After stealing $10,000 from her grandmother's sock drawer, an 11-year-old Arkansas girl reportedly gave a cab driver $1,300 to drive her to a 16-year-old crush who lived over 800 miles away.

Sure, there have been enough YouTube parodies of HBO's hyperlocal quarterlife crisis narrative Girls to fill an entire season, but few have been stamped with the personal imprimatur of the show's executive producer Judd Apatow.

The following thoughts have flickered through my mind in rapid succession at least once a week for as long as I have worked on the fourth floor of Gawker Media's offices.

Deplorable news from our nation's child warehouse system: kids these days are being sexually harassed, by kids these days. Kids these days! Sometimes we seriously consider carpet bombing to be our best adolescent behavior management strategy.

As former IMF head Dominique Strauss-Kahn wiles away the hours in his gilded Tribeca cage, a sex scandal of a different stripe has befallen his native shores. An investigation is officially underway to determine if, as one minister claims, a former member of French Parliament indeed partook in one of those boy orgies you read about in all the Moroccan travel brochures.

Ayden is two-years-old; therefore, he should care about nothing but candy and pooping, right? Nope! Because Ayden's addicted to Angry Birds, and not even a bribe of candy can make him loosen his grip of his dad's phone. Watch inside.

For years, the likes of Hannah Montana and the Jonas Bros. have ruled the kiddie icon market. No more. Soon, heterosexual boys will have their own channel full of crappy Disney tween characters from hell.

You know what was sort of fun? When like around the year 2000, comedies about men stopped being about complete fucking idiots and the sassy exasperated women who love them and became comedies about slovenly yet lovable dudes who may chase the muff around, but in the end really just want to fall in love. They weren't the most progressive of films, but they were funny (Wedding Crashers, Old School, etc.) and at times endearing (40 Year Old Virgin, Knocked Up). But you know what isn't fun? The odious culture of Bro that Daily Intel is righteously angry about that sprang up like a nacho-cheese-smelling weed in the newly tilled field of gender studies created by these films. I mean look: there are now books like Brocabulary: The New Man-i-festo Of Dude Talk and a social networking site called BroBible that allows dudes to "share stories of weekend revelries and exchange tips on romantic endeavors" (so basically, eHighFiving about Jaeger and pussy). There's also The Foggy Monocle—a site we admit to sometimes enjoying, except when there are posts like this. And, as the coup de grâce, there is the Brody Jenner reality program, punnily called Bromance. It's just gone too far! Beer and farts and pretzels and bikinis and boorishness and messy rooms and unwashed hair and sloppy Band of Brothers-isms and all that is sort of endearing for a bit, but the minute it becomes so hyper-commodified like this, co-opted by big ol' marketing strategies, it, like so many other trends, becomes so epically embarrassing that I can barely bring myself to admit that a book called The Bro Code even exists. But what's the corrective for it? I mean, is the bro-ness blowback from the cult of Ladybusiness that was heel-clacked and button-snapped into existence by Sex and the City? Will this dudenami eventually ebb back into the sea of the gender war, and we'll have another placid few years of mild Friends-ian sexual dynamics to apathetically contend with? At this point, I sort of hope so. Because if I hear one more thing about guy code (even though it is used in the hilarious It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia) or bro-ness, I just might have to get all up in your face with hilariously clueless karate moves or like a little kid with glasses or an Asian chick or something. You know, something that's bro-funny. Actually funny bro-ness:

Hunter Parrish from Weeds.

Hello! It's not fair that girls are the only ones photographically exploited on this website on a daily basis. Luckily, there's a whole herd of guys, from Junk Mag's photographer Brad Walsh, lined up and ready to take their clothes off. Stripsters? Whatever you want to call them! So we're going to vote on the cutest! Here's how voting works: photos are technically SFW. Also: it doesn't matter if they're your type or not. Just pick one. Pretend they're the last men on earth, if skinny tattooed dudes aren't your type. Pretend it's 3 a.m. and you're at Duff's.