Essays in The Books Store

When Chelsea Handler needs to get a few things off her chest, she appeals to a higher power -- vodka. You would too if you found out that your boyfriend was having an affair with a Peekapoo or if you had to pretend to be honeymooning with your father in order to upgrade to first class. Welcome to Chelsea's world -- a place where absurdity reigns supreme and a quick wit is the best line of defense.

What do Heather Mills, the Reverend Al Sharpton, and Dr. Phil have in common? Jim Norton hates their guts. And he probably hates yours, too, especially if you're a New York Yankee, Starbucks employee, or Steve Martin.

In thirty-five hilarious essays, New York Times bestselling author and comedian Jim Norton spews bile on the people he loathes. Enjoy his blistering attacks on Derek Jeter, Hillary Clinton, fatso Al Roker, and mush-mouthed Jesse Jackson. It's utterly hilarious -- and utterly relatable if you've ever bitten a stranger's face or thrown a bottle through the TV screen while watching the news.

But don't think Jim just dishes loads of shit on his self-proclaimed enemies; he is equally atrocious to himself. He savages himself for his humiliating days as a white homeboy, his balletlike spins in the outfield during a little league game, and his embarrassingly botched attempt at a celebrity shout-out while taping his new HBO stand-up series.

Uncomfortably honest, I Hate Your Guts is probably the best example of emotional vomiting you'll ever read. But there is hope; at the end of each essay, Jim generously offers helpful suggestions as to how the offender can make things right again: Eliot Spitzer: If you run for re-election, instead of shaking hands with voters, let them smell your fingers.

Reverend Al Sharpton: The next time you feel the need to protest, do so dressed as an elk in Ted Nugent's backyard.

Hillary Clinton: When you absolutely must make a point of laughing publicly, don't fake it. Just think of something that genuinely makes you laugh, like lowering taxes or any random male having his penis cut off.

Every glimpse we get of Sedaris's family and acquaintances delivers laughs and insights. He thwarts his North Carolina speech therapist ("for whom the word pen had two syllables") by cleverly avoiding all words with s sounds, which reveal the lisp she sought to correct. His midget guitar teacher, Mister Mancini, is unaware that Sedaris doesn't share his obsession with breasts, and sings "Light My Fire" all wrong--"as if he were a Webelo scout demanding a match." As a remarkably unqualified teacher at the Art Institute of Chicago, Sedaris had his class watch soap operas and assign "guessays" on what would happen in the next day's episode.