Volume Thirty: Mother Hubbard's Cupboard

Volume Twenty Eight and Twenty Nine: Is It Better Now? I Can't Tell

Volume Twenty Seven: This Is My Only Suit. And My Only Pasta.

cred. to Em

Volume Twenty Six

Volume Twenty Five: Faux Self Image Meets Shocking Reality

not that we all gotta be diamonds. but when you think of yourself as shimmery and multifaceted... well anyway.

Volume Twenty Four: Interesting That This Method Fails To Garner Results

Volume Twenty Three: Who Knows If It's Helping Or Just Spawning Mega-Viruses

Volume Twenty Two: They Just Don't SIT Right

Volume Twenty One: They Weren't Even Fashionable 4 Years Ago

Volume Twenty: Thanks For Calling Misery, How May I Illustrate Your Current Discomfort?

Volume Nineteen: Why Open Your Eyes At All?

Volume Eighteen: And Yet No Broken Limbs.

Volume Seventeen: This Only Makes Sense If You Know Exactly What This Is.

it's the clock bar at the bottom of a pc's screen and the rock is the top of the wireless logo, in the shape it takes when it isn't connected to the internet.

Volume Sixteen: Who Cares Who You Blame? It Still Sucks.

Volume Fifteen: More Evidence Of The Obvious

Volume Fourteen: Dogs Are Babe Magnets

Volume Thirteen: A House Just Isn't A Home.

Volume Twelve: It's Bad Enough...

Volume Eleven: You Just Don't Look Like The Kind Of People Who Can Sell Things.

Volume Ten: Best Not To Look Directly At It. Or It'll Occur To You How Many Other People Do Just That.

Volume Nine: Repetitive Strain At 23. That's Me.

Volume Eight: They've Already Played It To Death.

Volume Seven: The Friends Are Always Where The Grass Is Greener

Volume Six: If It Weren't Always Just SLIGHTLY Too Little, It Wouldn't Be So Insulting

Volume Five: It's A Part Of Any Good Creative Process

Volume Four: If You Want It Bad Enough, It Will Sell Out

Volume Three: It's Not Me, It's You

Volume Two: There's Nothing You Can Do To Make This Paper Happen

Volume One: You Must Be Living Under A Rock Not To Know That.