I don’t know what I was expecting, but certainly I got something other than it with this 
book. It’s a memoir only a celebrity could get paid for.
Adam Corolla thinks he had a bad childhood and a lot of wild times. And maybe he did. I can’t tell. The book is a stream-of-consciousness daisy chain of oddly depressing anecdotes. The upside is that It’s fascinating as an illustration of privilege and inscrutable motives. I have no idea what Adam Corolla wanted anyone to get out of this book, but regardless of his aim, I got a very illuminating peek at the clockworks of constructing a persona. At least I hope it’s a persona.
The book was not all that fun to read, but very valuable to me as a writer. Very. Worthwhile in a weird way.
The read-a-thon is off to a useful start!
Because I Love To Hear Myself Type 