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Last night, I read a book titled Everybody Wants Some: The Van Halen Saga, which I highly recommend to Van Halen completists. Oddly, the "hook" for this book seems to be its introduction: For reasons that are never completely clear, the author, Ian Christe, felt he would not be qualified to write a book about Van Halen unless he taught himself to play "Eruption" on guitar, which he did. This, it seems, is a trend in literature. An associate of mine (Eric Nuzum) recently released a book about vampirism titled The Dead Travel Fast and, in order to "research" it, forced himself to drink a shot of human blood, which he promptly regurgitated all over his bathroom floor. As a writer, I am not sure how I feel about this peculiar social development. However, I love the fact that it allows me to have opinions about several books I've never read. For example, The Nine: Inside the Secret World of the Supreme Court, by Jeffrey Toobin. Because the author has never attempted to overturn Roe v. Wade, this book is a failure. The Five People You Meet in Heaven, by Mitch Albom. Because the author is alive, this book is a failure. Chosen by a Horse, by Susan Richards. Obviously impossible. The Secret, by Rhonda Byrne. A book about a secret cannot be a secret. As such, the author has failed. Also, her readership is comprised of morons who would immediately tell everyone they knew about this shit if it actually worked. Self-reflexively doomed. If I Did It, by O. J. Simpson. Probably awesome.

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