Donna Lypchuk is a pop-culture kamikaze, a middle-brow crazy, a fast food conceptualist, a fun fur-frenzied, lipstick-smudged, chain-smoking, junk-cult, fun-loving humorist. And she's baaaacckk... Lypchuk's column, 'The Necrofiles' is the primary reason most people in Toronto pick up the alternative 'Weekly eye' every Thursday morning (and we have the surveys to prove it). In fact, we would go so far as to say her pop culture critiques, feminist rants, spiritual musings and aimless ramblings would make the paper fly off racks across the city even if it weren't free. The proof is in the pudding: people were thrilled to pay for Donna's first collection of columns, 'The Necrofiles', when it was published five years ago, and now Insomniac Press is proud to capitalise on her success with a cleverly titled sequel, 'The Necrofiles II'. Over seventy new hilarious, strange and bitter columns prove once more why Lypchuk is so often referred to as a female Hunter S Thompson or Charles Bukowski -- though she prefers to think of them as male Donna Lypchuks. The book showcases Lypchuk's hard-hearted but occasionally soft-hearted views on feminism (the other F-word), love (a grave mental disease), art (from amateur porn to bad restaurant decor) and apocalypse fever (start drying that beef jerky now). Proving conclusively that messiness is next to godliness, Satan is the ideal boyfriend and one out of four Canadians is certifiably loony, this book answers all the important questions. And most of the trivial ones.