I’m Loudt. I write highbrow, wisecracking stories for the annoyingly intelligent.
Here you’ll get everything you need to become the jesting know-it-all that all your friends deserve to be interrupted by.
Because what’s the point of being a wiseass if you can’t be entertaining — guess that old saying is true: if no one heard the tree falling, then that tree didn’t get a single laugh and all the other trees are sick of his bullshit.
Click on the follow button. I’ll do the rest.
Ok gloomer
A quarter-life crisis courtesy of the blockchain.
I feel old for crypto. This video of a 3-year-old being blockchain-savvy might’ve contributed:
At that age, I was lousily erecting sandcastles and beginning to understand the function of my tiny membrum virile (it has since grown considerably, and by that I mean my understanding).
If only my parents…
Soul for sale
Tastes like new but swallows like the same old shit.
Dying would be a way. Hear me out.
Who was van Gogh during his lifetime? A shy, unsuccessful epileptic on the verge of insanity that only sold one painting? Then he shot himself.
Going once, twice — sold for $82.5 million!
Let me be clear that, after reviewing the disadvantages…
The sweet spot of sociopathy, the “Cosmic Rectum Axis” theory, and other things that might help you ruin your sleep.
Pretend everyone’s watching
This might sound far fetched, but since astronomers proved that there’s more out there than the “observable universe,” we can’t discard the possibility that this whole existential shebang is orbiting around your butthole.
So maybe everyone is watching? No pressure.
If the “Cosmic Rectum Axis” is not your cup of…
There’s no need to get fancier than “get up and feel like working.”
What’s that self-help subgenre that straight-faced tells you about the benefits of taking a dump at the exact same meridian as Elon Musk?
Ah, morning routines.
As a person who suffers from mornings, I’ve been part of the target demographic long enough to notice them decay into a parody of…
Don’t blame the game. Blame the hustler.
No profession’s safe.
Entrepreneurship, writing, singing, influencing, goddamn cult leading — they all suffer from a particular subspecies of chronic overachiever known as the hustler.
Where there’s a follower count, there’ll be hustlers. Where there’s a bestseller list, a ranking list, a record list; there’ll be hustlers.
Smelling armpits sounds…
That massive server outage was just the tip of the Zuckerberg.
The 5-hour server blackout? That was nothing.
Who doesn’t have an intern that accidentally spills a bit of latte macchiato over the backup servers anyway?
The real blockbuster shitshow for Facebook started about a month ago. …
“At least I’ll never be as worthless as the G in Lasagna.”
As long as I’m not on Google’s first page for “failure,” there’s still hope.
Let’s try again later when my enemies are not playing with my voodoo doll.
Yes — wrong shape, wrong timing, wrong order. But things *are* coming together.
Things won’t look better if I take a deep…
“Are you feeling crapulent today?”
Emotional vocabulary hit a new low when a D’Amelio sister went out singing (and I quote): “I was really, really, really, really, sad.”
I don’t think she has the emotional range of a toaster — she simply lacks the words for more nuanced emotions.
Like the nostalgia for knowing you…
Everyone can stop losing their minds about dolphins now.
Long enough have Neanderthals carried a reputation for being the ugly, half-witted troglodytes we drove to extinction, which is unfair.
They should only be recognised as the ugly troglodytes we drove to extinction.
Because recently, while a bunch of scientists were sciencing it out, they discovered their wits were quite…
