the fact that Duff McKagan enrolled at Carnegie Mellon, completed his graduate degree, fucking solved the mystery of time travel, jumped back to 1991, dragged the younger version of himself back to the present and brought him/it to Don Hill's just to throw the good ol' days in Axl's fat fucking Chuck Norris face face? Now really, don't you think that's a bit more impressive than just showing up with uglyass beaded corn-rows?

2) Misshapes. April 22, 2006 photo #138: His shirt says, "Hey, I'm a good guy. I'm sensitive, caring, and just going it alone in this crazy world like everybody else, searching for that special someone." Every other part of him, however, says, "It rubs the lotion on its skin. It does this whenever it's told. It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again. Yes, it will, Precious. It will get the hose. Now it places the lotion in the basket. It places the lotion in the basket. Put the fucking lotion in the basket!"

1) Misshapes. April 22, 2006 photo #002: Are we going to have to change The Other Dude's nickname to The Dude? Motherfucker is out there inventing his own clothes. We spent 40 minutes trying to figure out whether to call this a shirt or a cape before deciding on "shcape" and then ditching the whole project because we finally got over the shock and awe and realized how fucking stupid and ugly it is. The gloves are a nice butch touch, though.