Get a sense of humor, Grandpa

Fuck you, I let you wear one of those fake knife hats! THAT SHIT IS HILARIOUS. I don't just put those on anybody, you know. What is wrong with you, Basset Hound? We used to have fun together. Remember the time we called up the Chinese restaurant and pretended we wanted to order you? And remember the time we went out to a bar to pick up chicks, but then we were all "bros before hos," and went back to the apartment and played X-Box? Now all you do is wear cardigans and take your kids to the fucking park. NOT COOL, BASSET HOUND.

You know, I invited you to this party so you could have a good time, relax a little. I know things have been crazy at the office. But I start busting out the party favors, and all of the sudden it's bummer central in here. I'm gonna need you to lighten the fuck up and put on this beer hat, or you should just put your tail between your legs and go home.

Proportion is a bitch

The long-arm craze that has been sweeping the monkey world has finally gotten out of control, and this gibbon is the direct result of that sad scandalous trend that mixed primates, plastic surgery, and international intrigue (loosely). He has basically sunk into the kind of deep depression the people at The Fake Institute (TFI) were talking about a few weeks ago when this trend hit its peak.

Why would you do that to yourself, Gibbon? Didn't you know that the name "gibbon" is already hilarious? You even have a funny hairdo! Don't even pretend like you aren't disappointed in yourself and it's me you're worried about. I've dealt with far worse on a monkey, I can take it. I know you realize deep down that this was a mistake. The question is what happens when the next trend is making tools out of sticks? Are you going to be eating ants like everyone else? You're all out of whack, Gibbon, and it's just not cool anymore. It's time to part ways, I'll see you in twenty years on VH1.

Own a piece of history

You prayed for this day from the beginning. You thought it wasn't possible, but you hoped it could happen anyway. You placed your faith in God and the publishing industry. You put your dog on notice.

Well guess what, people? THE MOMENT YOU HAVE DREAMED OF HAS ARRIVED. For the first time ever, a blog is being turned into a book, and that blog is FUCK YOU, PENGUIN. Yes, the project thirty years in the making is finally available for pre-order at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Borders, and your favorite neighborhood internet book dealer.

DO NOT RIOT IN CELEBRATION. The best way to proceed is to do the following:

1. Click on one of the links.
2. Pre-order the book.
3. Calmly wait for it to arrive on or around August 25th.
4. Organize some sort of religion based around the book, preferably involving purchasing more copies.

How did I come up with such a mind-blowing idea? Well, it wasn't easy. After all, people do not just email you asking to make your blog into a book. But I thought, hold on: blogs are just books but for free. Why not charge people for what they can get for free?!? It's working for newspapers! Plus, I've been pretty disappointed in the reach of the internet recently. I know it's been called the "information superhighway," but recently, it's felt more like the "information cul-de-sac" (please give me credit when you quote that line at parties). Who really goes on the internet anymore anyway? Books, on the other hand, are creeping up the charts like "whoa." OK, I'm just going to say it: books are going to be for the 21st century what books were for the 20th century. Believe that!

I know this seems like a cheap way to cash in on work that should be done for the good of humanity, and trust me, it is. But the book is so much more than that. Full color photos. Physical reproductions of the classics, but MORE THAN A THIRD NEW MATERIAL unavailable anywhere else. Plus, I made it just good enough that scholars will be evaluating its impact for years to come, but not so good as to prevent other people who would write good books from getting too discouraged and giving up on their careers. But at the end of the day, getting the word out about the penguin threat is the most important thing, and that's what this book does. In fact, the surprisingly handsome author of the Illmatic installment in the 33 1/3 series on classic albums called it "The most important book ever."

SO BUY YOUR COPY TODAY. Do not wait, because otherwise you will have to buy it after your friends already have their copies and have developed an entire set of inside jokes based on the mind-blowing revelations contained within. If you act now, I will even throw in a receipt with every order! (Participation may vary.)

Moles have comically low expectations of themselves

Oh, hooray, Mole. You made it out of the ground. Why are you so excited? DO YOU WANT A FUCKING MEDAL? Pretty pathetic, Mole. First of all, you are a mole, it's kind of like a dolphin being impressed it can swim. And second, being blind doesn't count as a disability in moles. Maybe if you were driving or operating heavy machinery the look of pride and joy on your face at the moment would be understandable. But at this point, this is standard meat and potatoes mole stuff, dude. So just because you're making me share in your joy doesn't mean I'm going to let you get away with it. I'd stay underground until I had a clear life plan moving forward if I were you, Mole.

And please, nail clippers. They are like a dollar. Don't tell me you're too lazy to use a shovel.

I don't approve of you either

I know you don't like me, Sea Turtle. I can tell not only because of that look plastered across your face, but because you sent me that report card that had "Needs Improvement" marked all the way down the list. Well, guess what, Sea Turtle? I DON'T THINK YOU'RE SO FUCKING GREAT EITHER. All you do is live underwater where you can't breathe and then come to my beach and bury your eggs all over the place. No one thinks you're better than a tortoise, Sea Turtle, so stop thinking you can judge everyone just because I followed you around the tank at the aquarium for an hour and a half.

Yes, perhaps at one point I may have said something to the effect of, "If only a sea turtle would like me, I could be happy," possibly during a deposition. And it's possible I wanted to have flippers like yours, but knowing how much of a dick I would turn into, I think I'm going to ride this opposable thumb thing out. You see, Turtle (pun intended, fucker), I like my life. Could I change a few things? Sure. But I'll be damned if I'm going to let a sea turtle come over here and tell me how to go about doing it.

What is even going on here?

Here we go. The silky fucking hen. What is this thing thinking when it goes outside every day? It's like David Bowie meets Tim Burton meets Colonel Sanders. Did you just step out into the light after a night of clubbing? CHICKENS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO COCAINE, SILKY HEN.

I'm just going to be honest: I'm terrified of you. I don't know if it's the pom-pom specifically or just that I didn't know it was possible to get whites that white, but something about your look says "I'm coming to steal your dreams." So stay away from me, you dream-stealing poultry devil.

Caracals just have to be different

What are you trying to prove, Caracal? THERE IS A BASIC CAT TEMPLATE THAT YOU HAVE TO FOLLOW. Ears are only allowed to be so different. There's regular cat ears and folded cat ears. Occasionally, you can have frog eyes for ears (only if you're good). That's fucking it, Caracal. There is nothing in the cat guidelines that allows for custom whale-tails with permed ear-hair. Maybe if it looked a little better I could let it slide. Are you trying to get television reception with those things? Don't even try to flatter me with the come hither look, either, I'm not falling for it. The last time they let a cat get away with some radical shit this happened. Not on my watch, buddy, NOT ON THIS BLOG'S WATCH.