#38 - "Behind The Bell" by Dustin Diamond

Turd In The Rough.

(1.7/10)

By HRVA

(Reddit Open Review Contest)

Editor's Note: We held an open review contest on our subreddit, challenging all those willing to read and review this Piece Of Shit™. We only had one submission, but luckily it was pretty great. 

I was 15 or 16 when Saved by the Bell first aired on TV, but I can’t wax nostalgic about it like many people do because I never made it through a single episode. I thought the show was mega lame, since I used to get my kicks doing hardcore stuff like mountain climbing and skydiving. All right, fine, I used to get them playing Champions of Krynn and doing the five knuckle shuffle to Hustler centrefolds in my bedroom.

This is beyond hardcore anyway.

Although I wasn't exactly a fan of SBTB, I was aware that some guy named Dustin Diamond played the character Screetch on the show. I also knew that Diamond published a gossipy memoir years later about the lurid off-screen shenanigans all his colleagues got up to, but it backfired somehow and made everyone hate him. That gossipy memoir is, of course, the subject of this review.

Before I sink my teeth into the meat of Behind the Bell, such as it is, I’d first like to draw your attention to its terrible cover. Seriously, look at it:

What the hell? Diamond looks like a second rate magician whose pièce de résistance is levitating a cardboard cut-out of some kids with his crotch. It’s a cautionary tale for aspiring cover designers, a warning that Photoshop can do a lot of things, but concealing a lack of imagination isn't one of them. Or are things not what they seem? What’s interesting is that the man responsible for this cover is François Turgeon, and if you go to his website (and scroll quite a way down) you’ll see that it’s a steaming heap in a collection of otherwise great designs. Does this mean its awfulness is deliberate? I really can’t say for sure, but it’s an intriguing possibility.

Anyway, Diamond begins Behind the Bell with the non-revelations that Hollywood has a seedy side, that a lot of people there who find fame as kids are pretty messed up (including himself), and how the actors on SBTB weren't like their characters in real life. He also tells us how he constantly felt like an outcast on the set of the show, how much he thinks fame sucks, and how he craves being surrounded by good people in his lifelong quest for truth and personal growth. Oh yeah, and he also wants us to know right off the bat that Tiffani-Amber Thiessen is a total slut.

It’s obvious she’s just a dick dock, amirite?

We’re not even halfway through the introduction and Diamond’s prose already oozes animosity. He has a hate-boner for many, many people, but he seems to harbour the granddaddy of all throbbing hate-boners for Thiessen. He can barely mention her name without inferring that she must have opened her legs for every guy alive during the 1990s. Obviously, he has some sort of moral objection to that or something, right? Not likely, because he devotes a great deal of space later in the book to bragging about how he’s nailed at least 2000 women. That makes him the male equivalent of a cum dumpster (cum dispenser? Cum dumpster-filler-upper? Fuck it, I don’t know) so he really can’t talk. So why the hate? Well, Thiessen had an air of queenly superiority about her, apparently. Also, she didn't like Diamond and told him at least once to go fuck himself. How this makes her an epic whore is a question I suspect only elementary school playground logic can answer.

Maybe it was decided by a game of rock, scissors, trollop.

The non-Thiessen girls on the show aren't treated anywhere near as roughly. Diamond seems to give Elizabeth Berkley a break at least partly because he thinks she was impressed by a photo he took of his dick. He says Lark Voorhies was a bit weird and distant, but then she would be because she was probably abused by men, huh? And although she wasn't a cast member, NBC vice-president Linda Mancuso was totes cool because she let him throw a fuck into her, allegedly. We’ll never know if she really did or not because she eventually died of breast cancer. (In case you’re wondering, I too had a moment where I pondered if it might be possible to get cancer as a result of letting Screetch into one’s cooter. We’re horrible human beings).

Diamond definitely didn't get on with the boys from SBTB. For instance, he derisively refers to Mark-Paul Gosselaar as the ‘Golden Child’, denouncing him as a marginally talented, leg-shaving, steroid-doing bottle blonde who probably only got the job because of the strength he lent the guy when they auditioned for their roles together. Ouch. Mario Lopez was a man-whore, a bully and likely would have become a convicted rapist if NBC’s lawyers hadn't paid one of his victims $50K to keep her mouth shut. Double ouch. (Diamond offers zero evidence for any of these claims, in case you were curious). He also refers to many of his professional colleagues in the wider world of show business including Neil Patrick Harris, Jeremy Jackson and those guys from Kriss Kross, as assholes and ‘douchenozzles’.

To be fair, these two did look like douchenozzles.

One of the strangest claims Diamond makes is the one that he has grown and matured. It’s puzzling not just because of his book’s hateful content, but also because when he reflects on the misfortune that has befallen him over the years, he places the blame squarely on everyone except himself. He wasn't one of the cool kids on set of SBTB because they failed to see how cool he was. Co-workers and network people sabotaged him out of spite. His parents blew all the money he made as an actor. He got the ball rolling on a Scooby Doo movie adaptation but then terrible showbiz people took over and screwed him out of everything. It’s always the same – bad stuff was always someone else’s fault, or happened because people were out to get him. There are times in Behind the Bell when it looks like Diamond might actually man up and take responsibility for something, but ultimately he doesn't follow through. A great example of this is in Appendix B, where Diamond includes a bizarre open letter to former lovers. It’s headed by the delightfully poetic phrase “to all the chicks I banged before” and although one line does appear to offer a heartfelt apology for having crushed anyone’s feelings, he concludes it with a backhander of a postscript: “Call me.”

Seriously, call me. My immature days are way behind me.

Behind the Bell is a rather short read, and would be even shorter if it consisted only of Diamond’s overwhelming rancor and negativity. Fortunately (or unfortunately), he throws in plenty of random crap to pad it out. There’s the thrilling tale, for example, of how he inadvertently adopted a bunch of cats. There’s another one about the time he got into a heated dispute with a neighbor over a crust of pizza. There are lengthy sections devoted to his pleasuring of hundreds of girls at Disneyland with his humongous dick, bro, and all his wacky, far out, weed-smoking escapades, man. If you wanted to read about what a week on the set of SBTB was like, it’s in there too for some reason. Or how about a selection of his favorite SBTB episodes, because why not? If that’s not entertaining enough, there’s also the story about the time he heroically prevented a cat from messing with his own pets by shooting it with a bb gun. And, God help us, there’s even a SBTB drinking game. The list goes on, but the stuff I've already mentioned is as depressing as it is dumb.

This picture cheers me up a bit, though.

In summary, despite repeated claims that he’s changed for the better and moved on from the unpleasant events of his past, nearly everything Diamond writes suggests otherwise. The truth – something the guy will probably never acknowledge – is that he was a moderately famous child actor who let petty jealousy and deep resentment over his outsider status on the set of SBTB fester until it completely destroyed him. And unfortunately, Diamond remains just as broken as he was at the age of 15. Perhaps that’s why he thought publishing a Piece Of Shit™ like Behind the Bell would garner him the acceptance and adoration he so desperately craves. As we know, it brought the opposite which is why it should come as no surprise to anyone that nowadays he cowers behind the assertion that a ghostwriter made most of it up.

#36. "I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell" by Tucker Max

Fuck You Donika Miller.

(0/10)

By Peartree

(book chosen by Admiral Fartmore)

Editor's Note: Having spent a few rough nights out with Peartree, I'm damn glad he has enough of a brain not to write things down. Also, Tucker Max's head looks like something you'd use to clean the barrel of a cannon.

I have read some pretty shitty books in this club. 'I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell' was the least enjoyable one of them all, and that includes an humourless 1950's guide to raising children with mental disabilities. When something isn't funny, you can at least laugh at it. Whereas when someone is trying to be funny but it's not your sense of humour, the most annoying thing is for that person to keep talking. Imagine being forced to sit through a five hour showing of a Yakov Smirnoff routine. Sure, that one joke got a chuckle but reusing it every punch line makes you go insane.

And thus having read this Piece Of Shit™ I am sullen. Half way through I realised I could not find any funny angle to use, it was just shit. There were no gaps in the coil of this shit for me to get into. Maybe it's because this book is so damn popular and everything has been said about it - it was on the best sellers list for years - but I think it's morseo because he's a self-professed piece of shit who knows everything he puts out is shit.

There is no story in this collection of seemingly cookie cutter anecdotes. Drink alcohol, meet women, insult women, vomit. He even ironically addresses this in one of the stories commenting on how his early days were great but nothing note worthy. One of his first stories which was a catalyst to his fame was when he had a portable breathalyzer, challenged everyone to a drinking contest, lost, and puked in some bushes outside a sushi restaurant. It's an incredibly unimpressive feat and a pandering story.

No matter how much he drinks he always has a witty comeback right on the spot and can apparently keep track of time like George Michael Bluth. One moment he will be falling over drunk and the next he's rebuking girls like a frat boy written by a wannabe Woody Allen. And of course he always has the last word, is never humiliated (unless while it's performing some sex act), and everyone he encounters is incredibly stupid. All the women he meets are 'dumb whores'. None of them are in it for the same thing he is, just a quick bang. No, of course they all adore him and fall for his tricks because as we know no woman has ever wanted to just fuck and be done with a guy. Nonono.

Max is the Shirley Phelps-Roper of misogynists. There are the ones we forget about because of their art like Picasso or John Lennon, but Max's fame is his controversy. He will enjoy anything his name is in, and that's how he became famous. Narcissism is nothing new. From Lord Henry Wotton to the characters of It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia, we as a society enjoy narcissists. But when people start trying to live the philosophies of fictional characters they become like their characters:  two-dimensional, with no development or true conflict, and also fucking idiots. No one would be friends with a man like this. It would get old as quickly as it was reading about it.

As an easily decipherable parallel for his views on women, and most other men, in one of the earlier stories he goes to a country bar and makes fun off all the 'red necks' and 'hicks'. They, as we all know, are all inbred retarded alcoholics. Yet he decides to go a bar populated by them. He puts himself in situations he feels superior and dismisses all others who challenge him because he is a lummox. This is evident in his new real-life entrepreneurial endeavour 'book in a box' (essentially a ghost-writer networking business)

One of the only lines from the book to make me laugh is after a trip he writes "the way that weekend worked out, we really didn't run into or have to deal with the legions of douche bags and tools that now seem to infect every aspect of Vegas." That was it. The only time I laughed.

So why is this guy so popular? I used to read Maddox with my friends when I was young and it was about the same humour. It could be that as I get older I have less time for drunken aggrandized sex stories, or that I find having constant thoughts of sex and picking up women at any cost pathetic, but I think it's the quantity. If I had read one of these stories while perusing reddit I would have laughed and moved on. But 267 pages of the same shit over and over is depressing and infuriating to the point of psychological damage. So if you want to torment your enemy force them to read this book. Unless he's a twenty-something frat boy. In that case don't waste your time, have some self-respect and get a better enemy.

-Peartree

PS. I should state my actual beef, as per the title, is with Donika Miller. His editor or something who Max says in the acknowledgement 'does more than just add value--her critiques turn good writing into great writing'. I can only guess as to what value she had added as there is none in the final draft, and this book is a fucking astronomical unit away from 'great writing'. Max may embellish and aggrandise his writings, but that was not hyperbole.

#34 - "If I Did It" by O.J. Simpson

Blood Orange

(0.1/10)

By Beau Dashington

(book chosen by Peartree)

Editor's Note: Hm.. I thought this was about Mr. Boddy and OJ's secrets to winning Clue.

The Piece of Shit Book Club™ is nothing if not topical. And what could be more topical in mid-2015 than a mildly interesting news item from almost twenty years ago? Nothing, that's what. The OJ Simpson trial is important, and we all care about it much more than Ebola in West Africa, conflict in Syria, or famine in Afghanistan. Why is it still relevant? Let’s find out.

I actually remember where I was when the OJ Simpson verdict was announced. It was 1995 and I was in English class. Some nerds came over the PA, and they mentioned that OJ was innocent, and everyone went crazy. The rest of the day was consumed by a variety of racial theories proffered by twelve year olds. Now, either these kids were precocious racists, or most racists have a child-like intellect. Because I have never seen any theories of race more developed than those that your typical pre-teen can offer.

Anyway, back to the story. Noted actor and part time football player Orange Juice (OJ) Simpson was suspected of foul play in the death of his wife and “her associate” (i.e. bang partner) Ron Goldman. Even though Orange Juice was found not guilty in 1995, he has been hounded by accusations ever since. In order to prove conclusively his innocence, OJ wrote this book describing in meticulous detail exactly how and why he murdered his wife.

The book is, as Juice tells us, a story of love. It details the moment he first met the love of his life and fell head-over-heels, right up to the point that he fatally stabbed her. It all begins with OJ married to a woman who is five months pregnant. He goes out for a beer, meets an 18 year old blonde waitress, and he liked what he saw. He leaves his stupid bitch wife and shacks up with the waitress, Nicole Brown. But things didn't go as well as he had hoped.

One of the main problems, OJ notes, is that Nicole got fat and bitchy while she was pregnant. OJ didn't like this at all. After the birth of their first child, Nicole wouldn't stop crying. OJ was confused; he didn't know if it was from being happy or terrified. He tried to console her and comfort her by telling her she had nothing to be afraid of. Except being murdered by her husband, of course. She had pretty legitimate fears about that, and even wrote about it in her diary. But OJ laughs that off, saying she just liked to write short stories. Turns out, she only had one story: being abused by her husband. But she kept writing it again and again. I guess she had writer's block.

He also details a number of times when the police came to his house after Nicole phoned them. OJ doesn't think it was fair that society accuses him of spousal abuse. He was shocked at the accusations. As he says: “Once. I hit her once… and ever since that day I've been known as a wife-beater.” 

Yes, OJ. That’s pretty much how it works.

Eventually Nicole left, and then she starts to fall apart; fighting with her friends, crying, getting knocked up by random dudes. You know, chick stuff. She also started hanging out with people that OJ says were pimps and drug dealers. And this whole time OJ wasn't being a dick, he was just trying to raise money for “children with birth defects”! What a guy. So anyway, one night OJ went round to Nicole’s house and saw she had a gentleman caller. They started to fight, so OJ grabbed a knife and killed his ex-wife and her lover.

So why is this book still relevant? Well, frankly, it isn't. Simpson clearly wrote the book to make some cash. Only he couldn't, since he still owed Nicole Brown’s family millions of dollars after being sued. So the family took legal ownership of the book and they are now claiming all profits. I am not sure what is worse here; the (alleged) murderer profiting from the crime, or the family of the victim doing the same? As tragic as the murder was, perhaps the family and friends should just let the dead rest in peace, rather than publishing their private diaries or a confession by the (alleged) killer.

Since he was African-American and his wife was Caucasian, the trial created a rift in the USA. But oddly enough, OJ never blames the trial on race. He doesn't even mention it, neither in this book nor in interviews. He claims he was accused because his ex-wife was a crazy bitch. Either way, the trial hit a cultural nerve. Many said OJ was arrested because of his race. Others have argued it was because he was a convicted wife-beater and serial criminal. But I guess the jury is still out on that one. Oh wait, no it isn't. He’s innocent. Except he’s in jail now for kidnapping and trying to kill someone else. Go figure.

At least, though, with this highly publicized trial, and a confessed (alleged) murderer walking away from the crime, race relations in the USA were finally solved forever.

Oh, what’s that? Baltimore is on fire because of allegations of racism in the USA? Oh…

Isn't Baltimore always on fire?

B. Dashington

 10-05-2015

#31 - "What if You Were a Horse in Human Form?" by Jason the Horse

If Wishes Were Horses

(7/10)

By Beau Dashington

(book chosen by Admiral Fartmore)

Editor's Note: What if all these bad books are great books in Piece-of-Shit form?

ATTENTION: To ensure you are in tune with the metaphysical nature of this review, please be sure to play this shamanistic chant as you begin your spiritual journey.

There’s a lot about this world that we simply don’t understand. The moon goes round the sun, a baby is born as if by magic, tide goes in tide goes out… The list of things that science can’t explain is endless. And in spite of the godless atheists trying to convince us otherwise, the spiritual among us know that there is something more to this old world of ours. This book tackles these issues head-on, and poses a question that those of us stuck in the rat-race rarely have time to ask: what if you were a horse and you didn’t realize it?

What if You Are a Horse in Human Form? is written by Jason the Horse, a man who woke up one day and realized he was a horse trapped in a human body. All of Jason’s life, he felt an odd connection to horses, until one day the truth dawned on him that he really was a horse after all.  As such, Jason realized he was forced to “come out of the stall” and tell his family that trapped inside this normal boy was a horse trying to come out. And after finally admitting to himself he was a horse, he was hot to trot.

If you Google Image Search "coming out of the stall", this is the first image you get.

But, I hear you asking, how did he know he was a horse? What about us? How would we know if we were actually horses? Jason the Horse gives us a few indicators to look for, including the following:

1. An ineffable but powerful knowing that one is a horse
2. Having trouble using your thumbs
3. Walking continuously on all fours
4. “Having a strange combination of medical conditions that, taken together, point to one’s being a horse.”
5. The feeling of having a “phantom tail” that you can never see
6. Finding yourself trying to canter
7. Getting an eerie feeling every time you visit “horse country”
8. Being “propositioned” by stallions or mares

So basically, if you act like a horse, then you might be one. Also, if other horses think you’re hot and they want fuck you, that’s a good sign. Well, it’s a good sign if you want to be a horse. If not, this might cause you some problems. But Jason the Horse isn’t all about horse fucking. Rest assured; this is not one of those books where the author fucks a wild beast. Jason the Horse’s love for horses is purely platonic and legit. He isn't here to horse around.

To explore his horsehood, Jason began working with Deborah (a human horse-psychologist). Through using ancient shamanistic rituals, they discovered that there were actually horse-humans all over the place, and that they were sent there by the Horse Ancestors. And why were they sent? The answer is, of course, “horse espionage”, or as I prefer; horse-pionage. But this is a good kind of horse-pionage, so don't be scared. Its perfectly innocent. The horses just want to know what we’re up to.

This is the bad kind of horse-pionage

According to Jason and Deborah, this is what you need if you want to get in touch with the Horse Ancestors: Firstly, get a crystal. Purple crystals work the best, for some reason that Jason and Deborah forgot to mention. Second, put on a “cassette tape of shamanistic chants.” Use the one above if you find yourself in the twenty-first century and don’t know where to get cassettes. Jason advises that you should “keep the mind centered on horse-imagery, horse-ideas, [and] horse-emotions.” Heed the advice of the Horse Ancestors and do as they say; don’t look your gift horse in the mouth. Trust in them, and you will run free like the stallions of old.

Like Jason, I too feel the pains of being surrounded by people who don’t understand and being trapped in a labyrinthine society of indifference. The simple life of a country work horse seems appealing compared to this 9-to-5 rat race. Is time for me to “come out of the stall” like Jason suggested? I think the answer is clear: yes.

So I decided to talk the bold walk (or trot) out of the stall. My first step was to contact my family and tell them the news. I emailed my mother and father.

My mother was the first to respond.

My father was confused but supportive.

The second step was to tell my friends; to go public and let the world know that I was discovering my inner horse-human. They weren't as accepting as my family after I announced publicly that I was a horse.

Of course, not everyone is receptive to people who are different. The road that we horse-humans must trot is a difficult one, strewn with potholes of ignorance that can break your horse-shoes of virtue. Some people, especially these former “friends,” are simply uneducated and ignorant about equine ways. But don’t let these nay-sayers get you down; because in this world there are many true neigh-sayers like me and Jason to support you on your canter to spiritual release.

Jason’s last message in the book finalizes for the reader Jason’s quest. He reveals that he has lost much of his family, and that he is burdened by disability. Life sucks sometimes. Our bodies break and hold us back, those we care about disappoint or die, and the world itself seems callous and indifferent. And if, for Jason, deciding to be a horse every now and then makes the existential pain of life go away for a while, then who the fuck am I to say he is wrong?

As Jason says, “We horses have our work cut out for us, but we do not struggle alone, for the Horse Ancestors watch over us and guide us. “

Neigh-men, brother. Neigh-men.

Beau the Horse

11-04-2015

#26 - "A Street Cat Named Bob: How One Man and His Cat Found Hope on The Streets" by James Bowen and Garry Jenkins

A Cash-grab Named Bob

(3/10)

By Admiral Fartmore

(book chosen by Beau Dashington)

Editor's Note: I can't think of a half-decent pun about the word 'pussy', so lets just pretend I did. Something along the lines of "that homeless guy sure has a nice pussy" or "maybe the author wouldn't be homeless if they sold their pussy" or something like that.

I cry very easily when it comes to sentimentalist bullshit. I don’t really know why, because I’m not especially teary at weddings or funerals or any other significantly emotion real-life event - but if you put on a Thai insurance commercial, I’ll be weeping in minutes.  I know better, but I can’t help myself: the cheaper the story is, the harder it gets me. And so when my eyes welled up about halfway through “A Street Cat named Bob,” I knew I had a real piece of shit on my hands.

A Street Cat Named Bob is the biographical story of former heroin addict James Bowen, who adopted a stray cat while going through a recovery program. The book begins with Bowen working as a busker and going through methadone treatment, when he finds a cat (Bob) outside of his apartment. From that point onward, Bowen’s life gradually improves as he completes the recovery program, learns responsibility through caring for Bob, reconnects with his family, and gets lots of attention for taking a cute cat on leash with him wherever he goes. During this period, the cat gains mild internet celebrity. As a result, Bowen is approached by a publisher who thinks that his story could sell very well. The end.

And sell very well it did.

I will start by saying that Bowen’s full recovery from his heroin addiction is admirable. I dunno if you’ve heard, but it is not an easy thing to do. He also seems like a fairly responsible pet owner. I respect him for that. I am glad he has found success.

But I have a hard time really having much respect for this book. It’s awkwardly-written, shallow, and far too long – even at 170 pages. Routine trips to the vet take up dozens of pages, as does Bowen’s constant speculation on “where Bob came from” or “what kind of life he had before we met” (which, by the way, all builds up to absolutely nothing. You never find out where Bob came from.) There is no real suspense, no challenges, and hardly any character growth or meaningful self-reflection. Bowen repeats himself a lot, mostly with mundane filler. If you were to cleave out about 80% of the book and have the remainder rewritten as a short story, this could probably be an interesting main piece in a magazine, but in its current form it just drags and drags and drags.

Bob, like other cats, is cute.

As for Bob himself, he’s a cat and cats are cute. I like cats, I’ve lived with literally dozens. I'm not some animal hater like Peartree. But I don’t think there’s anything particularly special about Bob. He’s very close with his owner, which is sweet, but it’s not like he went to space or something. But the love for this cat is crazy.

After reading this, I’m mostly frustrated with the publisher and co-author Garry Jenkins, who I’m willing to bet had most of the creative control over this project. The accounts of life on the streets are simplistic and censored, like a children’s version of Oliver Twist. Despite Bowen’s recovery from a heroin addiction ostensibly being one of the central story arcs, its use is hardly mentioned. The same goes for the methadone which he used while undergoing treatment. Bowen is a heavy smoker in real life, but the book doesn't make one reference to his smoking. Only bad guys swear, and the words are actually starred out (are you f****** kidding me?) Bowen's run-ins with the law are ambiguous and absolve his character of all guilt or wrongdoing. All in all, the whole thing just really feels like it’s pandering to an audience that wants a feel-good book with a cute cat in it.

What frustrates me most about this is how it seems to mirror one of the main challenges Bowen faced while living on the street: people were repulsed by his lifestyle, and most of the public preferred to pretend that he did not exist. It’s oddly fitting that in his account of those times, so much information is censored for the sake of making the story digestible for people that buy books at grocery stores. While professing to break down stigmas, the book helps reaffirm them by reminding us that we just shouldn't talk about some things. It’s a window into a heroin addict’s life, sure, but it’s been tinted rose so that you don’t hurt your eyes.

But this book is a beloved best seller, and I guess I’m in the minority for disliking it. So in the interest of providing a fair and balanced report, I've decided to also lend a voice to some people who really enjoyed the book. Here are some quotes from 5-star Amazon reviews:

“I purchased this book after seeing a short about Bob on Icanhazcheesburger.”

- Binkz85

 “Sometimes you get the feeling that you are going thru this life by yourself and no one gets it. Nice to know...Someone gets it. Kinda funny it's a Cat.“

- SD Gillespie

“A great light read. No sad part or ending. Distracting from the ills of the day.”

- Curtis Ewing

“I checked this book out at our library when I saw the picture of the cat on the cover”

- Letta Meinen

“Unputdownable”

- Muse of Time and Science

So there you are. If you frequent "icanhazcheesburger" and are looking for an unputdownable light read with no sad parts and a picture of a cat on the cover, "A Street Cat Named Bob" is for you. And if you are curious about what part of the book made me cry, it was the part where Bowen reconnects with his mother and she breaks down and says everything was her fault. The maternal love and self-sacrifice just got to me. The fact that she was willing to take all the blame despite not writing one word of this Piece of Shit - it was moving. Incredible.

#8 "Wrestling the Hulk: My Life Against the Ropes" by Linda Hogan

Hulk Hogan's Titties - and other sordid details (3.9/10)

by The Wildcard

(book selected by Beau Dashington)

The task of being a Piece of Shit Book Club reviewer is no mean feat.  From true-life manamal romance to historical anti-Semitic diatribes, our saintly group of distinguished bibliophiles are on the frontlines of the literary shit war, saving the masses from the tyranny of lousy books.  So when the selection committee tapped me to review Linda Hogan’s memoirs Wrestling the Hulk, I was both pleased and excited.  For the uninitiated, Hogan is ex-wife of Terry Gene Bollea, the 12-time World Champion Wrestler, better known as Hulk Hogan.  Having been something of a Hulkamaniac in my youth, I relished the opportunity to take a little peak into the private life of this impressive American legend. 

The esteemed readers of PSBC are no doubt completely uninterested in a tawdry retelling of the Hogans’ intimate dalliances, so let us first dispatch with this odious task so we may quickly move on to more compelling aspects of the book.  Hulk is an extremely smooth operator.  Hulk consummated the relationship with his future ex-wife on their first date.  Says Linda “how many people can say they fucked a giant?”  Later, Linda recounts a humourous anecdote concerning the couple’s second sexual liaison in a hotel in Denver, Co.  Post coitus, the two notice a brown gooey substance all over the sheets, prompting a round of mutual poo incriminations.  Fortunately, when Hulk “Hulked up” and tastes the stain (!?!), he discovers it was only chocolate. 

Linda informs us that when Hulk returned home after being on the road, he often enjoyed receiving oral, along with a “quick fuck”.  As their marriage began to crumble, Hulk allegedly developed a penchant for adult pornography, watching it every night before bed.  During this period, Hulk is said to be distant, less interested in intercourse, and instead more demanding of dick blow jobs.  In cases where the Hulk’s ravenous sexual desires were not fulfilled to his requirements, Linda claims that he would “would get pissed off… curse at me, stomp his feet, and go sleep in the other bed room”.    

Quite honestly, the book reads like the narcissistic deposition transcripts from the divorce proceedings of an extremely bitter and scorned divorcee.   Linda, the endless martyr, takes credit for everything and responsibility for nothing.  Linda, “the only [wresting] wife who travelled to every city” with her man, claims to have devised the Hulk’s signature shredded T-shirt look.  She modestly takes credit for “changing the image of how people perceived wresting and the wrestlers outside the ring”.  Heroically, she managed to run an entire household of one husband and two children with only one housekeeper but no nanny.  Says Linda “I am one of those women who do too much.  I’m like a camel: just load me up”. 

Fans of Hulk will be disappointed to learn that he is actually a pretty bad person.  In a bullet-point list, Linda accuses Hulk of being “abusive, controlling, selfish, demeaning, disrespectful, not trustworthy, unfaithful, liar, childish, noncommunicative, user, dependent, depressive, manipulative, plotting, secretive, self-centered, conceited, gloating, calculating, insecure, sex addict, violent, sneaky, unhappy, cheater, backstabber, rude, delusional, victimizer, self-consumed, insensitive, on edge, negative, fear of change, possessive, brainwasher, antagonistic, no morals, no sense of family”.  Hulk associates with miscreants, such as fellow wrestler Brutas “The Barber” Beefcake, “a man who should be dead by now”. 

Towards the end of their marriage, the Hogans’ son, Nick, becomes involved in a terrible car accident, seriously injuring a passenger, while landing Nick in prison.  Responsibility for this incident is pinned on Hulk.  Possibly a result of his manipulative brainwashing?  During this time, the Hogans’ daughter, Brooke, unsuccessfully pursues a successful music career.   Unfortunately, Hulk is instrumental (pun intended) in the failure of this endeavor.    The how and why are irrelevant.  However, fear not fair readers, our story has a happy ending.  After a messy divorce, we learn that Linda finds love and meaning with a 19 year old surfer, Charley.  A relationship that “made news and changed history”.   

The book is a petty and poorly written piece that lays bare the superficial trappings of modern American celebrity culture and lifestyle.  There are endless references to tanning or being tanned, but seemingly instrumental characters in Hulk’s life, such as Macho Man Randy Savage, Miss Elizabeth and Captain Lou Albano, go unmentioned.  Similarly, the record is completely silent regarding the proportions of Hulks member.  Does it appear diminutive compared to otherwise massive proportions, or is it similarly Hulk-sized?  It seems we'll never know.  On an unrelated note, this Hulkamaniac did not get any erections while reading this book. 

The Wildcard 

13/10/2014

#1 - "Miles to Go" by Miley Cyrus

Miles to Go Before I Sleep (3/10)

by AdmiralFartmore

(book chosen by Peartree)

       

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

The final stanza of Robert Frost’s iconic poem echoes through my head as I force myself through the final pages of Miley Cyrus’s piece-of-shit biography, Miles to Go. I’m in a quiet bus on a smooth road - maybe my favourite time and place to polish off a book - but it feels like I’ve lost my ability to read. I try to stay focused, but every minute or so my mind starts to wander and I daydream about the bus running off the road or crashing headlong into a an oncoming vehicle. This book is making me illiterate, one page at a time.

Miles to Go promises to provide an exposé into the motivations, aspirations and cute day-to-day life of Disney superstar, Miley Cyrus. Throughout the book, we are also promised snippets of wisdom that this sheltered, privileged 16 year old has picked up along the way during her hard-fought rise from wealth and celebrity-status to even more obscene wealth and celebrity-status. Luckily, these words of wisdom, such as “at the end of life, all you have is what you felt as you were going through life,” “there are multiple sides to all of us,” and “you’ll never find your dream if you don’t reach for it,” are all written in big, bold font so that we don’t miss them!!! I’d also like to take a moment to share one point that particularly resonated with me: “people will always have different opinions about things you create. Whether it is a love song, or a sad poem, or a book about your life so far, everyone sees it a little differently.” I, for example, think this book is complete shit.

Miles to Go documents two major periods of hardship in the life of Miley Cyrus - six months of bullying in sixth grade, and developing acne when she was 14. According to Cyrus, “to say sixth grade was not a good year would be the understatement of the decade.” Shockingly, as she was spending half her time at filming commercials and attending auditions in Los Angeles, Cyrus had a difficult time making friends at her prestigious private school in Nashville. Girls even called her dad a one-hit-wonder. Srsly. Luckily, this is redemption story; she landed the part of Hannah Montana midway through the school year and was whisked away from the trials and tribulations of normal high-class life.

The second major shock in Cyrus’s life, her acne, is written to provide a sort of analogy for her emotional development during superstardom. It took Miley 50 pages to tell the story, but I’ll try to explain it concisely here: Miley developed acne and was very embarrassed. During her struggle she met a terminally-ill fan names Vanessa who was very brave and positive despite having only months to live. The fan died and Miley realised that acne wasn’t so bad afterall. Reflecting on Vanessa’s death, Miley writes “I don’t know why this happens… all I know is I will have a new angel watching over me.” I think Vanessa was truly lucky, not only to meet Miley and teach her a lesson about acne, but also to spend the rest of eternity watching over our blessed pop star.

Miles to Go also employs a very innovative narrative structure, where the occasional page is dedicated to a hand-written list of “7 things” thematically similar to the chapter at hand. For example, 7 THINGS THAT MAKE ME SADincludes “my horses being in Nashville without me” at #3, “people who don’t know Jesus” at #4, and “world hunger” at #7. 7 THINGS THAT I WANT TO CHANGE ABOUT THE WORLD includes #2 “homeless people without the comfort of a snuggly bed and family to go home to,” #3 “mean online message boards” and “#7 bring peace.” Miles to Go also includes some of Miley’s favourite bible verses, song lyrics and poems. There are also 30 pages of family photos at the halfway mark, which was perhaps the best written section of the book.

In conclusion, Miles to Go grants us an interesting look at the mind of privileged narcissist as they cynically argue that they deserve everything that has been handed to them. Theres also a bunch of other shitty pandering about how Miley likes fast food and Guitar Hero and how at heart she’s just like the rest of us, but she is your average teenager only by virtue of her megalomania and shallow world-view. In her list of 7 THINGS I WISH WERE TRUE, Miley wishes “we can rewind time.” I have to agree, because after finishing this book I’m closer to death with nothing to show for it. If Miles to Go was a horse, it would be glue. But the sad reality is, it isn’t a horse at all. It’s just a really bad book.

Wager:

Which character will win in this Mario Kart match?

Results:

1. Peartree (using Peach); 
2. Beau Dashington (using Luigi);
3. WildCard (using Daisy);
4. AdmiralFartmore (using Mario).