Denis Leary - Why We Suck: A Feel Good Guide to Staying Fat, Loud, Lazy and Stupid

"Just remember, kid-it's all bullshit."

- ROBERT MITCHUM, WHISPERING INTO NICK NOLTE'S EAR AT THE ACADEMY AWARDS

DOCTOR'S NOTE

I'd like to point out that all of the facts and allegations and medical science spoken about in this book have all been thoroughly researched. By me and my staff. Which means-just me. I didn't make footnotes and I'm not listing any evidence. That shit just takes way too long. You wanna find out if what I say is true IS actually true? Google it. That's what I did. The things I didn't bother to Google? They happened to me firsthand. Good luck and good reading.

Dr. Leary

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I'd like to thank everyone who ever told me to go fuck myself. It's why I fell in love with my wife, who bears more than a fleeting resemblance to me-except she's far prettier. And is a girl, obviously. And she's funnier than I am. And smarter. And somehow fell in love with me when I was broke and barely owned the sneakers on my working-class Irish feet. I owe everything in my life to Ann and my two terrific children-Devin and Jack. Let's face it-the only reason I wrote this book is because both of them wanna go to college. So thanks for helping to further their education by purchasing this fine piece of literature. Wow. I wrote a whole book. Well, it's SHAPED like a book. Anyways-enjoy.

SECRET HIDDEN MESSAGE PAGE

I have never been fat. But I have been-and oftentimes continue to be-loud, lazy and stupid. So put down the Pop-Tarts and listen up a little. I'm trying to help us here.

A SECOND NOTE FROM THE DOCTOR

Just in case you still do not understand (and given the condition of this country and the people we place into elected office, I think there are whole cities full of morons who couldn't beat a bag of hammers in a game of Scrabble out there) let me make it simple for you:

This is a comedy book.

Which means it's meant to be funny.

So when I say something in here I am offering up my opinion, my slightly exaggerated take on people, places and things and very often a twisted take on reality.

In other words: it is parody, satire and poking fun.

If you are mentioned within these pages and your first reaction is to call a lawyer?

Good night and good luck.

Because there are endless things you can buy in America-but a sense of humor isn't one of them.

We got pills and potions for your head, face, fears, tits, ass, anxieties, colon, kidneys, alcohol addiction, drug jones, heart, lungs, lips and attitude-but we don't have anything that can make you laugh at yourself.

Otherwise-before you read this book?

I'd prescribe a fist full of it.

Once again,

Dr. Denis

SPECIAL THANKS

I'd like to thank Lydia Wills for her support and finely tuned interest. I'd like to thank God-if only because I am so sick of hearing rappers with criminal records longer than their extended-length Hummer limousines do it at the Grammys. But I'd also like to thank Satan-who never gets enough credit for his wonderfully inspirational work with everyone from Judas Priest to The Rolling Stones and seemingly every other talk-radio honcho and Bush administration member. I think I speak for all comedians out there when I say without Satan and his many evil minions, we wouldn't have such a wealth of great targets to aim at. I also must thank Patrick Campbell for his fabulous artwork that will make you laugh out loud later on. But I can't thank Patrick without mentioning his wife Kerry and their son Wyatt, who stopped by the apartment and my office many times when Patrick and I were working. I must also thank Wyatt for puking on the kitchen floor instead of the living room rug. And last but not least I'd like to thank my editor Josh Kendall for his bright advice and deft suggestions and all the lively and lovely girls from Penguin who first came into the offices at Apostle-my production company-and said "you gotta write a book." They sparked my interest. I have to thank two key people at Apostle as well-Bartow Church and my assistant Anna Urban, both of whom I drove nuts with requests for celebrity post-autopsy toxicology results and lists of political trivia etcetera etcetera. And I must thank the one man in particular who made this whole thing happen: my production partner Jim Serpico. After the Penguin girls had pitched their idea and left, Jim said "if you're ever gonna write a book, this is the time and these are the people." Then he kept kicking my ass to make my deadlines and reading drafts and telling me what made him laugh and what didn't and telling me time and time again that I only had such and such a number of months left and why don't you push that subject a little further and when are you gonna have that chapter done and you only have eight weeks you only have three weeks you only have four more days and I think this cover is the best cover and I'll tell you why. He's the hardest-working guy I have ever met and he's funny and he's sharp and he's really really really smart and he's made every project we've ever worked on better simply by being involved and God how I hate him. Thanks, Jimmy. You slave-driving sunuvabitch. I'd also like to thank my recently departed Irish Wolfhound Clancy-the biggest dog in the history of the world. Let's put it this way-when I had a cup of coffee in the morning, so did he. THAT'S how big he was. And I gotta give kudos to my new dog Lulu-she picked up right where Clancy left off. Only she doesn't drink coffee. But she did sit at my feet under the desk each day and look up at me yearningly with her big brown eyes, as if to say-when the fuck is this book gonna be done, asshole?

It's done, Lu. Let's go get us some squirrels.

PROLOGUE

Put this book down.

Right now.

Do not buy it.

Stop reading.

Now.

Why are you still reading this?

Okay.

I warned you.

Now I will beg you, beseech you-in short, do everything possible in the limited format of this medium to get you to buy any other book within reach right now (if this book was a gift and you are at home or on a plane or sitting in a hotel room somewhere I would suggest grabbing a newspaper or a magazine or even your laptop) because this book is going to piss you off.

If you are a woman, you will soon be livid.

If you are a man, you are going to be filled with a burning rage.

If you are a kid-meaning anyone under the age of eighteen-you will soon be filled with shock and awe.

Scratch that.

If you are under the age of twenty-five you will soon be filled with shock and awe.

If you are a fan of Oprah-good luck.

If you hate Oprah or Oprah tends to drive you insane-you too will need some assistance.

This is not a book for the faint of heart or the politically correct or the weak or the extreme right wing or the left of center leftist Democrat or nuns or any other members of any organized religion or New York Yankee fans.

I am warning you-I am not here to make you feel all warm and fuzzy or superior to everyone else or all soft and gooey inside. I am here to debunk and declassify and otherwise hold up a brutally honest mirror to our fat, ugly, lazy American selves.

I am here to explain how we can and must thin the herd and extricate the stupid and eradicate the obese and take Rush Limbaugh's head and make a bong out of it.

Senators, psychopaths, fence-sitters (all three of those may sometimes be the same person), celebrity assholes (hello), presidents, centerfielders, centerfolds-everyone is up for grabs here.

Because I'm sick of it all.

I'm sick of low self-esteem and fake fat-suit-wearing female talk-show hosts and extreme makeovers and Cats The Musical and cats in general and steroid-laden home-run hitters and Paris Hilton and Grey's Anatomy and Reese Witherspoon movies and Paris Hilton's himbo boyfriends and celebrity rehab and Dr. Phil and Terrell Owens and almost anyone else you can think of.