Are you honestly trying to tell me to read a book about a sorority? Are you okay? Is Babette back? I’m scared for you.
Get well soon,
A**
Dear Psycho,
I get it. I totally get it. But I’m not Babette, I’m not sick and I’m not out of my mind. I’m just having a moment on my journey of self discovery.
Everyone knows that I’m not huge on being supportive of others and their art. But today I’m taking a leap of faith, a trust fall, a cosmic chance. I honestly have no idea why today is different, but I do know that I this book is fucking HILARIOUS.
It’s not about a sorority. It’s about a girl who, not unlike me, has been dealt a shitty hand in life and who perseveres through it all to rise like a Phoenix from the ashes…
Taylor Bell used to intern for me and maybe she just learned how to be hilarious from watching little old me all day. I don’t know how she got so talented, but she is. I haven’t ever laughed at any book I’ve ever read, ever. Not even my own books are funny to me. But Dirty Rush is very LOL.
If I’m being completely honest, I feel like maybe Taylor should be giving me a little more credit than she is for how good this book is. I mean she did sit in my office and watch me write my last book for an entire summer, so maybe I should be getting a royalty.
Also, Taylor was in my office the day that Miley Cyrus came over for a so I feel like I should at least get some credit for the dedication pictured above. Right?
If you haven’t read this book, then you should. You won’t be sorry. It’s MAY-JOR. Trust. I included a little sample from the book so you can see for yourself. Then go buy the fucking thing.
I’d only done cocaine once before, on New Year’s with Jonah and our friend Beth from back home, and thought it was medium fun but I never really got it. It basically just made me want to smoke cigarettes (which I don’t ever want to do) and talk about my family (which I also don’t ever want to do).
“Look who it is,” Meg said as I sat down in an empty chair next to the couch.
“So this is where you’ve been?” I said.
“Want some coke?”
For some reason I wanted to do something “bad” tonight, so I obliged.
“Sure!” I said, the enthusiasm in my tone was surprising even to me, “Why not?”
Meg handed me a small plastic baggie of white powder and her set of sorority house keys on a sparkly silver BZ keychain. She motioned that I ought to dip the key into the bag, like a shovel, and then put it up to my nostril and inhale. She did this silently so as not to embarrass me in front of everyone, which I appreciated. I took a couple of sniffs, or rather “bumps,” and passed it back to her; then the baggie went around the circle and then back to me. This went on for the next twenty minutes or so. I honestly didn’t know how much coke to do, so I just kept partaking.
I ended up doing too much.
“So, like, the weirdest thing to me, Meg, is that, honestly, I think you’re kind of an awesome person. And I’d like to think that you think I’m awesome too?”
“No, I, like, totally agree.”
“You agree that you’re an awesome person or that I’m an awesome person?” I lit a cigarette and inhaled. It tasted deli- cious.
