Claymate of the Year, the more photogenic baby sister of the now defunct (sort of) and always classy (not really) Rock The Tote, has been hot flashing in the kitchen for weeks baking the baddest of clay jewelry just for you freakishly slender and swan-like necks. Don't let the queens of Shrinky Dink jewelry* get the best of your debit card and put your money towards something worthwhile. That being my cell phone bill.

*Claymate of the Year is just jealous of their business savvy. She don't know them, she don't know them, mind your business, middle finger.


( 10 DOLLARS, POSTAGE PAID. ALL CHAINS 18 INCHES BECAUSE SIZE MATTERS )

Upload me a song. Any song. Please?


Something to get nasty to, work the pole to, weep like a fat girl unloved by society to, break someone's glasses to, party like it's 1999 to, run away from home to. I no care. Come ahhhhn.


In other news related to none but one of you...hey thispulse: remember this? You so crazy.


I'm gonna go travel back to 2002 and start an mp3 blog now. Which is code for "eat me some sundried tomato and basil wheat thins because they're delish. Want some? Can't have. Tough, kid."

It's never on my to-do list to sound like an Annoying White Suburbanite MySpacer Just Discovering Trillville, but I'd really like to have each and every piece of this jewelry hanging around my neck. I promise I won't throw up an ironic gang sign while wearing them. All. At. Once.







Inquire here to break the bank.

FAUX SHAUX: A LESSON IN PUNOGRAPHY


Fact: There is no other word as versatile and pun-friendly as "faux." It didn't take me a long time to realize it, why with all the recreational punning I do, but it was today, THIS VERY DAY, friends, on which I realized, "faux" is the greatest word ever to rise off the lips of some French Fry since well, french fry, but I think those folk had little to do with that winning combination.

With the help of this infauxmation, if you will, you, too can impress all of your very intelligent linglangular friends. That means "people who love talking funny" in Awesome. Or, you can write a rap song. But don't do that. You're embarrassing enough.

01. Fauxmosexual (fo-mo-sexual) n. or adj.

Definition: An old favorite of mine, possibly one of the earliest findings of faux-related wordplay. To be a fauxmosexual, one, preferably female, must enlist the help of one other, definitely female, to engage in any combination of drunken sexual related activity such as tongue kissing, over the shirt breast groping, ass smacking, or moaning in the general vicinity of one another. Fauxmosexuality is not a private act, but, rather, one that works best around groups of men, preferably young, impressionable and avec digital camera with movie filming capabilities. Females must return to heterosexuality once the Zima wears off or the young men leave. Acts of fauxmosexuality, however, will last a lifetime among Internet mail forwards and message board .gifs.

Usage: I suspect the infamous Britney Madonna lip lock of '04 was merely an act of publicist-encouraged fauxmosexuality, but, then again, being familiar with Madge's past forays in the Sexual Revolution, it appears that no man, woman, child, or land animal is safe.



02. Angelina Fauxlie (Ahn-gel-eena Fo-lee) n.

Definition: A female possessing any combination of billowy mouth pillows, and long, dark hair whose kind, probably inebriated best friend, once suggested that she, bearer of billowy mouth pillows and long dark hair, "kinda resembles Angelina Jolie." Now, when asked online, by possible male suitors, which celebrity she most resembles, Angelina Fauxlie excitedly shares this news, in turn creating the illusion of dark and sexy mystery that only the original Angelina Jolie possesses. Possible male suitor arranges a meeting in a public place, because those are safe, and upon meeting Miss Fauxlie in the food court (assuming the safe place is a shopping mall or galleria), excuses himself to the bathroom never to return again. Angelina Fauxlies are usually thirty pounds overweight.

Usage: I'm really digging this one babe on MySpace, but I think she might be an Angelina Fauxlie...all her pictures are from the neck up, dude. I'll still let her blow me.



03. Fauxbo Chic (fo-bo sheek) adj.

Definition: Made famous by Mary Kate Olsen, Hobo Chic became all the rage this year for celebrity fashion and, in the process, tricked mere mortals into wearing rags and bangles as if they were the pied piper of Canal Street. Unlike the mere mortals, though, Mary Kate Olsen was not really rummaging through dumpsters, sewers, and dead peoples' wardrobes to pull off this widely popular devil-may-care visage. Mary Kate Olsen, bless her 300 million dollar heart, is what we call Fauxbo Chic, for her tattered rags cost more than the mere mortals' college tuitions, including text book fees. I know, right.

Usage: God, Sienna Miller's poncho is too fierce. I wonder if it's Fauxbo Chic or if she really is going all granola-fed bulldyke since Nanny Gate.



04. Fauxlic Acid (fo-lick as-sid) n.

Definition: The nonexistent vitamin supplement, much like folic acid, that Hollywood starlets ingest in large doses that rationally explains their ever growing bosoms, lips, and asses. After all, they assured us, the public, that no they did not have any surgical enhancements made to their bodies, and that this, yes, this right here, is "all me, baby." Because I believe them, I shall attribute any and all "growth spurts" to the use of fauxlic acid.

Usage: Do I think Lindsay Lohan had implants? Fuck no, dude. She said they were real. I just think she had a healthy diet rich in nutrients and fauxlic acid.



05. Fauxstorm (fo store-mmm) n.

Definition: Not to be confused with "that motherfucking blizzard that never showed it's cowardly motherfucking face and had me all stoked for a day off from my shit-fuck of a job," the faux storm, another debilitating entity, has proven just as oppressive and magical. You know those females who attend your high school who all wear sequined boleros and ruffle skirts with legwarmers and ballet flats? Who sleep with every boy in the graduating class and have lots of money, employ maids, and never really ever laugh? And you wonder, if they never laugh or talk about things of interest, why do boys like to be inside them? And you can't understand why these groups of females all conspire against each other and say hurtful things about those in their sect. This is because they are what we like to call "fake-ass bitches." In groups, though, the amount of faux resonating from their shimmery pink lips, whips up such a frenzy of less-popular fear and self-loathing that the effects are similar to those of a car going 90 on the freeway in the middle of a snowstorm. People die...inside, at least, hence, the fauxstorm.

Usage: Shit, you guys, here comes Brittany S., Brittany G., Britney with an -ney, and Britthany, pronounced "Britney." Don't let them see us trading Lord of The Rings character cards or they'll talk about us. Too late...there's an impending fauxstorm in the forecast and we are all of us victims. I'll never let go, Frodo.

If there are any possible comibations of brilliance, please contact me. I will respond with monetary compensation once I figure out how to stop Suduko from ruining my life. I bid thee, farewell, welfarians.

Does anyone have any Buck 65 you are willing to share with me? I'm not sure I fully can confirm or deny a crush I may have on him at this point in time, so any proof in the form of an audio aid is both appreciated and encouraged. Sage Francis is getting chubby lately, and I need a new white rapper to crush on hard until he goes on South Beach. Chunky vegetarians are cute as shit and all, but I needed some shallow bro'ish excuse to dump him. It's not you, it's me, baby. Anyway, look at that sad little face! I want to go rafting on his lips and drown in a sea of love.

Durrrr! I'm gettin' crazy over here! Just ask my t-shirts and puppy bags! If you've come here by way of my cute-ass website, then HI! You're cute, you also look loaded down with money. Let me take some of that off your hands, baby. Check out the shit! It'll be on the site soon. Swear. Maybe.


Also, if you're a foreigner, please uh, you know, see about the whole added shipping thing. I love you, just not that much. Kiss kiss.

( OH ROCK THE TOTALLY CRAZY )

"I Wanna Dance It Up So Bad, Dude"

No matter how many times I've seen this mini-video, I still make little shitlets come out of me from laughing so frickin' hard. This is my Napoleon Dynamite in terms of wanting to make quote blinker icons and wicked fresh t-shirts in homage. I share because I care. And I care because I'm square.

Scene Sucks (.mov) - Click and save. Or do whatever the heck you'd like to do.

File # 0069, Case # 420
Species: Bromosapien

The walk among us, they rape among us, they burp the alphabet and fart Yankee Doodle Dandy among us, they fuck among us, they upchuck among us, and sometimes, they are us. Most of the time, though, they just trick us into giving them h-jobs while we tell them how good looking they are as they prepare a batch of baby batter upon our bored, expressionless faces. They're never actually good looking, though, so don't be fooled by the rocks that they got, dumbz.

The species of Bromosapien is a perpetually growing sect, often found in small beach towns named after hit television programs, or holding skateboards in the Warped Tour parking lot. The Bromosapien never rides his skateboard because most of the time he is seen riding around on alternate forms of transportation--usually a blonde Roxy flip flop wearin', puka shell beach bunny, or a ragtop Jeep. The Jeep though, guzzles far less than the skank in the halter.

Although "bromosapien" may seem like an all-encompassing term, the species is a diverse circle of subsets with, oftentimes, very slight similarities to differentiate the various sterebrotypes. Lace up your DC skate shoes, grease up your front spikes, and strap on a prophylactic, it's gonna be a bumpy funky ride from here to the Oakley warehouse.



Genus: The Brototype

Broverview: Think of the Brototype as a Jesus in deliberately shredded Abrocrombie and Fitch jeans and up-collared Polo style shirts. He is the prototypical bro often associated with fraternity organizations, Rohypnol fueled sexual assaults, and sick wraparound sunglasses. He leads other Aberzombies around by the balls in that he is their maker, and they, his dick sucking, hair highlight having cronies.

Distinguishing Characteristics: Backwards white hats with hysterrrrrrical university innuendo--i.e. "Cocks" or "Morehead" University, assorted tribal tattoos on the biceps or upper back a'la Nick Lachey, a Motorola Walkie Talkie phone filled with non-descript female monikers such as Jen, Jen 2, Hot Jenn, Blonde Jenn, Fat Jenn, Stalker Jenn, or Jenn Who Flashes Her Tits When Anyone Screams "Wooooo, Jenn....Titttsss...Now...Woo!" Is too heavy lately to lift for keg stands, but blames his robustness on his renewed interest in pumping iron. He's really pumping his gut full of milkshakes and brewskies, but is too embarrassed to admit his protruding gut has hindered him from seeing his own balls for the past six months.

Listens To: The godfather of bros, Dave Matthews. Sometimes John Mayer, but only when he's looking to fuck a hot 16-year-old bitch that has a curfew and a hymen.

Turn Ons: March Madness, thongs, buffets, steroids (when he can actually sustain a hard on), girls with low IQs and low-rise jeans, his mother...but only secretly.

Turn Offs: Aeropostale, black girls (despite his hidden collection of Bareback and Black porn magazines.)





Genus: The Bromosexual

Broverview: The rare species of Bromosexual oftentimes masks his underlying penchant for cock gurgling with overt overcompensation in the form of naked-girls-on-hotrod-car posters and lots of used condoms lying around. In truth, he really only admires the hotrod girls' fabuuuulous highlights, and uses the condoms for water balloon fights and sticking it in 35 different assholes per semester. Looks exactly like the Brototype, but would never be caught dead in ripped Joe Boxer underpants. Watches college football as foreplay.

Distinguishing Characteristics: Pampers himself with full body waxing, eyebrow grooming, and facials...and that's just his sex life! Opts for more high-end duds like Eddie Bauer chinos, Armani Exchange boxer briefs, and an intricately placed soul patch. You can grate Parmesan off his jaw line, wash your delicates on his abdomen, and flip a dollar in change off his ass cheeks. The Bromosexual is not one to let himself go. May be on Atkins or South Beach, reads Details or GQ, and is initially shunned by other fraternity bros for being a faggot. Then the frat realizes they haven't met their homo quota and decides to let him in at least for the "Community Service" portion of their pledge duties. Hooks up with chicks a lot but just for show. Takes them shopping in the morning.

Listens To: Disposable rock-lite bands Lifehouse, Five For Fighting, or Nickelback. He appreciates their passion, but mostly that one guy's tight ass. Sends perfume scented fan mail to Jason Mraz.

Turn Ons: Jocks, credit cards, Kyan from Queer Eye, margarita nights at sororities, and Christina Aguilera...but only because he appreciates a good drag queen.

Turn Offs: Baggy pants, flip-flops with socks, Drakaar, Kid Rock, and Christina Aguilera...but only because she totally has a pussy.





Genus: Afbro American

Broverview: In simple terms, a black bro. In more complex terms, the Afbro American is a bro whose parents sent him to a private high school in hopes for a "brighter future" and "better tomorrow," but mostly so that he wouldn't fall by the wayside like his cousin Big Kenny whose holding it down in the State Pen. Because he was holed up in the Ivory Towers for so many years, the Afbro American now only has white boy friends, but doesn't actually act like a white boy in full. He sometimes dresses like one and says shit like "kick ass" as an adjective, but has never and will never fuck a white chick...as long as his mama didn't find out.

Distinguishing Characteristics: He's black. Wears plaid button down collared shirts. His cousins from "the hood" give him shit for having an American Eagle charge card, so he still wears Timberlands to fraternity and sorority mixers. All his country fried white boy friends say shit like "I'm not a racist, man, one of the guys in our chapter is a black guy." Gets all afbrocentric when he meets other Afbro Americans, but talks about Beyonce at length without mentioning the words "booty" or "licious."

Listens To: "Yeah" by Usher and Lil John...still. Owns a Limp Bizkit disc as well cause he heard Fred Durst did something with Method Man once. He has no idea what, but he bought it to keep the peace between friends.

Turn Ons: Christian girls who are equal amounts God fearing and booty-clapping, home cooked meals, Ashanti, peaches and cream lotion from Bath and Body Works.

Turn Offs: Drunk white girls, Newports, racism, hood-rats.





Genus: Heavy Brotation EmbroxCore

Broverview: The latest product of the MTV generation, the EmbroxCore dude, is almost a borderline braux pas in that real bros don't dress like them, listen to the same music they listen to, or put anything in their ears that are not silver hoops. However, they're not much of any real threat to the actual scenestars they emulate. They are scenester-lite, if you will. They are the Avrils and Benji Maddens of the Atbrosphere. However, all of the authentic bros call them "freaks" because of their penchant for "heavy metal" which is merely that new Taking Back Sunday single and maybe a song from the Spiderman 2 soundtrack.

Distinguishing Characteristics: Volcom t-shirts and studded belts out the ass. One pair of super starched Dickies (duh, cause they're new...he used to be into Korn and Jncos like last year), skateboard shoes with fat laces, and the occasional thrifted tee are the official uniform of the EmbroxCore dude. He would also buy a band t-shirt at Sam Goody or FYE if need be. A few summers ago he got an eyebrow ring at a tent at Lollapalooza. This summer he got his ears gauged behind his parent's back and takes them out in the car every night before he goes inside the house. Next year he will discover Interpol three "It" bands too late, and start writing poetry and smoking cigarettes. For now, he's just a skater boy he said see ya later boy...sort of.

Listens To: Yellowcard is sick! Thursday is sick! Good Charlotte is really sick! Rap sucks! Finch is fuckin' sick! The Starting Line is sick! Rufio is sick! Wait, who's Rufio? Were they at Warped? MTV2? That free sampler I got with my new Alternative Press? Nah, I don't know them...Rufio sucks!

Turn Ons: Black haired girls who still say "owns," black haired girls who pose with bandanas on their faces in pictures, black haired girls with plugs, black haired girls who write poetry, black haired girls who are into Story of the Year, black haired girls who have tattoos on their chests written in Latin, black haired girls who like to cuddle.

Turn Offs: Black haired girls. Anyone who likes rap, preps, Nike sneakers.





Genus: Beach Blanket Bingbro

Broverview: From what I hear, bros who surf are actually called "brahs," and calling them "bros" is as insulting as calling the Afbro American a "nigger." But for all intents and purposes, he falls into a bro subset. This brah frowns upon Pac Sun, but loves board shorts. He knows how to wax his long board and his long board. Ladies love the B.B.B, but the B.B.B. loves hangin' ten even more. He's insulted when people compare him to Jeff Spicoli, but talks exactly like him regardless. "Gnarly" never went out of style. Ocean Pacific totally did though. His ejaculate tastes like the Pacific Ocean and he has fucked at least three armless surf sluts in the back of his VW Bug.

Distinguishing Characteristics: Sun-kissed blonde locks, blonde arm hair, blonde leg hair, black dick hair. Shirtless...always. B.B.B.s are never fat, mostly because they're poor and can't afford to eat, not necessarily due to their 23/7 wave catching. Might be kinda dumb too. Skateboards on the off-season.

Listens To: Anything your hippie uncle listens to...but still manages to get pussy.

Turn Ons: Huuuuuuge waves, shark attack survivors, free food, tacos.

Turn Offs: Nothing man, life is tooo sweet to drown out in negative energy.


This synopsis is due in part to extensive research both by the author and Bro Millionaire extraordinaire, Morgan A. Wells, friend and foe of bros, brahs, and brohams worldwide.