I checked out “Anthems For Dogs Only” because I thought it was going to be an album of music you play for your dog. It’s not. It’s an album about having sex with dogs. While it’s hard to understand this guy’s bizarre speak-singing, in “Shut The Fuck Up” he brags, “My raps are better because of my bestiality experiences.”

And it’s not just a concept album – his second album “Damaged & Ruined” contains the tracks “Husky Cock” and “Everyone Should’ve Done Beastiality”, and his debut “Shoktro” contains the terms-of-service defying song “The Instructional Guide To Having Sex With Huskies,” where he insists that you find a romantic room before you begin the physical process of readying your dog for non-consensual intercourse.

You may be disappointed that Big Meme has colonized the funny side of the internet, but if you want a glimpse of hope for the future, take a moment to reflect on the fact that people don’t send “LOL Cats” around anymore. And the books they spawned are now worth a hot penny. Literally one cent.

Not just the LOL Cat Bible, either. “How To Take Over Teh Wurld: A Lolcat Guide 2 Winning” is on sale for $0.01. “I Can Has Cheezburger: A Lolcat Colleckshun” is also a penny. So is “How 2 Be Awsum: A Lolcat Guide 2 Life.”

We did it. We stomped a bad internet turd down into the shower drain. Corn and all, it’s consigned to the sewer of history, covers ripped off and returned to the publisher with extreme prejudice. Sure, the paper will be dissolved and recycled into the next book made out of a website, but for one fleeting moment, we were victorious over a corporate attempt to commodify humor.

“The Ironwood Collection Of Alpha Moves” is an ebook that promises to teach a married man how to use pickup-artist manipulation to improve his relationship with his wife. I strongly recommend you hit the “Look Inside” link to take a peek into this man’s attempt to cajole his wife into intercourse, but if you can’t stomach reading something that begins with a picture of a fedora, you should at least know that he refers to sex as “nookie.”

You should also know that to “make her panties wet”, you should text your wife, “I want Golden Corral tonight. I’ll meet you there at 7:30. Order me a Coke if you get there first.” A man’s man, you see, always gets a Coke. It is the most alpha of sodas, m’lady.

I think they had to label this candy bar “Slice’N'Share” for legal reasons, but we all know that nobody is going to slice this one-pound Snickers, or share it. If anyone does, it’ll be the guy at the bong store who buys a bong and loads it up with tobacco when he gets home.

At least it’s not a gigantic box of Nerds (weighing one and a half pounds, and containing 2,720 calories of almost pure sugar.)

The iGrow, a light-helmet with attached headphones, claims to make your hair grow back. As you might imagine, LED light has not been proven to reverse or prevent baldness. The iGrow retails for several hundred dollars.

Mescaline is one of the oldest known hallucinogens, and is found in peyote as well as San Pedro cacti (shown here.) Intrepid psychonauts can buy the cactus legally as “ornamental plants” and chug a blender full of cactus pulp, which may be less sacred than a desert ritual at dawn, but seems to work nonetheless.

Users of “technically legal” hallucinogens usually tiptoe around the methods and usage of their recreational compounds, like the “elves and gnomes” referenced in the customer reviews of root bark used to make DMT. The nudge-and-wink reviews continue with Heavenly Blue Morning Glory, a plant whose seeds contain lysergic acid amide, a relative of LSD. But that was not the case with C. Hall, the author of this cactus review, where he straight-up admitted to extracting the active ingredient and “tripping balls.”

It may be brazen, but at least it’s not bath salts.

In case you can’t handle the logistics of wrapping meat and vegetables in a foil pouch and sticking it on top of your gross car engine, the authors of Manifold Destiny have outlined the procedures for you. And in case you don’t want to use the “Look Inside” link, here’s a summary: Wrap any kind of food in foil, set it on your engine manifold, then drive for an hour and pray that your raw chicken doesn’t slide off into your serpentine belt or timing chain.

Then again, who needs power steering, or, uh… (googles parts of a car) pistons… crankshaft?