This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader as part of a quick takes post, the point of which is to catch up on my "To Write About" stack—emphasizing pithiness, not thoroughness..
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A fictionalized version of MacDonald's memoir, it's hard to tell what's memoir, what's a joke, what's a mixture. The more obivously genuine moments are marred by their vicinity to the clearly fictional. As a book? This is a mess—a self-indulgent, erratic, mess.

But wow. This was funny—even most of what I didn't like was funny.

Don't go into this thinking you'll understand MacDonald's life, career, or humor better. Go into it expecting a strange performance art-like experience with some giant laughs and you'll be set.