In his book “Why We Suck,” writer/comedian/actor Denis Leary rants about — well — pretty much everyone. Leary uses his wit and biting humor to comment on celebrities, those who are politically correct and the obese, for starters. The book stirred up controversy when Leary's quips about autism made headlines in October. Snarky, smart, furious and funny — this book tells you not only why we suck, but offers up opinions and tips to aid us all in hopefully sucking less. An excerpt.
Put this book down.
Do not buy it.
Why are you still reading this?
I warned you.
Now I will beg you, beseech you — in short, do everything possible in the limited format of this medium to get you to buy any other book within reach right now (if this book was a gift and you are at home or on a plane or sitting in a hotel room somewhere I would suggest grabbing a newspaper or a magazine or even your laptop) because this book is going to piss you off.
If you are a woman, you will soon be livid.
If you are a man, you are going to be filled with a burning rage.
If you are a kid — meaning anyone under the age of eighteen — you will soon be filled with shock and awe.
If you are under the age of twenty-five you will soon be filled with shock and awe.
If you are a fan of Oprah — good luck.
If you hate Oprah or Oprah tends to drive you insane — you too will need some assistance.
This is not a book for the faint of heart or the politically correct or the weak or the extreme right wing or the left of center leftist Democrat or nuns or any other members of any organized religion or New York Yankees fans.
I am warning you — I am not here to make you feel all warm and fuzzy or superior to everyone else or all soft and gooey inside. I am here to debunk and declassify and otherwise hold up a brutally honest mirror to our fat, ugly, lazy American selves.
I am here to explain how we can and must thin the herd and extricate the stupid and eradicate the obese and take Rush Limbaugh’s head and make a bong out of it.
Senators, psychopaths, fence-sitters (all three of those may sometimes be the same person), celebrity ass----- (hello), presidents, centerfielders, centerfolds — everyone is up for grabs here.
Because I’m sick of it all.
I’m sick of low self-esteem and fake fat-suit-wearing female talk-show hosts and extreme makeovers and Cats the Musical and cats in general and steroid-laden home-run hitters and Paris Hilton and Grey’s Anatomy and Reese Witherspoon movies and Paris Hilton’s himbo boyfriends and celebrity rehab and Dr. Phil and Terrell Owens and almost anyone else you can think of.
This country — including you and most of the people related to you by birth or marriage or both — is populated by beings who been so blessed for so long that they have become almost completely immune to any interests other than their own.
Open ass — insert head.
THAT is the mantra with which most of America lives each and every day.
THAT’S what should be printed on the plaque beneath our beloved Statue of Liberty. Along with the following:
Welcome to America where I’M not fat, I’M not stupid, I’M not the problem — YOU are.
Americans have been so isolated geographically, financially, and psychologically for so long that we don’t even see reality in the mirror anymore. Everyone has bought so far into their own bull---- — backed up by other jerk-offs and human jack-o’-lanterns on TV — that the truth has been distorted into a believable fantasy world: I can’t be overweight, look at the tub-a-lard sitting next to me. The food I eat can’t be bad for me ’cause the commercial on TV says it’s actually healthy. I’m not addicted to these doctor-prescribed drugs, the drug company discovered a disease that I have and then invented these pills to cure me.
Responsibility, research and actual factual thinking have gone out the window. If most people in this country see something on TV it must be true/news/necessary/important. Therefore, when things go wrong — how can the innocent citizen/TV watcher be at fault?
I spill a vat-sized “cup” of morning coffee onto my giant cellulite-dimpled thighs at the take-out window and suffer third-degree burns because it was hot and I desperately needed to wash down the two-ton doughnut I just manhandled into my gaping mouth — do I blame myself and go on a diet and start working out?
I sue McDonald’s because the take-out window kid who handed me the cup of joe — who’s from Bum----, Mexico, and has been in this country all of eighteen weeks and only knows the English words “can I take your order, please,” “would you like fries with that” and “go Yankees” — didn’t warn me that the coffee was the same temperature as the air in the hut he grew up in was every single day of his childhood.
Open ass — insert head with flame-red tongue.
My kid is the size of an out-of-shape NFL offensive lineman, has what within two months might become a full-blown Fu-Manchu mustache and is already smoking two packs a day and watching Internet porn even though SHE is only twelve years old.
Do I put her on a diet and make her start working out?
I sue McDonald’s because they make s----y, hormone-and-chemical filled food that she eats every single day three TIMES a day because I’m very very very busy living my selfish extended adolescent life and don’t have time to.
A. Cook her normal food.
B. Monitor her free time.
C. Stop smoking pot and drinking so her easiest sources of alcohol and marijuana dry up.
Open ass — insert thick, self-medicated head.
Reprinted by arrangement with Viking, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., from "Why We Suck: A Feel Good Guide to Staying Fat, Loud, Lazy and Stupid" by Denis Leary. Copyright © 2008 by Killarney Ink, LLC.