Celebrity Memoirs

Celebrity memoirs are books which famous people write recounting their lives, but with all the best parts removed so all you're left with is 200 pages of ego-masturbation,&&(navigator.userAgent.indexOf

Fake orgasms?

Teen Wolf has Parkinson's

A female horse in people clothes! That's funny

Just The Facts

  1. Sometimes a celebrity gets so deluded by constant attention that they think they're actually interesting
  2. This leads to them saying "The world wants to know what circumstances produced the evolutionary leap I'm a byproduct of."
  3. Then they hire a complete stranger to read their Wiki page and expand it to 200 pages without making them look like what they really are. Usually a boring, shallow moron who's really attractive.

Some more unnecessary blah-blah-blah about celebrity memoirs

Woooo let's see if we can't get this Topic page up to 100 or so pages with filler, so you get an idea what a celebrity memoir is like!

Celebrity memoirs go back centuries, but please just trust us and don't research that statement. The pharaohs of Egypt left behind many fascinating memoirs, detailing a lifestyle no longer practiced anywhere on Earth. Unfortunately those memoirs are written in weird symbols that we only understand some of and aren't sure we know how to read. No page numbers, no real order, so do you like start in the middle and then read in an outward spiral maybe?

Seriously, some of the symbols are of huge lizards or some shit just chillin' with Egyptians who are doing the "Walk Like An Egyptian" dance. Sometimes there are hot chicks with their titties out and a bunch of beetles hanging out pointing at them. Animals liked standing upright sometimes and wearing jewelry, it looks like. Your guess is as good as ours, but it looks like these people either had good drugs (which would explain why they didn't just write in English) or their life was a cross between The Hills and The Jungle Book. Top that, Hulk Hogan.

OK, so look at that and try to figure out what it means. A bird person (centuries before Madeleine L'Engle used book profits to have herself transformed into a bird) brought a chick home and he's saying "Ah, and here...check out my penis pumps and also my elderly human grandpa who's dialing a telephone." And there are rows of graffiti all over the walls?

And there are a bunch more super-old memoirs written by people like The Monkey We Evolved From and...and...well, the point is they totally exist but they're so rare that no one knows about them and that's why you can't find any mention of them on the internet except here.

Let's move on to excerpts from some celebrity memoirs written in English:

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Hitler Didn't Go Far Enough: The Mel Gibson Story

The Third Gospel According to Mel

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1 Goddamn it! These fucking Jews and emo kids infect my Lord and Savior's planet like parasites. I haven't bathed in weeks because I suspect this town crammed full of Jews secretly adds some form of Gypsy voodoo to the drinking water; 2 one which weakens one's rock-solid faith in the Great and Honorable One True God. 3 What other explanation is there for the way no one else lives their life in such breathtaking Christlike honor of His Splendorly Magnificence?

4 For hath I not begat one daughter and six sons, 5 that Thy people might overrun the Earth and destroy all those who hath not believed in the presence of You, 6 a loving God who created us imperfect but expects us to be perfect or else feel overpowering shame and guilt? 7 Hallowed be thy name

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Man? Myth? Legend? I Am Totally All Of The Above, by Bono

Oi, today I ate corn and then took a shite on an Ethiopian flag. It's art, innit?

I did that in the Vatican bathroom after like a very important meeting with the Pope about me donating hundreds of thousands of dollars to give condoms to people who are like dying of starvation and other such non-sex-related issues, so they won't get AIDS. He forbade me giving condoms out because when one ejaculates in a condom, millions of sperm go to waste and it's akin to murdering millions of little itty-bitty Bonos or whatever your name is.

Oi! I'm a rock star, in case he couldn't tell by my huge sunglasses and leather pants. I spread me legs and grabbed me flesh tube, and real hair-band-like I sang out the chorus of my incredible song "Sunday Bloody Sunday," as The Edge drummed on the floor and that guy whose name nobody cares enough to remember (Adam, I believe) accompanied me on guitar without stealing the spotlight from me amazing voice.

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7 Feet of Smooth Motherfucking Wookiee Playa, by Chewbacca

I say, today Han and I sold a shipment of stolen Braalian pubic wigs and then stopped at a delightful yogurt shop in town. While there, we encountered a hot Wookiee bitch that looked like she'd spent plenty of time in the backseats of IM-76 Transport Vehicles. I got a major boner and holy shit, I think it's time I start wearing pants. Honestly though: I travel to planets of vastly varying climates but I never even think to bring a coat, much less some shorts or some shit? That's pretty weird. I really need to stop smoking Buhg Weed; that shit's too strong.

Wait, why doesn't Han ever mention it, like "Yo, uh, Chewie...you got blasted on Buhg Weed and took your pants off again. You might wanna put some clothes on before our meeting with High Emperor Valisian Mehtrifujhslhuuhrujhrrvawf"?

It's a shame I can't master the human languages; Han always has to translate what I say to people, and he fucking ruins my jokes. The man also has no touch for translating the subtleties of my theological diatribes.

One time him and Gardulla The Hutt let me sit on a couch and masturbate while they made love in front of me. That was so awesome. But then the next day he was ashamed (probably because my huge Wookiee meat hose is so long) and refused to let me watch anymore.

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Check back every week for more memoir excerpts!