Do-It-Yourself Coffins for Pets and People kept me riveted, and I think it was the will-they-or-won't-they relationship between the fingers and the sawblades.

I grew up with a healthy fear of saws. My shop teacher had lost so many fingers that when he waved goodbye it looked like he was shaking a leaky water balloon. The author must have had the same shop teacher, because some of his very first advice is to always use a pushing device when you're feeding wood through a saw. And then this advice is ignored. Flagrantly and often. Every page has closeups of delicate human fingers inching towards spinning blades ... it's like when a nipple slides dangerously close to the edge of a bra -- it's so much more intense than if she just yanked her whole boob out. This book is the softcore version of a table saw accident. It's what murderers masturbate to before their parents let them watch Hostel.

Coffin Tip #3: If someone, at any time, describes a coffin as "ready for action," never die next to them without a partner. In the industry, we call this a "coffin buddy."

It might seem overwhelming, but there is an exhaustive table of contents for the griever on the go. If you've lost an ex-wife to a sudden strangulation, you'll want to skip right to the chapter about whether or not you can blame God. You know, if I can keep it real for a second, the problem I've always had with books for dummies is that once your reader has agreed that it's okay for you to call them a dummy, there's no point in the author having respect for them. And the author of Grieving for Dummies doesn't-- this might actually be more condescending than Xbox 360 for Dummies.

Since the reader is an idiot,

Chapter 9: The Loss of Pets lets him or her know that most domesticated animals have shorter life spans than humans, and one day you will watch that thing die. So now I get why they were laughing at me at the cake store when I paid for my fish's next 50 birthday cakes in advance, but why the fuck should that make me feel better that it's dead? If people took comfort from the stupidly obvious, they would read coffee cup warning labels at funerals.

Okay, so after hundreds of pages of comfortless facts about the miseries of misery, the grief-stricken reader has theoretically dealt with his or her loss. Then on page 267, the fucking book hits you with this:

What!? Is this to make the misery of my dead family pale by comparison? Was this included as an example of why people shouldn't draw fucking comics while they're watching cancer spread? This cartoon is so tragic that if you look at it while thinking about your dead loved one, your memory of them will look you in the eye and shit on the floor of your brain forever. Maybe this book works on idiots, but

Grieving for Dummies will turn a non-dummy's grief directly into hate. And you won't believe how the book ends. Spoiler alert:

I'm not sure how appropriate this is for the occasion. "Do you miss your dead husband!? Then you'll love Sudoku!" And it's not only inappropriate, it's potentially damaging-- if your departed loved one was a fucking idiot, a

Grilling for Dummies apron that says "Tickle my ribs!" is only going to remind you of your loss. You'd have to start the whole book over!

Oh, but the sex is much more explicit than a scooter accident. It is full in-and-out elderly pornography. And there's something so extra dirty about watching people have sex when they're doing it for education and true love. My favorite couple is 50ish Ruth & Nick, who came ready to make a show out of it. They're each a few classifications deep into a BMI chart and, at least for a second or two, they're dressed in glittery underpants. I imagine that long ago there was a seamstress making a pair of satin panties for men in XXL and thinking, "No good can come of this." She was wrong. Nick makes them work.

Nick and Ruth's sex scene comes right after an informative section on pubococcygeus muscles. The video let me know that at a certain age, women replace these muscles to make room for bridge score sheets. One happy side effect of this is that when women over 40 go swimming, sea creatures are able to both visit and escape their pelvic floor.

Nick and Ruth hate all the cleanup of Ruth's pubococcygeus muscles dropping constant waste where she stands, so they incorporate a kegel exerciser into their lovemaking. It's like a dumbbell for your vagina, and with truly amazing porno acting skills, Nick pretends to give it to Ruth as a present. She is excited and fascinated by it like a caveman seeing a cigarette lighter, but no one seems to care that her bra somehow vanishes mid-conversation. Then, in glittery underpants, Nick insists on reading the instructions. "And then you put ... you insert it up... uhh... insert it up to the first

knob ." Ruth responds, "Eww, it's cold." I seriously cannot wait for geriatric sex -- it is going to be hilarious.

So it's a little inspirational that Patrick didn't call him a dumbass and roll away. And it doesn't get any better when the karate starts. The instructor, unwheelchaired Sensei Gregory Aldred, seems to have learned karate from a video about wheelchair karate, which as far as I'm concerned, is now the very worst place a person can learn about karate. Oh, and don't think that Patrick is some long time student of Sensei Greg and together they've developed a special wheeled version of the ancient Oriental fighting arts. Sensei Greg saw Patrick come into his dojo yesterday and his eyeballs turned into dollar signs.

Sensei Greg begins the workout by sitting so close that Patrick can't move his right arm. It doesn't matter because by any standards, Sensei Greg isn't very good at karate. In fact, I've never actually seen anyone be so bad at anything and not die from it. Patrick follows along fine with only one hand since Sensei Greg's style of karate is mostly kegels.

When someone is more douchebag than warrior, they tend to embrace the "spiritual" aspects of martial arts. Sensei Greg is all over that stuff. Every fruity pantomime he does has some dubious cultural symbolism and he throws punches like he's mending a dress. But the worst thing about this video is that it retailed for over $20, lasts less than 10 minutes, and teaches you nothing. Three minutes of finger stretching, three minutes of arm-waving, and three minutes of watching Patrick throw punches for the first time is not a workout, and if anything will only make the viewer more handicapped. It's so fucking short that the video in its entirety fits on one YouTube clip. And speaking of, please enjoy:

Seanbaby invented being funny on the Internet. You can follow him on Twitter, face him on Facebook, or fall in love all over again on Seanbaby.com.

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