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
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 dried-up, old-biddy Language Arts teacher, The Grammar Prick will split your head if you split an infinitive or if you dare misuse penultimate. 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 Quit While Not Going Gently into That Good Night
3. Seat Belts
4. FOX Fucking News
5. Paying for Music and Movies
6. Picking Up Pills That You Drop
7. Pissing Indoors
8. Talking Baby Talk to Children
9. Stupid-ass, Dip-Shit, Old Fart Hats
10. Bathing or Showering Regularly
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.
GanjaScope℠ Is President Trump's Favorite Read Oct 31, 2019 - 5:27
Postcards from the Pug Bus (2PB) has "heard it from a friend who, heard it from a friend who, heard it from a friend" that GanjaScope℠ is President Trump's "favorite read." At least that's what friend #1 (initials IT) told 2PB. Friend #2 (initials KC) reports that "Donald has someone read it to him as soon as it's posted." Friend #3 (initials SB, an ex-friend, actually) was ceremoniously dumped by the White House for telling reporters that "the president bases most of his policy decisions on that shit."
We are proud and humbled and slightly tumescent, therefore, to present the latest reiteration of the GanjaScope℠, astrological projections to Make America Great Again.
Aquarius (1/20 - 2/18): Our fates are often influenced by the people with whom we share a sign. Your dominant sign buddies are the composer Mozart and the president Ronald Reagan. This explains why, even though you love music, you can't remember the words to any songs. Warning: unless you change the password on your BudFinder app, oh shit, too late. My bad.
Pisces (2/19 - 3/20): A weekend field trip with the Kennett Square mycophile society is followed by a mushrooming panic attack. You wind up in an emergency room where all the other patients look like Adam Sandler characters. Someone is trying to tell you that your eat-it-first-ask-questions-later approach to life—needs modification. Remember: the unexamined mushroom is not worth eating.
Aries (3/21 - 4/19): A loud, twangy voice awakens you from a nightmare in which you are trapped in a 22-Plex Cinema whose only feature is "Rambo: Last Blood"; but the sweet waters of relief turn schmutzig when you realize that the twangy voice is coming from Brooks and Dunn on your neighbor's stereo. Do you crank up Slayer in retaliation; do you attempt to reason with your neighbor; or do you decide to get more stoned? Um ...
Taurus (4/20 - 5/20): This week the things that turn you on turn on you. You go for a drive to clear your head, but nearly drive into a tree when you notice the following sticker: “Objects seen in the rear view mirror may not necessarily be real.” Such is the price that Taurans pay for their artistic leanings. Observe the speed limit for the time being and resist the temptation to think of yourself in the third person.
Gemini (5/21 - 6/21): Geminis who smoke too much pot suffer from automonosis—the tendency to become bored with one's own company. If you need to get away from yourself, here's a tip: you don't have to die in order to be reincarnated. People who don't like themselves often find happiness when they become somebody else. Customer service operators on the Dark Web are ready to assist in this transformation.
Cancer (6/22 - 7/22): Your sun is in arrears and your moon is in contempt. Ordinarily this would mean that you should be incognito, but these are not ordinary times. The presence of the planet BongRip in your literary house and the emergence of the Ringo star in your musical constellation point to the need for the bold initiative instead. Remember, the grand gesture is the prelude to grand success. Think large, live large, and—as Lane Bryant and her gal pap Oprah are my judges—large will be your shadow on the world's stage.
Leo (7/23 - 8/22): Your fondness for irony mutates into a full-blown paradoxical reaction to life. Dandruff shampoo turns you into a blizzard with feet. Cough medication makes you hack and sputter like a flooded outboard motor. Deodorant produces a rancid, road-kill aroma about your personal zones. I'd lay off the Beano, contraceptive devices, and hemorrhoid preparations if I were you.
Virgo (8/23 - 9/22): Virgos are ruled by the buttocks, the seat of all power. Their gemstone is porcelain, their favorite time of day is right after meals, and they prize regularity above all other virtues. Bring these portions to bear on the current run-on-sentence condition that characterizes your burnt-out-roach of a life.
Libra (9/23 - 10/23): Headaches can be caused by an excessive number of insufferably cute magnets on the refrigerator door. Leftover issues will overwhelm the new year before it's even out of diapers unless you take control of your environment. A house is not a home just because it's cluttered. One person's trash is another person's treasure only if one of them is homeless. Practice Organized Living, the places and spaces of your life will thank you for it.
Scorpio (10/24 - 11/21): The oracles at High Times, Dope, and the Reader's Digest suggest that any major decisions you make in the near term be guided by the following maxim: Half a joint is better than none only when the sum of the hypotenuse is greater than or equal to the hexadecimal value of burnt orange. If you must color your world, color it something that doesn't clash with your aura, which runs to earth tones. Anything red—be it wine, underwear, or meat—could be misinterpreted by those closest to you, including yourself.
Sagittarius (11/22 - 12/21): You poke fun at a mime, who replaces your shadow with a copy of his. After several embarrassing lunchtime incidents and a near arrest on obscenity charges, you begin going out only at night. This is a dreadful inconvenience, but it does solve that problem you were having with wet birds. Because you can’t call in sick forever, you must regain control of your shadow. Yoga and meditation are the best solutions, but if your schedule is too crowded, wearing a CBD-infused copper bracelet may help.
Capricorn (12/22 - 1/19): The inclination to be status conscious and inhibited are so Capricorn that you rarely stop to ask yourself why you are hyper-cautious. Why do you get caught with your pants up while everyone else is skinny dipping in the communal hot tub? Why do you have to march to the beat of a metronome? If your inner Laura Ingraham wants to bitch slap your outer Michelle O, don’t file a restraining order, scalp tickets instead. Life is a party. Why not monetize it?