Presenting the astrological world's first Ganjascope, a timeless foretelling that reveals your past, present, and future at once. We take the logical out of astrological
Support the Penultimate Day Campaign
Join the Pug Bus in its crusade to have December 30 declared National Penultimate Day. Our goal is to rescue penultimate from the puss-warted clutches of abusers of the language. What's more, we can give that snooty "Auld Lang Syne" business a well-deserved kick in the shorts. For the ultimate—and the penultimate—news about our glorious campaign, click here.
The Grammar Prick
Meaner than a powdery-smelling, dried-up, old-biddy Language Arts teacher, The Grammar Prick will split your head if you split an infinitive.
Visit The Grammar Prick
Postcards the Book
The book that inspired a website was written by someone who was actually raised by pugs, Postcards is a welcome addition to any nightstand.
Some photos cannot be shopped. They are perfect just the way god made them. Such perfection does not happen by accident, and wise, indeed, is the man who says "you can't photoshop this.""
The Fuck It List
Ten Things You Should Fllip the Bird to Before You Die
3. Seat Belts
4. FOX News
5. Paying for Music and Movies
6. Your Bucket List
7. Pissing Indoors
9. Stupid-ass Old Fart Hats
10. Going to Bed Early
Trigger warning! The content of this website may cause raging panic attacks in hypersensitive snowflakes who suffer from androphobia, galactophobia, emetophobia, corprophobia, claustrophobia, fear of taints, and other psycho-sexual maladies too numerous to mention.
Andre Bissette, the Patron Saint of Viagra Jan 6, 2015 - 11:10
The Catholic Church "teaches" that god calls each one of us to be a saint. Most people treat such invitations as crank calls, but your more impressionable types scurry out to get fitted for a sackcloth hoodie and a bed of nails.
One such loser was André Bessette (1845-1937), whose feast day is celebrated today. A sickly, frail sort as a child, André developed an unhealthy devotion to St. Joseph, perhaps the biggest loser in all of Christendom. Fuck me for asking, but what kind of kid hero worships a broken down, pussy-whipped old git with a hot, teen-age wife that he didn't even get to "know": sounds like recorded history's original house husband.
Small wonder that André failed as a shoemaker, blacksmith, and baker. The only job he could get after finally leeching his way into the Congregation of the Holy Cross was that of doorkeeper at Notre Dame College in Montreal. He later filled out his CV with stints as sanitation engineer, laundry co-ordinator, and messenger.
André amused himself by visiting the sick, whom he often massaged with olive oil in order to ease their suffering. One afternoon as André was ministering to an eighty-year-old man named Jacques, he spilled some olive oil on Jacques' pénis.
When André began to wipe up the oil, Jacques started to giggle. He was experiencing his first erection in forty years.
Word of this miracle spread after Jacques and his seventy-nine-year-old wife had welcomed their first child into the world. Befire long decrepit, old geezers with their hats and their dicks in hand were lining up at André's door.
André's superiors became uneasy; diocesan authorities were suspicious; doctors called André a quack, even after he had "healed" a man with a painful six-hour erection.
Follow the Pug Bus on Twitter or we'll follow your sorry ass home. Then you'll wish you had followed us!
The Pug Bus Blogs On
Although he no longer self-identifies with the basket of deplorables, our editor in briefs is still considered a basket case—and deplorable—in many precincts. He is determined to outlive that twat Mick Jagger, and he believes, to paraphrase Phish, "You've got one life, blog on!"