Postcards from the Pug Bus                    

postcards from the pug bus

lifting a leg on popular culture since 2004
Hillary Clinton blames her election loss on white supremacy
ex-Prince Harry and Whatsherface desperately seeking a nickname
Microsoft introduces new anal font "for assholes with something on their minds"
White women can't jump, either
Ashli Babbitt proved that . . . "bang, you're dead"
Happy New Year, same as the Old Year, from the alt right's favorite satire site
four dogs in a row having sex from behind...
Whether you do it doggie style or scissors, sister, we've got suggestions for what to read when you're having a cigarette or a blunt afterward ...

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The Book of Daze℠
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Who gives a shit about National Bubble Bath Day? We don't. National Take Your Grand Kid Out to Lunch Day? Fuck that, and your grand kid, too. For the really fun days, the ones that nobody else has the imagination to celebrate, days like National Ain't Woke, Do Not Disturb Day℠, National Ignore the Ban on Plastic Straws Day℠, and others visit . . .  The Book of Daze℠.

Your Virtual GanjaScope
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A half-century's worth of smoking pot/hash/shatter/live resin carts has led us to conclude that horoscopes are more fun and more accurate when you're stoned...and they're even better when the person who wrote them was stoned, too. If you're looking to turn over a new leaf, visit GanjaScope.

The Grammar Prick
Meaner than a 250-pound lesbian Language Arts teacher, The Grammar Prick will split your head if you split an infinitive, dangle a participle, or dare to misuse penultimate. Visit The Grammar Prick.

There's a Saint for That
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There's a saint in every pot, and a prayer card for every condition. Just tell us where it hurts you, and we'll tell you whom to call and where to send your donations. Let us pray.

image of iconic screaming person
two lions having it off
The Who shortly after pissing on a tall wall
American Freedm Party
burma shave sign with jingle
subliminal Coca-Cola advert
image of worldwide web on computer screen
image of bicyclist
image of handicapped parking sticker
man on his knees fucking a tail pipe
fly agaric mushroom

Here's to a Brighter Day
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Brights neither seek nor accept any supernatural "explanations" for life. If that sounds like a bright idea to you, click here.

The Pug Bus Blogs On
seven pugs looking out the back of a Dodge Caravan whose hatch is raised
Our editor in briefs holds forth on why he doesn't want to be called a white person; the evil that is Mick Jagger; the rise of the alt-middle; and more!"

Yesterdays' Papers
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Read any two of these classic articles from May 2005 and get the third one for free. Pay only for shipping and handling. Offer good while supplies last.

US Prepared for Flu Pandemic Says Bush
A case of deja vu in reverse or what?

Johnny Depp to Read at Hunter S. Thompson Memorial
Johnny wore a wife-beater then he became one.

Mena Suvari Seeks Separation from Mira Sorvino
So who'd you rather . . . or rather not.

Local News
West Chester University Golden Ram  image
West Chester, PA, is home to a public-embarrassment Jackass has-been; a woke university; and the goddamn QVC shopping headquarters. That should be good for a mean-spirited, condescending local news story from time to time.

Pug Bus Quizzes 'n' Polls
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No rhetorical questions allowed. No penalties for guessing wrong. Find out just how much you do know about Schrödinger’s cat and other neat shit."

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.

Sample chapters . . . -1- -2-

You Can't Photoshop This

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 Pug Bus Interview
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Enjoy the interviews nobody else has the sack to do. We aren't afraid to stop totally at the surface, because no matter how beautiful a person might be on the inside, you've still got to look at him or her when you're speaking to 'em..Read on.


image of a gun 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.

  Beloved Fashion Icon Muammar el-Qaddafi Slain
        Oct 21, 2011 - 12:48
        MISURATA, Libya - From Milan to Miami, from Moscow to Macao, Hermes scarves are flying at half mast in memory of trend-setting fashion icon Muammar el-Qaddafi. The beloved haute couture trailblazer was slain yesterday in his hometown of Surt. He was sixty-nine, but in his heart he was still the twenty-seven-year-old stud muffin who took over the reins of fashion in Libya in 1969.

As the regenade designers who killed Colonel Qaddafi nearly came to blows over his Nokia cellphone-gun, his Swarovski-encrusted iPad2, his silk scarf, and one black Manolo Blahnik boot, true fashionistas around the world struggled to process the news of his death. BFF (Best Fashion Friend) North Korean dictator Kim Jong-il, issued the following statement.

"That mutha-fucka was crazy. At the surprise sweet-sixteen party my loyal subjects gave me in 2006 to express their gratitude for my sixteen years as the ruler of North Korea, that crazy Quaddafi tried to drink all the Veuve Clicquot from the Wave machine. What a hoot."

        Hotel, furniture, and clothes designer Todd Oldham expressed his awe at Colonel Qaddafi's ability to "wear anything and make it his; I mean literally make it his. Mo-Mo—we always called him Mo-Mo—was unique. You can't teach that sort of trademark indignation. It's got to come from within."

Daddy Q, as Colonel Qaddafi liked to be called, was not one of those fey, winsome boy-men who flaunt their androgyny like a gaily colored Michael Kors cape. His was a man's man handsomeness, rugged and impenetrable, a face that looked as if it had been ridden hard and put away wet.

It was also a face that was no stranger to a scalpel. In 1995 Brazilian cosmetic artist Dr. Liacyr Ribeiro was tasked with shaving years off Colonel Qaddafi's appearance by removing fat from his belly and injecting it into his face. The Libyan fashion leader also got hair plugs from a second physician at the same time. Dr. Ribeiro treated Colonel Qaddafi in his bunker, which "had two fully equipped and very modern operating rooms, a gym, and a swimming pool," said Dr. Ribeiro.

        True to Colonel Qaddafi's macho code, the procedures were done, at his insistence, with local anesthesia because he wanted to remain alert. Midway through he stopped to have a hamburger.

"Colonel Qaddafi told me that he had been in power for twenty-five years at that time, and he did not want the young people of his nation to see him as an old man," said Dr. Ribeiro.

"Mo-Mo wasn't about to let the chins fall where they may," laughed Gastronella Fellini-Rossi, long rumored to Colonel Qaddafi's favorite amuse bouche. "He was determined to rock that curly black mop until the end."

        The impact that Colonel Qaddafi had on fashionistas—not only in Libya but also around the world—would be impossible to overstate. Whatever his fashion mood—retro psychedelic, desert chic, military splendor, metrosexual cutting edge—it was copied from Khartoum to Kmart. The next time you see a proud man in desert regalia flowing down Main Street you can thank Colonel Muammar el-Qaddafi.

The man they called Muammar, Moammar, or Mu'ammar, Qaddafi, Gaddafi, Gathafi, or Kadafi carried his country's fashion banner fearlessly for forty-two years. Through his many moods and mysteries, he never strayed from his core beliefs in flare and authenticity.

        In the end, however, he was struck down and his garments rent—the fashion world's greatest sign of disrespect—by wannabe trend setters who weren't fit to lick the hems of his garments. These brigands tried to rationalize their dreadful actions by accusing Colonel Qaddafi of holding the youth of his country down with his eternal boyishness and his constantly evolving sense of style.

That, Dear Readers, is poppycock. Colonel Qaddafi had far more frenemies than true enemies. He gave and gave to his people—actually gave them the clothes off his back in the end—until he had nothing left to give. The Arab spring is in for a long, cold winter.

© The fine fucking print: The editorial content on this page is fictional. It is presented for satirical and/or entertainment purposes only. We cannot be held responsible for the actions of anyone who takes this sort of shit seriously. We also do not wish to be held responsible for any copyrighted material that sneaked onto this page when we weren't looking. If you can prove that anything on this page belongs rightfully to you, we will happily take it down and return the unused portion. No questions asked.

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