November 15th, 2021

LOU LIST:

  • 3) People Who Make You Buy Shit You Do Not Need but Also Help Drastically Improve Your Life also known as Girlfriends… You’re chugging along and thinking life is so grand; I have everything I could ever need. I have found the ideal number of pillows for my bed (two for function and three for decoration), I have no unnecessary responsibilities (read plants), and I am quite content with the way my bathroom is decorated. Then, along comes some inconsiderate ass hole who sweeps you off your feet and makes you fall in love with them by being so funny and adorable and good hearted and brave and authentic and they’re like “Jesus Christ, you have been living like this? Only five pillows? No entire room dedicated to indoor plants? Your bathmats aren’t bright and vibrant with a tactile pattern? You plebian. You’re uncultured. You’re spewl!” And then I look around and realize that my life has been a mess. It has been garbage. I have been living in the trash compactor from Star Wars except without the snake monster thing because my landlord doesn’t allow pets. But your boy Lou is now the proud owner of two (2) extra pillows, ten (10) plants, and two (2) fuzzy blue bathmats that we actually don’t like, and will be replacing with an extra set of beige ones from my girlfriend’s apartment. The blue ones just don’t quite work with the space. We both feel very strongly about this. But I now look around my new apartment, still cluttered with moving boxes and items I haven’t found a place for yet, and realize that life is much better lived with more pillows, and plants, and a rotating cast of bathmats (all read girlfriend).
  • 2) Helping The Illiterate In Every Facet Of Their Life also known as The Expansion of Spellcheck… The year is 1995, Gangsta’s Paradise by LL Coolio (the double L’s both stand for litigious (is that a good joke? No but I made it anyway because I have to give the fan(s) what they came here for)) is on the radio, there is a non-depressing news event from 1995 that I couldn’t find after doom scrolling Google results for “News Events 1995” on the TV, your sister just made you some 40 watt Easy Bake Oven brownies, you’re trying to spell the word ‘captain’ to create your AOL Email account but you are a dumb child and misspell it ‘captian’ and now it is almost 20 years later and you still cringe when you remember going by Captian[FIRST NAME REDACTED]17@aol.com. It still amazes me that it took them so long to realize that people are dumb and can’t spell in all aspects of their life and not just on Microsoft Word. I don’t just suddenly become literate because I am spelling something on Google Chrome. If I could, I would get that little paper clip ass hole (RIP Clippy: Pancaked by Drunk Dump Truck Driver) implanted into my cerebral cortex to help me spell words like cerebral cortex when I am handwriting a letter to my lobotomist. I would hate for a doctor of all people to think I had already had an ice pick hammered into my skull. That would be so embarrassing.
  • 1) And this week’s Lou of theWeek is The Thing I Hate When Others Do It but Love It When I Do It also known as Taking Time Off… When I found out Demi Adejuyigbe was done making 21st of September videos, when I found out that Branson Reese wasn’t going to be making a daily comic anymore, when I found out that Scrubs WAS going to continue even after the main people left the show, I became furious about time off. Other people taking time off can kiss my mother fucking grits. Your job is to keep me entertained at all times. Fill my insatiable hunger for content. Netflix, Twitter, video games, books, and music are not enough. If I am forced to live in reality for more than 5 minutes I fear that it will kill me. Everything is happening so often and so much and it never ceases that, without constant distraction, the crushing weight of existence will end me. So, to all of you creators out there, if you take even a second off, I will name you as a person of interest in my death. I do however want to make abundantly clear that I am allowed to take time off and it is actually very good for me to do so. I’m sure all my readers would agree that a couple months without the Piss List was just the thing they needed. My biggest fans are constantly yelling at me to take more time off, please stop, and retire and, as a man of the people, I try to give them what they want. But, sometimes, the internet at work goes down and you can’t do anything for a couple of hours so you have to write a new Piss List entry. Which I refer to as Taking a Break From Taking a Break: The Ultimate Form of Break Taking.

PISS LIST:

  • 3) When Something You Love To Do Is Ruined By Being Somewhere You Hate To Be also known as Having to Blow Ass at Work… Taking a shit is better than yoga. It is a much harder workout, and the end result is much more stress relieving. Sometimes I turn the space heater on high and do Bikram Dumping. I like to pull up a really good Twitter thread and take my time in the bathroom. If I find something particularly enlightening, I come out weighing exactly what I went in weighing. My colon five pounds lighter but my brain five times more full of knowledge. The only thing that ruins this heavenly experience? When the city is working on the water pipes but you forget so you go to the bathroom and blow huge ass and then try to flush the toilet which doesn’t flush because the water is turned off so you just have to leave the turd sitting there and hope no one sees you leave the bathroom and knows you dealt the deuce but when you open the door to leave there are two women standing outside the bathroom talking and now you have to spend the rest of the day sweating as you imagine the scenario where a male coworker goes into the bathroom and comes out and says “oh my god someone took a poop in the dry toilet and just left it” and then they all know you were the last person to come out of the bathroom and now everyone at work calls you “The Arid Pooper” when you walk into the room and then you start crying and they say “too bad you can’t use those tears to flush your turd” and your boss knows he should fire you but he is afraid of a lawsuit so he keeps you around but you have your own private bathroom that has a litter box instead of a toilet. Has this ever happened to you? Has it? Call me now please.
  • 2) Not Understanding Anything Someone Is Saying but It All Boils Down To Essentially Some Things Are Like Other Things and Some Things Are Not also known as Poetry… I hate art, Scooby Doo, and poetry all for the same reason – I do not understand what they are trying to say. The ideal poem follows thusly: I was walking in the woods, and I saw two paths, I checked the trail guide to see which one was shorter, because I did not want to walk so far. New England transcendentalism? More like Henry David Thoroughly wasting my precious time with this poetry bull shit. Poets write like they’re getting paid by the word which maybe they should be since they’re all starving artists. Boom. Sick burn. What is the difference between an angsty seventh grade goth’s poetry that they wrote in math class and Walt Whitman? Nothing except that the seventh grader has a hot meal for dinner, family who loves them, and is less racist (probably). The wings of a bird represent freedom no wrong they represent hallow bones and things that I keep hitting with my car somehow which, after some digging, I learned isn’t a huge problem for other people despite the fact that it takes at least two hands for me to count the number of birds I have hit in my life. Or one hand I guess if the hand has seven and a half fingers on it. The only acceptable poet in the world is Richard Brautigan who writes simple poems for morons about being horny and women and being horny for women. Classic relatable shit.

“I feel horrible. She doesn’t

love me and I wander around

the house like a sewing machine

that’s just finished sewing

a turd to a garbage can lid”

Hell yeah, dudes fucken rule!!!!
  • 1) And this week’s Piss of the Week is In Theory Very Exciting but In Practice I Would Rather Never Improve My Standing In Life also known as Moving… Ok imagine your living situation right now. Then imagine it better. Pretty sick, right? Wrong! Not sick. Not sick at all. When did I get so much shit? I only use like five things a day tops so why do I own all this nonsense? I have three different belts but can only wear one pair of pants at a time make that make sense to me. You’re telling me I have to take all this shit in here and move it somewhere else? Would it not be easier to just tear down my current apartment and build the new one around my stuff? Wouldn’t that be less work for me? Sure, I could just throw away some of my bullshit but what if I decide I want to wear my giant Turd Ferguson cowboy hat to the bank so they will give me a bigger loan because they will assume I am a massively wealthy oil tycoon? That’s what I thought. I need all my precious shit. The only positive to moving? I can hurt all of my friends’ backs. Which normally requires us getting blackout drunk on whiskey and wrestling in the front yard.

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