Chelsea Handler completes third book

Anne Yoskoski, Managing Editor

Chelsea Handler’s new book, “Uganda be Kidding Me,” is certainly a display of how far she’s moved up in the world. Those who have read the comedian’s earlier books like “My Horizontal Life” and “Are You There, Vodka? It’s me, Chelsea” will remember what Handler described her life as before she became Chelsea Latley.

This new book features Handler dropping money on excursions around the world, and bringing her friends along for the ride.

Uganda Be Kidding Me
Uganda Be Kidding Me

As with most comedians, people will either be enthralled or disgusted with Handler. Her sense of humor isn’t for everyone. In this latest memoir, Handler makes fun of her friends more than ever. Sue is introduced as “Sue the Lesbian” and she basically calls her cousin Molly an idiot within the first three pages. Some of this frankness may be chalked up to the multiple drinks and Xanax’s Handler mentions downing every day during all of these trips.

From an African safari to Switzerland Handler tracks her merry troop across the globe, keeping the focus on their debauchery for 99 percent of the book. There are a few sentences thrown in there about how some of these sites are actually very beautiful, but then the dialogue continues to throw out references to the fact that these women are most likely functioning alcoholics with almost no shame.

That being said, it still made me laugh. Handler doesn’t mince words, and points out her own incompetence along with the incompetence of people around her. When she makes fun of this ragtag group of women she includes herself.

While self-deprecating humor isn’t for everyone, Handler makes it work by combining her behavior with having no shame about the behavior. Picture a David Sedaris novel where all the crazy things that happen are summed up to him being himself. There are no apologies, just encouragement to get over it and not care about how others act.

While loyal readers will miss chapters thrown in written by Handler’s hilarious family, the stories still bring out the crude, base sense of humor that comes with a Handler book.

The impression a reader leaves with, however, is one of an addict who has the mentality of a five year old. Handler can barely do anything herself, and 90 percent of the activities she partakes involve alchohol and drugs. No role model material here, folks. If you don’t have the tolerance to read about Handler complaining about a lack of margaritas in Johannesburg, out down the Bacardi soaked pages and walk away.