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DFA - HOLIDAY MIX 2005 (CD)
The Tims have done it again. This time they's hitting you with some killer non-denominational holiday shit that is sure to please_ Christmasians, Hanukkahians, Ramadamians and Kwanzians equally. This is because none of the songs is at all holiday related. Unless by "holiday related" you mean "supra-pinged, ultra-large pimping." In fact, I would go so far as to say that this mix is a veritable orgy of big-titted cuts from the likes of the LCD Soundsystem, Soulwax and the Juan Maclean. But this ain't one of those real-life orgies where your filthy Sociology 203 professor is nailing some tres-mulleted 50 year-old bitch packing a box of hella fuzzy prunes between her thighs while trying to express her inner-woman. Thankfully, "Holiday Mix 2005" is a sweaty, hot, fake porno orgy where everyone doing yeyo off each other and all the dudes are really careful about not accidentally touching each other with their dicks so it doesn't get "too weird." (Actually, proper orgy protocol is for the men to all wear masks so dudes don't get freaked out by watching other dudes come- or at least that is how it goes down in my "private moments.")

SNEAKER FREAKER: Issue 6
I once heard that, actually, all people are born part queer. This seems fairly reasonable to me as I have frequently caught myself hawking other dudes on the bus while lusting after their super-cool sneakers. Okay, so I'm not quite at the point where I jerk off thinking about Jake Gyllenhaal eating out my asshole, but I'm more than willing to embrace my inner pole-smoker if it means looking stylish as fuck. And that's where Sneaker Freaker comes in. Think of it as the filthiest, diritiest, most hardcore porno mag you've ever laid hands on. But instead of page after page of ass fucking, jizz guzzling, goat humping, titty fucking, salad tossing and donkey sucking, this publication's got hella picks of Chuck Taylors, Adrock SS35s, K-Swiss, Dunks, Compas, Superstars and Jordans. And for those of you who like 'em Asian and obscure, Frkr's got you covered there too (I like my laces long, yellow and skinny if you know what I mean). However, unlike ultra hardcore XXX porno butt-lust jack off mags, Sneaker Freaker is ultra-super hard to find. So win this shit and hide it under your mattress.

COLORWAY A DAY COLORBOOK
For some reason, Eric likes to give away a lot of reading material as prizes. Now, I don't know about the rest of you homos, but I am not on the can nearly long enough to get through all of these books and magazines and things. And if the movie Ghostbusters taught us anything, it's that "print is dead." (If you don't remember when Egon says this, you really should go back and watch it again.) But here is a book I can dig. Basically all you have to do is colour your favorite shoes any which way you want. I used to lie awake a night and wonder what a pair of Air Jordans would look like all fucked up with doodles of pee-pees and wee-wees. Now I know. I KNOW what that looks like and that's the kind of education you just can't get from your regular fancy "reading" books. Coloring books is next shit, y'all. I saw mad pix of Kevin Federline doodling on some sneakers on trent.blogspot.com. How can you go wrong with that? You can't. That's how.

FUCKED UP AND PHOTOCOPIED: Instant Art of the Punk Rock Movement (Hardcover)
There was a time when a "straight-edge" was something you used to defend yourself from Nazi Skinhead punks trying to fuck up your hall show. If you saw a punk bleeding, it was because they cut themselves up with a beer bottle for fun, not because he or she accidently pricked themselves making slightly witty buttons for Food Not Bombs (yeah, by the way, if I'm a homeless dude and I haven't eaten for three days, I DO NOT want a plate of fucking lentils and vegan cake to last me the winter okay?). Oh, and that reminds me: PUNKS DO NOT RIDE SKATEBOARDS -- I cannot brook the skatepunk shit. Skateboarding has all the street cred of a Gap commerical. Yeah that's right, Missy Elliot is STILL less of a sell-out than your average skate-punk. Clearly, Punks today need to learn themselves a lesson from the past. Enter FUCKED UP AND PHOTOCOPIED. Maybe witnessing the story of a social revolution told through grainy speckled leafelets and fliers will learn these kids but good. And if it doesn't, well at least those Hip Hop kids still have a chance. Hold dat.

YOU SAY PARTY! WE SAY DIE! - HIT THE FLOOR! (CD)
If You Say Party! We Say Die! was one of the Back to the Future movies, it would be Back to the Future II. Part of it is in the past, part of it is in the future and part of it is in an alternate reality where the entire world has been turned into a giant 80s casino and Lea Thompson is some pathetic alcoholic with huge tits (just like our reality, except for the titty situation). So strap on your hoverboards "manks" and feel all 1.21 Jiggawats of motherfucking rock and roll destruction. SLACKER! Get ready to bounce and roll like 90 kilos of coke in the trunk of your time-traveling Delorean. This is some FUCKS CAPACITOR shit, people.

FM3's BUDDHA MACHINE
Put on your clam-diggers, gang, because this week we're showing you more box than your cam-whore girlfriend's myspace gallery. But we wouldn't hook you up with any old box. Pull back those beef curtains and feast your eyes on the FM3-BUDDHA "BOX." The sounds this device produces are as warm and glowing as John Cage's baboon-red ass after getting spanked with a rolled-up copy of WIRE magazine (which Deep Blue jizzed on). The Buddha Box might be one of those special prizes that elevates your understanding of the world to a higher plane of perception. Or it might just annoy your friends. In either case, you'll definitely want to lick your way through the vinegary meat-folds of competition, drink the sour juices of victory, and claim the Buddha Box as your reward.
I like FM3 because they prove that a couple of dudes with an internet connection can "noodle around" on their laptops with each other and it won't result in one of those weird family meetings where your dad has something to tell you about "his friend Mr. Yang from work and their new life together" while your mom is "resting" at your aunt's place in Spruce Grove.

Un Joli Mix Pour Toi: A mix-tape by Chromeo.
The year is 1983 and you've been wearing this powder blue leisure suit for nine days straight. Chicks stare at you in disgust because you've packed on a few pounds since the 70s and, fankly,, you're just too damn stoned to bother buttoning up your shirt anymore. You make your way past the velvet ropes and into the Champagne Room of the second classiest strip club in San Deigo (you had to settle on Nikita's because you got booted from the Pink Diamond downtown for making an ugly scene with one of the girls - bitch!). Your liver is about a flask-and-a-half of Jim Beam away from imploding into a tiny-but-dense speck of bile and cottage cheese and one of your lungs is packed so full of Marlboro dog-ends and falafel that it smells like Lebanese taxi cab whenever you cough. But you don't know that yet. In fact you don't know anything except that you put way too much coke on your dick because you can't even feel the washed-up television starlet going down on you (so now you wish you hadn't paid her so goddamn much - bitch!) Actually, at this very moment, the only thing you can feel is the glare of the half-cracked disco ball piercing the lens of your $1200 sunglasses, and the vague flavour of the 30-cent tacos you puked up about six minutes ago.
But as you sip again from your luke-warm can of New Coke, you wonder: what is that incredible sound on the PA system? "My friend," the bouncer says as he works your kidneys over some more, "that's 'Un Joli Mix Pour Toi,' the latest mixtape from Chromeo." Along with some fluid that can no longer be scientifically classified as blood, you manage to spit out these words: "Wicked cool, bro. Wicked cool."And that's what it is, m'man.

Vice Magazine's Dos and DON'Ts
The latest publication by the magazine your momma would have warned you about if she wasn't too busy doing lines of Phen-Phen off her ironing board and lamenting her life of quiet desperation while nailing your Korean gardener behind your dad's back. Finally you can get your Fagshion shit together with this compendium of ViceMagazine's best Dos and DON'Ts. This handy not-so-little book lets you enjoy the vile sarcasm you love without having to convince your hippypseudo-intellectual friends that the rest of the magazine is actually"quite intelligent in its ironic appraisal of youth culture." No longer will you have to hide your assorted issues of Vice when your vegan girlfriend comes up to your room to smoke a bowl and read excerpts from Mumia Abu-Jamal's Freedom Journal. No sir. It's all digested into a single, relatively guilt-free volume of the magazine'sbest feature. Wicked cool? Yes. Yes it is.

Last Night's Party: The Magazine Issue #1
Let's face it: your city sucks. And that's if you even live in a city.More than likely, you live in a sprawling suburb masquerading as a city. This is why you NEED Last Night's Party Magazine: to remind youthat not everyone is friggin' ugly as hell and that, yes, sometimes when you throw a party Madonna will show up. But be swift! Like everything else Madonna hitched her wagon to (e.g. electronic music, Mirwai, vintage western shirts and the Jews), Last Night's Party will probably be spectacularly uncool, if not downright hated, in about five years, thus resulting in amazing new heights of spectacular coolness. Get in on the ground floor with Issue #1! And if that doesn't do it for you, pix of chicks who are too cool to even comprehend your existence makes for some el primo j/o material.

Vice Magazine: The Photo Issue + Vice DVD
Reading is for chicks and gays. Pictures are the real deal "yo." Do you think the kids from the O.C. read? No. Do you think celebrities like Lindsay Lohan or Aaron Carter read? Hell no. They pay poor Chinese grad students to do all the reading for them. Sadly you don'thave that kind of power, and if someone like you is hanging out with Chinese grad students you probably actually enjoy reading to begin with, which is just pathetic. Don't get caught squinting at words likesome literate jackass. Be cool like the 30% of our population that is too cool to learn how to read and win yourself the Photo Issue of ViceMagazine. Because Muslim Pornography is the new Shakespeare - or should I say Shakesqueer?

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