
Cover design by the same fucking genius who brought you your church bulletin and your company newsletter

On the night you were born, two polar bears fucked hard and nasty, knees trembling with each thrust, while the moon looked on with voyeuristic pleasure.
It doesn't have anything to do you, just something I'm pretty sure happened that day.

Sometimes things seem like such a good idea when you're down in Cabo for spring break and fueled entirely by tequila and flings, but later you just feel like a dipshit. Getting a lower-back outhouse tattoo was one of those things.

'50s-era comic books will make a dog's head sprout from the top of your own head! I shit you not! Invest in stovepipe hats, everyone!

You don't see it? It's fucking huge. Look, I'll put it up on the big screen. There, right there. Pop that motherfucker before you make the ensigns vomit all over the bridge.

Number one: Never, never fall asleep during a fourth-grade mosaic-making class.
Fuck!

Redundant! If there's a Scotsman who isn't a sodding bastard, I've never heard of him.


Please, please don't buy the third edition, which erroneously claimed that a long cock can dent your child's forehead during a vigorous banging. Also, tequila is not actually an FDA-approved remedy for morning sickness. We have revised the shit out of those chapters.

Get that out of your mouth, you fucker. You don't know where that thing's been.


Bloat like a lady, smile like a serial killer.


... you will never see the back of that motherfucker.


The title is clever, sure, but not as clever as it could be.
Did you consider PhoDOG•RUFFy?
Or FIDO•gra•FI(FI)? Suck on that one, asswipe.