Chelsea Handler's book, My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One-Night Stands is one woman's memoir of her various bedroom encounters over the years.
Supposedly, this book is a hilarious recounting of one woman's sexual escapades through the years. She sleeps with a well-endowed midget in Mexico, a teenage gymnast on a five-day cruise, doesn't sleep with various men for a variety of reasons, and single-handedly keeps the nation's various liquor wholesalers in the black. Quite frankly, the book is so repetitive that I couldn't even finish it. How many times can you read about how a woman decides to sleep with someone for her own (generally selfish) reasons, and then dumps on that same someone in a variety of heartless ways. Are we supposed to be impressed at her casual and uncaring treatment of others? Since when is getting drunk a wildly hilarious act in and of itself? Is the mere mention of dildos and vibrators supposed to send us into paroxysms of laughter?
Sorry, Chelsea. You've got to work harder than that; as a comedian, I'm surprised you don't realize it. Your opening bit is funny, but it's all downhill from there. Unlike a twenty minute stand-up slot in a club, you can't afford to save some of your best material for the end of the act. Books allow the reader to walk away at any point and if you save all your best material for the final twenty pages, chances are good that few readers will discover the gold at the end of the rainbow.