It’s just my luck that my new book, Wardrobe Malfunction
, drops the same week that the Mueller Report was released, Jussie Smollet’s case was thrown out of court and Cardi B admitted that she used to roofie guys and sic “transgender women” (not the term she used) on them.
Hopefully nothing interesting happens next week, and I can at least discuss Cardi B being the moral equivalent of Bill Cosby, who, need I remind you, is in prison right now.
In the meantime, you’ll just have to settle for my latest literary masterpiece, my ninth overall, if you count Writin’ Dirty, an anthology of articles from my controversial tenure at XXL, and Beatings by Dr. Dre, an ebook-only compilation of articles about Dr. Dre beating the brakes off of Dee Barnes, who’s now homeless.
The full title of my latest is Wardrobe Malfunction
: Janet Jackson, Justin Timberlake and the Power of Desperation, and it’s now available in paperback and ebook, from Amazon
and elsewhere. Here’s a link to it in iTunes
. Here’s the paperback version.
It might take a while for the paperback version of it to be stocked anywhere other than Amazon, and it probably won’t be stocked in any brick and mortar bookstores, though you might be able to talk them into ordering it from a catalog.
I purposely scheduled the release of Wardrobe Malfunction
to coincide with Janet Jackson’s induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, as a tribute to one of the top female pop singers of the 1980s, superior, in my opinion, to Debbie Gibson and Paula Abdul. But I consulted the Google, just now, to see if there was much publicity surrounding tonight’s ceremony, and there wasn’t, really. So I guess that was kind of a waste.
Also, it just so happens that Justin Timberlake is in town, or was in town, touring behind that garbage country album he was promoting at last year’s Super Bowl. I saw on the news that he’s been spotted at several locations around town, including the zoo and some restaurant. If only I’d known in advance, and I wasn’t always working like a Hebrew slave. I could have run up on him and made some sort of scene, for the sake of publicity.
I wrote the book in an emotionally charged six-week span this past fall, in between filling out these forms they make you fill out to get an unemployment check, the amount of which, fortunately for me, wasn’t much less than most paychecks I’ve ever received. If only you could go on it permanently. Perhaps needless to say, I’m riding with Andrew Yang in the 2020 election. I’m not sure what kind of Asian he is, but does it matter? A thousand dollars is a thousand dollars.
I came up with the idea for it a little over a year ago, during Justin Timberlake’s triumphant return to the Super Bowl Halftime Show. Initially, I conceived it as a lengthy essay akin to, say, “Dame Dash Owes Everyone Money,” but I didn’t bother writing it, because who gives a shit? Not enough people read the always-timely “Where Da White Women At?,” possibly in part because Medium purposely suppresses anything it deems politically incorrect.
Then I got my walking papers from Warehouse #1, and I thought to myself, Why not just write it as a book? I outlined it at work during the two-weeks notice I was given, which, in retrospect, I probably should have used to find another job. But it worked out in my favor, because I ended up finding another job literally a day after my unemployment ran out. I couldn’t have timed it any better!
uses the legendary incident during the ‘04 Super Bowl Halftime Show as a jumping-off point to discuss, among other things, the history of modern pop music, with lengthy digressions on Prince, Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis, Bobby Brown, LA Reid and Babyface, New Edition, New Kids on the Block, Backstreet Boys and N'Sync, plus #MeToo allegations against Les Moonves and late boy-band svengali Lou Pearlman and a number of random non-sequiturs on things like The Howard Stern Show, the '94 crime bill, the Atlanta Child Murders and whatever ostensibly prestigious cable TV shows I happened to be watching at the time.
In other words, it’s more or less the same as all of my other books, but with even less relevant content. I implore you to buy it, even if you can’t read. I’ll be back next week with the usual bullshit.
Take it easy on yourself,