Misogynist Manual

Tonight, I did something that is akin to giving money to the nazi party. I bought the Tucker Max book. And I was so excited about the book that I left, forgetting to pick up a copy of the new Vanity Fair where Lindsey Lohen talks about doing drugs and is scantily clad on the cover.

As someone who considers herselves to be on the front line of feminism, I should feel bad about reading - let alone buying - a text chronicling the exploits of a self-professed womanizer. This text should serve as a warning, but instead it's entertaining. I could look for deeper meaning in this collection of stories or analyze the author as sad or making a "cry for help." But read the stories about the sushi pants, almost getting killed by cowboys, and trying...sex in a very uncomfortable place (like in the back of a volkswagon?) and you'll laugh. A lot. And then read it aloud for the other people in the car on the way home from St. Louis.