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℠ Predicts the Death of CBD Oct 23, 2019 - 5:54
Aries (3/21–4/19): No matter how embarrassed you are by keyboard plaque, do not attempt to remove it with your dab rig torch. CBD tincture is more holistic and effective. Be sure to back up all your files and to close all applications before cleaning. Organic, free-range, chelated CBD tincture works best in northern climates. CBD aerosol spray works better in the South.
Taurus (4/20–5/20): There's a tarot card reader in your future—one who foretells the present. She will inform you that presently you are in Cancun, where you have been chosen grand marshal of the nudist colony’s Halloween Parade. As you can’t be in two places at once, you won’t have to pay her. You're short on rolling papers, anyway.
Gemini (5/21–6/21): Although your gemstone, the cow pie, is not so chic as the gemstones associated with other signs, it has virtues all its own. If your house were built of diamonds, for example, the assessment value would be so high you would probably have to sell off most of the land around it to pay your school taxes.
Cancer (6/22–7/22): You become incalculably rich when you invent Morning-After Mix, a dry cat chow that prevents unwanted pregnancies in cats that didn't come home the night before. Cat owners especially like the layer of Thorazine in every chunk of Morning-After Mix because it keeps cats close to home until they're out of season.
Leo (7/23–8/22): You inherit a large sum of money from an uncle that you never knew. His children, who were blessed with an extravagant talent for mimicry, are not pleased. One of them begins to look more and more like you, while you find it increasingly difficult to recognize yourself in the mirror. Offer them a settlement before it's too late.
Virgo (8/23–9/22): This will be your skinny Elvis month. The world is your hound dog for the thirty days . No longer will you travel at the speed of dark. Wealth, success, adulation, and a jive DEA badge are yours just for opening your mouth. Unfortunately, at the end of the month you will develop a craving for strange food and prescription drugs.
Libra (9/23–10/23): Persistence pays. Do not be afraid to dream just because no one seems interested in the Teletubby pocket fisherman at first. Adding a skeleton key and a roach clip to the mix are the only improvements standing between you and a lucrative appearance on the QVC channel and in Sunday newspaper supplements.
Scorpio (10/24–11/20): When we tossed the CBD-infused Candy Corn of Knowledge, the kernels fell into the shape of either a boot or a cow's udder. We couldn’t make out which because the dog ate the corn, then fell asleep. You will go on a prosperous journey (boot); someone is going to put the squeeze on you (udders); or the dog is going to get sick.
Sagittarius (11/21–12/21): An incontinent sky with clouds the color of soiled Pampers leaks on your parade. Don’t be grossed out. If you want to make watermelon, you’ve got to collect water. That doesn’t mean you should drink that water, unless the moon is full and you’re planning to use it to make Bubba Kush's Midnight Curry, No Hurry Tea, and Foot Lineament.
Capricorn (12/22–1/19): After smoking a half-gram cart of Cresco Labs Blueberry Space Cake on a dare, you are convinced you can evaluate your cat’s mental and physical condition by analyzing the scratching patterns in its litter pan. Your article on the subject is published in Cat Fancy magazine's "Trends of the Future" issue, but the trichomes are knocked of that bud when you discover too late that your cat's pan-scratching profile matches those of rabid felines.
Aquarius (1/20–2/18): Aquarians are prone to passive-aggressive dysfunction. Instead of telling neighborhood bullies where to get off, Aquarians give them bad directions. This only makes the situation worse because hell hath no fury like a bully with road rage looking for the person that told him to take a shortcut past a small, local grow guarded by a German shepherd.
Pisces (2/19–3/20): The key to wealth, riches, and the executive washroom is contained in the answer to the following riddle: If an infinite number of cats scratch for an infinite length of time on an infinitely huge redwood tree, will they produce a bust of Shakespeare or an immense pile of organic kitty litter?