No rating.

Matthew Perry comes off as a condescending douchebag in this memoir, and seems to objectify every single woman, I’m sorry, “girl,” he meets.

I could excuse some of his more crass behavior as being a result of his addiction if he ever seemed remorseful for his actions, but he never did. In fact, he even went so far as to say “I made millions of dollars, so who cares.”

He’s also apparently the biggest Woody Allen fan, which is a cringe thing to repeatedly admit in a memoir 🙃

Perry does have some intriguing tales throughout this book, but the more I listened, the more he made me wince.