Behold the 34th Annual POOPlist . . . or How I Spent My Pandemic. This year’s POOP documents what might be called the very best records of the very worst year. But for a year steeped in such sheer and utter shititude, there somehow managed to be a surprisingly ample amount of inspired music (as noted by a few people). So, if you would, allow POOP34 to provide a tincture of balm during this long slog toward whatever the next normal turns out to look like. At least there is comfort to be found that Trump is mostly gone and vaccines are mostly here, so there are those flags to mostly rally around. In the words of Nostratownshend, let us hope that ’21 is gonna be a good year. This year 19 POOPsters decided that making lists was as a good a way to kill quarantine time as anything else.

January 2018
Dear POOPster:
It’s the end of the world as we know it . . . please help me I’m falling . . . don’t they know, it’s the end of the world . . .
nuclear error but I have no fear. . . just a few lines from songs that have assumed the stature of existential dread in the past year. Lately I feel that the whole country is drowning and I / live by the river. So, do we need POOP right about now or what? So with that as impetus, I present the 31st annual musings of the POmpous and OPinionated. Remember when WE were the self-important bloviating blowhards? Ah, nostalgia. To the 25 pompoids who have contributed this year, it’s time to break out the tiki torches and behold the collective pith amid the pandemonium. And if I’ve offended anyone with my political vitriol, to you I say, “Go deep. I’ve got some paper towels for you.”