Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me

This book is dedicated to Michael Broussard. He is responsible for every book Ive written, and for every bridge Ive burned in the book world. I love you dearly, you great big homosexual. Stay gay. It gets better.

My name is Chelsea Handler and Im not proud of myself. I have made a career out of being a misanthrope with the maturity level of an eight-year-old who had to repeat the third grade several times. Am I pleased with myself? Sort of, but I am definitely not proud. I know that I should be more mature than I am, and I have sometimes tried to curb my behavior, but it never seems to take. I have to come to terms with what it is I have to offer the world, and obviously what it is isnt mind-blowing.

So, in the vein of giving back to the community, I have figured out a way to give back to a handful of the people I harass on a regular basis. Everyone who contributed to this pile of nonsense is someone who is very dear to me, and someone who needed cash. I believe in spreading the wealth. Give, give, give, and laugh, laugh, laugh. Even when its at the expense of others, its important to laugh. Laugh loudly, laugh often, and most important, laugh at yourself.

For those of you who have read my other books, the names of some of the recurring characters in this book may confuse you. The reason being, when I first started writing books, I was instructed to change all names and likenesses to protect people and their privacy, and also to protect myself from being sued by people I had allowed to penetrate me.

However, it turns out that everyone in my life has somehow warmed up to the idea of being humiliated in print, and are now adamant about my using their real names going forward. Heres a key:

Sidney = Simone

Sloane = Shana

Greg = Glen

Ray = Roy

There are more, but Ive already lost interest in explaining this and would prefer for everyone to get to the part of the book that will, I hope, hold your interest the longest.

In closing, I would like to thank each and every one of you for making me a New York Times bestselling author. It is a sad testament to the state of this country, but I will take what I can get, when I can get it, and try to laugh at the fact that it happened at all.

xo,

Chelsea

C helsea Handler is a menace. Working for her is very much like working for a highly functioning, oversexed, drunken chimpanzee. Just when you think youre part of the family and its all fun and games, she turns on you and bites off your fingers, nose, and genitals.

As with any volatile primate, you can never tell when shell attack, but through years of experience and close observation I have concluded that she is most dangerous when shes bored or has a little free time and is looking to entertain herself. Now I understand why they put toys in monkey cages. You want to keep them busy so they have no time for mischief. The thought has crossed my mind to buy Chelsea a tire swing for her dressing room.

For some unknown reason, I seem to be one of Chelseas favorite targets. Brad Wollack thinks she fucks with him more than anyone else, but he is sadly deceived. Brad Wollack is a whiner and an obsessive-compulsive, so not only does he talk about how Chelsea fucks with him more, he thinks about it over and over and over again while he counts the ceiling tiles and cleans his computer mouse with a Clorox wipe.

I also feel that Brad should be used to any abuse by now. I mean, just look at him. Hes ridiculous.

I apologize to his parents, whom I have met multiple times, and who are lovely and very attractive people. Honestly, I wouldnt mind taking his mom for a spin around the dance floor, but Im sorry, Brad looks like a newborn piglet with a red Jew fro. If you didnt know better, youd think Little Orphan Annie had had a sex change operation with less than optimal results. Add some big glasses and a twitch and youve got a guy who got his ass kicked religiously in high school. Im sure people have been fucking with him for most of his life.

Getting back to Chelsea Just so you know what Im dealing with, let me explain. Chelsea introduces me as a little girl to everyone, whether its her family, new people at the show, people at dinner parties, or entertainment executives. I guess you could call that a lie because, for the record, I am not a little girl. Im a grown man and a producer at Chelsea Lately. Even though little girls are cute and cuddly, they dont exactly command a lot of respect in the rough-and-tumble, dog-eat-dog, who-took-my-sandwich world of Hollywood.

I didnt really mind it at first, but then I realized that even though people probably didnt think I was actually a little girl, I could tell they were assessing my physique and thinking, Well, he does kind of have an adolescent female body. I dont know what it is about him, but for some reason I cant stop thinking about that robot girl from Small Wonder. This doesnt give me the biggest boost of confidence about myself, everybody thinking that I have the body of a teen girl and that my name is Jill, not Johnny. Thats also what Chelsea introduces me as, Jill.

If she doesnt introduce me as Jill, she introduces me as Baby Bird. I believe Baby Bird came from the size of my body and the fact that Im not really a big eater. You wouldnt be either if you were looking over your shoulder during every meal, keeping your eye out for a lonely marauding basic cable host. I guess I dont put much effort into eating, and I will admit that when everyone at the table is finished Im usually about three bites in. But what the fuck does that have to do with being a baby bird? Its not like Im having someone chew up my food for me and then regurgitate it into my mouth. That happened only once, in Cabo, with a banana, but that was for a movie, one I remain extremely proud of to this day, titled Drunken Jackasses: The Quest. Netflix it.

The only conclusion that any normal person can come to is that Chelsea is infatuated with my body. She wont admit it, but come on, thats all she talks about. Im sure right now shes probably somewhere thinking about my slim, petite body. Maybe shes attracted to little girl bodies and thats why shes always talking about mine. I believe she probably wishes she had my body.

Another thing you should know is that Chelsea gives me three to four wedgies a week. Not your cute, giggly, oh, you silly goose wedgies. Were talking tear-inducing, ball-crushing, bloodstain-producing underwear wedgies. Im sure by now I have the words Fruit of the Loom permanently embossed on my asshole.

This insane behavior is perfectly acceptable in the Chelsea Lately offices. How is this possible? Is that any way to run a television show? Do you think at The View the morning starts with Joy Behar emerging from what Im sure is three to four hours of makeup, taking hold of an interns boxers, and screaming, It must be Christmas because I just gave you a Nut Cracker?

But in this asinine workplace you have to learn to grin and bear it and laugh because, well, its part of the job. Ha, ha, ha, Chelsea just severed my left testicle. Hilarious. I know some of the writers can feel my pain and humiliation when shes doing it, but still they laugh along. I once saw it in Sarah Colonnas eyes, I saw the sadness and compassion for me through her giggles, but I dont blame her, she has a career to look out for. To this day Ive never held it against Sarah.