Hello Internet, Its me, Joe

I'm 23, I'm a big boy now. I have a big boy apartment (kinda), I wear big boy underpants (hardly ever), I read big boy books (while pooping) and I have big boy issues (mostly ingrown toenails), and one of those big boy issues is the fact that, like most other adults I have a job that can be a complete mental drain. The easiest way for me to keep my brain from slowly leaking out of my ears is to leave work for almost every second of my hour-long lunch break. As you can probably imagine, hanging out in downtown Evanston is a blast, and by that I mean it totally fucking sucks. I mostly hate it because nobody in town looks like me, and every putz with a Liberal Arts degree feels the need to harass me into signing a petition to support legislation that would combat the canine leukemia epidemic, or something as equally unimportant and stupid. You've already heard how, for the most part, diversity has a way of making me feel uncomfortable. So, in order to keep myself from having a panic attack every time I want to get out of my office I go to the one place where I know the crowd will be homogeneous and I won't be pressured into listening to someone guilt trip me for not caring about the poor quality of drinking water in South America; Barnes and Noble.

Over the last few months I have perused just about every inch of the downtown bookstores. A few days ago I was looking at a few books while also searching for a quiet secluded area to fart in when I found myself in the biography section. We all should know what a biography is by now, and if someone doesn't they should probably go back to eating dirt and kicking dandelions before their babysitter realizes their on a computer unsupervised. Over the course of the last few years I have read more than a few biographies, and in doing so I have been entertained and I have also learned a lesson or two from the people whose lives have been profiled. However, when I was looking over the newly released biographies/finally letting go of a fart where nobody would hear it, I came to a realization; there are far too many biographies written about the ultimately undeserving. It used to be that biographies were written about highly influential individuals, who through their actions, intelligence, or ideas, have made some sort of historical or social impact. I can only assume that requirements have since changed in the last few years, because apparently anyone and everyone who thinks they have a story to tell deserves an entire book devoted to them. Clearly I disagree. I simply cannot picture a publishing executive sitting behind a large cherry wood desk, stroking his tiny chin while trying to decide if its a solid business decision to fund and distribute a book about the life and times of Bea Arthur, I just don't see it. Don't get me wrong, there are people who deserve to have their life's story told to the public, but it seems that anyone who have a semi-famous name these days already has a book deal lined up. If you don't believe me go and take a stroll around the biography section of your local bookstore and then try and tell me I'm wrong. Go ahead and make my day you little bitches.

Something that has always pissed me off  is the idea of someone writing a biography about their own life. Scientists call this an "autobiography", because the first one was written by Henry Ford, but don't quote me on that. Regardless, anyone who thinks that they are important enough to write an autobiography is, without an ounce of doubt, a self-absorbed asshole. To think that you personally, are so relevant that the world stands to gain something by reading your personal opinion of yourself means you're probably either crazy or a total prick. Besides trying to marry a charcoal sketch of your own face, is there something more narcissistic? Methinks not, but this is America and people here are entitled to their own opinions no matter how shitty. This isn't Iran and people aren't going to get their hands cut off for being self-important dipshits, but since this is America I choose to invoke my right to call them an asshole. 

Some pretty important people have written autobiographies in the past, people of societal importance like Benjamin Franklin, Fredrick Douglass, and Gandhi to name a few. But in just 30 seconds at the Evanston Barnes & Noble I found this literary form being bastardized by the likes of Dog the Bounty Hunter, has-been porn star Tera Patrick, and Todd Bridges a.k.a. Willis Jackson from Diff'rent Strokes. Seriously, what the fuck are you talking about Willis?

Like I said, I was stunned to see how many undeserving people had biographies written about them, and was even more stunned to see how many of them were actually autobiographies. It was one of these in particular that made me lose my shit and ultimately inspired this post. To preface my next point allow me to just say that there is nobody on Earth I hate more than Kathy Griffin, so naturally I was infuriated when I had to see her disgusting face draped across the cover of a book. Honestly, has the whole world gone mad? I must be in the fucking Twilight Zone because only in a wretched and warped universe would something like this be allowed to happen. Publishing the personal memoir of Kathy Clownface Griffin seems pretty similar to taking a time machine back to the 1400's and hitting Johannes Gutenberg in the dick with a baseball bat for inventing the printing press. There are people in this world who have lived a life worth telling, people who have made significant contributions to the world in which we live. Kathy Griffin simply does not fall into that category.

As stated earlier, I absolutely abhor her. Oddly enough her and I are from the same hometown, which is usually grounds for some completely unfounded attraction and support for her as a person, but not this bitch. How could I support her with a face like that? She looks like Ronald McDonald's unloved bastard son dressed in drag. She honest to God might be the Irish Rupaul. My sweet mother taught me better than to make fun of people for things they can't change, but I think any ounce of clemency towards her deserves to be suspended after her multiple plastic surgeries that just left her looking equally gross. Its a sad day when Hollywood's own plastic surgeons can't fix you. I absolutely love the fact that her own husband stole $72,000 from her and ran away forever, that just speaks volumes as to her face and overall state of being. My only assumption is that he turned on the lights one night and realized he had just been having sex with Carrot Top, and thus did the only thing that seemed fitting; he got the fuck out of there.

People as ugly as Kathy Griffin need to have some sort of real, discernible talent to exist in show business, and that's the part that I simply can't wrap my mind around. How does someone have a career  as a comedian when they are inherently unfunny? Outside of her chimp-like face, what's so funny about her? Nothing I've ever seen or heard. Her stand-up routine is about as funny as cancer, yet she has parlayed that into legitimate acting roles as well as her own reality show on Bravo (which is just a closeted gay version of the Lifetime network might I add). Like I said, I feel like I woke up in the fucking twilight zone. How did this happen? She's painfully unfunny and has a face like a mask from the Scream movies.

Oh wait, It must be my lucky day because all the answers I could possibly need are probably right there on the pages of her autobiography. All I need to do is read it. Therein lies the problem; I can't spend time reading what Kathy Griffin has to say about herself without hating everything about myself. Call me nuts, but I would rather have Ving Rhames strap me chest down on a dentist's chair and savagely plug my virgin ass with a sandpaper covered dildo than spend one second reading the personal memoir of Kathy Griffin. The only way someone could get me to read these pages would be to physically pry my eyelids open and force feed it to me. I imagine the situation being akin to Alex DeLarge's brainwashing in A Clockwork Orange. The terror would be unbearable, but the fact of the matter is, I could probably tell you what's in the book without ever reading it. Something along the lines of, "I wasn't one of the pretty girls and didn't have many friends in school so I was a loner and turned to self-depricating humor for acceptance, because as long as I was the one telling the jokes then the beautiful people weren't laughing at me, they were laughing with me", and more blah blah vomiting blah. Am I wrong? (No)

What's the message I'm trying to convey? You need not live a life of importance to fool people into thinking you are actually significant. Now, if the idea that people will want to read your own life story has ever crossed your mind then you are probably a self-absorbed ass and you aren't as nearly as in-touch with the world as you think you are. That's what I have realized and since here on SBB my opinion is infallible you should embrace it. Think for a minute what exactly you are contributing to next time you think you might want to buy the "untold, completely true story of Axel Rose".  Secondarily, I want my faithful following to realize that Kathy Griffin is a giant bucket of gross and I want you to detest her as much as I do.

That's all folks, Suck it Kathy Griffin,
SBB out