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The seasons may be changing and the leaves are about to turn, but fucktard hipsters are evergreen. Join us, then, in appreciating these marvels of nature with Blue State Lose, wherein we sift through the photos on The Cobrasnake, Last Night’s Party, Misshapes, and Ambrel so you don't have to. After the jump, Alex Blagg talks about how the new My Chemical Romance album "really is good."

10. The Cobrasnake. Turnstyle Deli Meat photo #6597: This picture really makes this picture kinda redundant. While they essentially say the same thing, I can't decide which says it with the most subtlety.

9. The Cobrasnake. Badass Wizard photo #7657: "Yeah, we just finished up our appearance in HBO's Real Sex 49, and one of the PAs was telling us this place was some kind of swing club with chicks doing scat play on the bathroom floors. You know where can Pam and I get in on something like that?"

8. Last Night's Party. Austin Book Tour photo #7499: Back by popular demand, it's time for another edition of everyone's favorite Blue State Lose brainteaser - Hipster or Homeless! Since it's been so long, this week's subject is extra tough. Let's examine him top-to-bottom, shall we? The weathered face, salty beard and unkempt hair are all classic indicators of homelessness, but what are we to make of the "police" hat and hot pink sport earphones? Could a poverty-stricken derelict afford those kinds of luxuries? Moving on, only homeless alcoholics love booze so much they literally kiss it, but this is a semi-expensive bottle of imported beer, usually favored by party-loving trust-funders and broke wannabe-artist hipsters attending gallery shows they found on My Open Bar. What an enigma! The Hawaiian lei and red-painted fingernails are the sort of random accessories that could go either way, so how are we gonna call this one - hipster or homeless? Aww too bad, because this was a trick question - it's an old tranny!

7. The Cobrasnake. Ron To the Rescue photo #5614: Unveiled at this quarter's Urban Outfitters stockholder meeting, the latest Generic Hipster Idiot is a sleek, stylish, streamlined new model of human disappointment whose accompanying "silly sunglasses" and "unsuccessful facial hair" accessories make for a significantly more attractive - not to mention effecient - product than it's predecessor. "Lack of Discernible Identity" and "Propensity for Idiotic Conversation" features still come standard.

6. Gawker. Silly French Hipster video #1: I know The Mothership already covered this, but this little video clip is too amazing for me to ignore it. Now I don't speak a whole lot of French, but from what I can tell, this camera-toting dick-kitten's pretentious self-aggrandizement is so fucking obnoxious that, by the conclusion of the segment, he might very well have succeeded in the convincing every frog in France to move to suburban Kentucky, get baptized in the name of Christ, elect Pat Buchanan president, and write a letter to Congress every single day until they get off their lazy hippie asses and nuke all of the Middle East, California and New York City clean off the fucking map. Only time will tell.

5. The Cobrasnake. Dance Party Disc Fire photo #7800: Can you even imagine the idiotic conversations that could have taken place around this Algonquin Round Table of Retardation? Steve Aoki busts out a "West-siiiiiide!" and Cobrasnake's all "Hee-haw doopity-Doo, where's my teen sex prisoner?" and Flaxen-haired Four-eyes pipes in, "Me too! Me Too! Right, guys?", but Princess Coldstare is all, "Ugggghhhh". Leotard just sat silently, saddened that his Last Supper turned out to be guacamole and tomatoes. Such is the life of martyr.

4. The Cobrasnake. Next To Neckface photo #6824: For twenty bucks you too can enjoy the wonders of Baby Janice's patented new "Nicotine Tongue Bath" technique of full-body erotic massage. First pioneered in One Half Nelson's now legendary series of "sauna parties", Janice has since traveled the globe, licking every inch of paying customers in need of cigarette-flavored saliva therapy (she's huge in Scandinavia). Don't tell anyone, but for an extra tenner, you can get a "happy ending", in which she gets to the center of a Tootsie Pop in less than one lick.

3. The Cobrasnake. Ron the Rescue photo #7715: For the last time, Ridiculous Ricardo, not ALL gay people are vampires, and not all vampires are gay. Let's put that little stereotype to bed right now. Your painted-up pals and fruity little friends might look like mutant horrors from a Salvador Dali nightmare, but they aren't gonna fucking bite you, so I really think it's time to cool it with all the produce jewelry. And please god tell me you don't have shallots wrapped around your cock.

2. Last Night's Party. "Dear Bronques": People who say these hipster photoblogs have no intrinsic social value are absolutely mistaken. When he's not convincing mid-western transplant co-eds with low self esteem to explore their bisexuality in piles of puke on the Don Hills bathroom floor, my boy Bronques is bringing people together, figuratively and literally, through his amazing art. Take this satisfied customer, who - if not for LNP's regularly-updated collections of human indignity - might never have had a socially-lubricated "bump-in" with Hipster McCool (who she'd only admired from afar in a previous party's photo gallery) in the middle of the "sheer amazingness of this city", even managing to get his phone number. She's still not sure what's going to happen, but I'd say there's a better than average chance she might end up in an unhealthy relationship with an emotionally unavailable, directionless man-child who borrows lots of money he later uses to cheat on her. Who says there are no more fairly tales?

1. The Cobrasnake. Badass Wizard photo #7715: Beethoven was deaf, Mozart was crazy and Michael Jackson likes to fuck kids. Do you really think Hell-Yeah Keller isn't gonna compose his My First Symphony masterpiece, "Giraffes Are Awesome" just because he's a hopeless dumb bunny who just burned his last four brain cells inhaling a balloon full of air-freshener, and his last forty bucks on that sporty new T-shirt tribute to photographed worthlessness? True Art knows no prisons.