This is (supposedly) an autobiographical book about Chelsea
Handler’s sexcapades living in California with a prudish roommate, loose
morals, and far too much alcohol. I’m just gonna say it- I think this chick is
a liar. There’s no way she gets into this level of shenanigans as often as she
claims to. Quite frankly, if she does, she’s spreading more STDs than a male
whore who never heard of a condom, so she should be locked up for public safety.
However, I suspect she stole others’ stories and adopted/stole/bought them for
posterity. I hate people like that.
Aside from “her” adventures, she was crass, unladylike,
stupid, manipulative, unsympathetic, arrogant, and nasty (as in disgusting nasty,
not the ghetto version of “cool”). People like her spawn the girls on Facebook
who think duckfaces and carcinogen-loving tans are cool- that kind of
superficiality. This isn’t someone who has reclaimed her sexuality from a
patriarchal society or some such self-serving bullshit philosophy. She’s just a
selfish whore.
In retrospect, having read Bridget Jones’ Diary afterward, I can at least say Fieldings’ book
had some ring of truth to it; Bridget was a fictional
character who I could sympathize with because she honestly wanted love. Handler’s
book is just a big “Look at me!” like breast implants; I think only the shallow would find it
attractive. I’m glad I didn’t pay real money for it.
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