Feedback is always good, especially when obviously contrived and attributed to dead celebrities and live politicians. And just try figuring out which is which!
From the moment I picked up David’s book until I put it down again I was convulsed with laughter. Next time I intend reading it. No, that is not David’s original joke, it’s mine, and yes, I gave him persimmons. OK? Or maybe he meant “permission,” I get them mixed up. Thanks, now this is no longer funny. NICE WORK.
— Groucho Marx
This book—feels witty! Let’s see, what else? It weighs slightly over a pound and is that like, jam or something on the back cover? Gross!
— Helen Keller
First page to last, a laugh riot. Yeah. And I’m just a dumb blonde.
Almost as gorgeously rib-tickling as me! Also, I did not touch David’s butt. At least, I don’t think I did. It’s hard to remember that far back but I probably didn’t, or maybe I did, and anyway, like Hellooooo! TRUDEAU, OK?
All too obviously written by teeny tiny Liberals posing as heartfelt, edgy, bittersweet-comic diarists.
Brave. Brave and credible. But in the end just a hoax perpetrated by Democrats, and—oh man! I only wish you could see my goofy facial expression right now as I say ‘Democrats’! Now THAT’S funny!!
Ready to take the plunge? Please consider purchasing the gorgeous new hardcover version, with blue linen, gold spine lettering and glossy full color dust jacket. Oh yeah, and also, you know. The actual book.
Currently I’m offering twenty percent off the hardcover, but only until—I’m not saying. Could be a week. Could be only until midnight. Could be forever!
Ha! That’s what we call in marketing “Creating a sense of urgency”. Or you could just eat a lot of really really spicy food.
Buy the hardcover because it’s in all honesty a truly gorgeous object you’ll be proud to put on your coffee table and never read; because it’s hard and—get this—it STAYS HARD, that’s right, and when was the last time you encountered that? Exactly!
And because Kraft Dinner is nice for a nostalgic treat, but it’s kind of a drag as the main thing, day after day, with the rest of your life just stretched out before you. Like a patient. Etherized upon a table. T.S. Eliot—you’re weird.