Our Advice on The Believer's New Advice Book: Read It While You're on the Crapper

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Care to Make Love in That Gross Little Space Between Cars? is the sequel to The Believer magazine's previous advice book, You're a Horrible Person, But I Like You. Featuring objectively terrible and mostly hilarious advice from bigwig comedians, writers, actors, and perhaps my favorite category, "miscellaneous Canadian rock musicians," Care to Make Love is exactly what you would expect from folks involved with productions like, The Daily Show, SNL, Late Show with David Letterman, Parks and Recreation, and so forth. It's a bathroom read, quick and dirty, with many LULz and only a few outright misses. No one wants to sit on your lap, okay, Bob Saget? Not even John Stamos, I'm fairly certain. 

The questions are just as ridiculous as the answers, most of the time. A few examples:

"Is there a manly way to eat cotton candy?"

"Is there such a thing as love at first sight, or is he just looking at my tits?"

"Sometimes I find myself ever so slightly turned on by the juniper tree in my backyard..."

The high profiles of the advice-givers carry the book: Amy Sedaris, Judd Apatow, Zach Galifianakis, Louis C.K., Kristen Schaal, Nick Hornby, and Weird Al Yankovic are among them. And they're predictably ballsy and nonsensical and delightfully off-putting, if you can stomach a sizable dose of raunch with the usual cat-deskunking guidance.

Amy Sedaris, whose Believer column Sedaratives started this whole advice book biznass, was probably my favorite, mostly because I too have struggled with how to make a bong "look cute." And Louis C.K.'s belligerent assholery really grew on me by the last question, which was about procrastination: "I hope his wife has a baby into his mouth and it gets lodged in his throat and he chokes on his own stupid baby." He also woos with the colorful image of "your mother's dried-up old snatchola."

Allison Silverman had me with her rhyming ditty about rimming: "First date we neck? Sure, what the heck! Then analingus? Not till next time you ring us!" Simon Rich's counsel regarding how not to be found dead in your underwear by firemen is pretty great. Laraine Newman tackles the pressing conundrum of which trees are the sluttiest, paying special mind to the "redwood, (for obvious reasons)."

This kind of comedic writing is great in small doses, but hard to sustain for a whole book. By the end I was like,"Enough with the pogo sticks, roofies, and caterer references! I just want an answer to not be absurd," which would never have happened if I was reading it in bathroom installments, like I should have. That's my non-ridiculous, earnest advice to readers. Read this shit while shitting. Voila!

Now. Who wants to give me a book deal?


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