About: During the 90 minutes it took to read Me of Little Faith, I did so with Lewis Black’s voice in my head. It was like a book-on-tape experience without the tape part. Or disc, as this isn’t 1984. If you’ve ever seen Black do, well, anything, you know what to expect from his religious diatribe/angry memoir. It reads like one of his stand-up routines, which is a good thing: he’s witty, smart, articulate, inappropriate, honest and decidedly on-point about nearly everything he touches. Unless you disagree with him, in which case you’ll find this book, and my review of it, a miserable read. I think he’s hilarious and intelligent, and my mom thinks he’s hot (see below). What more do you need? Oh, you’re still here? I’ll give you 4 more words before I shut this baby down: he can write, too.
Motivation: I bought this book for my mom, because she has a crush on its author. A major crush. Hard-core. I’ve thought of starting a Facebook page titled “Lewis Black, please go out on a date with my Mom (because you’d probably get lucky).” Anyway, I should have known that she’d have a copy. Maybe I secretly wanted it for myself? Not him. The book. Maybe I secretly wanted the book for myself. Are we clear?
Times Read: 1
Random Excerpt/Page 3: “So why am I writing a book on religion? I wish I could tell you that God had appeared to me and commanded that I reveal unto the peoples of the earth all of his mysteries and that I was the Antichrist. (Now that’s a cash cow waiting to happen.) But the Antichrist wouldn’t write a book. He’d have a reality show and all sorts of digital downloads and he’d leave mind-altering messages on cell phones.”