I'm taken back to those early days of Covid-19 lockdown, reading articles about how one might alleviate boredom and routine by sleeping on one of my guest bedrooms.

Good stuff, man.

Take all mah munny. It grows on that there tree!

Sounds legit to me. Let me call my authors Milka Magnesia and Preparayshun Aytch and maybe they'd like to get in on the fun.

Well, maybe she got tired of the red and thought she'd try out being a bottle blonde farm girl for a few volumes.

One of my faves from the "Let's Republish the Classics!" file.

Or some kind of semi-realistic illustration with a scribble font overlay. Or dispense with the realism and just use blobs of colour and use a white crayon font on the cheeky title "Oh F*ck My Life: Why I'm Sooooo Sad Even Though I'm Like Totally Rich!"

That kind of artistic élan is hard to find in the industry these days — small presses have more skin in the game when it comes to playing with covers, but commercial presses tend to stay in the middle lane and focus on what's going to sell, not what's going to grab your eyeballs.

It's a good start to your training as a soccer hooligan for 2026.

Maybe they were in the Louvre.

Hmm. I have some old gum somewhere that might not be fully reconciled with that word . . .

I have already apologized to my credit card...

Oh, a shakedown. (Groundbreaking.)

Hope they have a fresh supply of Restylane in Athens. Can't let the Mar-a-lago face slip down.

Believe it... sainthood might be next.

Says he who has never wanted, never been without, and will never know hardship.