They may look like cute little stuffed animals, but when I think of Pickies all I can see is a jar full of scabs with with the label pIckIeZ scotch taped to it. Don’t ask. You don’t want to know.

I’ve got a fever, and the only prescription is:

a) coated 200 mg Advil tablets.
b) more cowbell.
c) raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.

Tired of boring, predictable games? Has the same-old-same-old got you down? Well rejoice, for the next Dig Your Own Grave exclusive has arrived! I am so here for you fruitcakes. I am your pusher. I am your fat sweaty sugar daddy. I am the cushion for your pushin. I… might have crossed the line with that last one.

This game has haunted me since I was a child. That sound it makes when you lose is the sound of all my life’s failures rolled into one gut-wrenching mechanical groan of disapointment. BWRAAAAAWRR(you’re dumb)RRRRR(you’re a failure)RRRRR(stupid)RRR……

My least favorite part is getting smothered by the balls.

A new day is dawning on The Great Fish Week of 2008. We’ve nearly reached the end, and I tell you I couldn’t be more excited. In celebration, I’ll be shoving a live trout down my trousers, and I suggest you do the same. It’s delightful!

How dare Mr. Hand interrupt Mr. Whiskers while he packs for his vacation to Disneyland.

omg I want a cat elevator

Just remember… it’s never lupus.