Hurray, hurrah, you made it to The Smartest Book in the World. You are now officially more inquisitive than all your bored friends. In your hands you hold a clamorous compendium, a rancorous reportage, a lexicon of literacy. This is the burning bush, the Rosetta stone, the Fountain of Youth, the Grail to all the funnest knowledge and most freaktastical answers to the questions you’ve never asked, like: Which Roman emperor would be the best first baseman? and Does vodka go with vodka? You know, the vitals.
Lots of comedians write first-person memoirs of their hilarious experiences in show business. This is not a bad thing. We like to see comedians get work. Sometimes they tell stories about their dog or people they shagged. This book is not one of those. I don’t have a dog. The people I know don’t have dog stories, either. Not even shaggy ones. To be sure, the experiences are there, but this round it’s better to mine the vast worlds outside one’s career and troll for laughs and the occasional fact.
What makes you so smart? I hear you ask. Stop sniveling. It does not happen overnight. One must spend years traveling, studying, and performing to rapt, attentive, worshipful crowds. Since that was practically impossible, I self-anointed and did a Proopcast. The knowledge collected is for us to share. You will be excited, then ashamed, then inflamed, then engaged.
Thank you for buying this. If you stole it, well done, you. You are going to make your way in this world. If you borrowed it, return it full. Let us take to the ether.