CELEBRITY RELEASES BOOK ABOUT SELF! WORLD ROCKED!

In an unprecedented act that is unprecedented, a famous person known for being famous has released a book about itself, drastically altering the world as we’ve known it, and setting us all on a sociological trajectory into the unknown. The celebrity, who prefers it/it/its pronouns (but usually spells the third one wrong), has broken new ground in the celebrity profession, by celebrating the publication of YO!!! CHECK ME OUT!!! Manifesting My Journey to Myself — the first-ever book in human history to detail the details of being a famous person: in this case, the famous person known to its worldwide fans as Narcee Cyst.

It was my great pleasure — well, hold up, it wasn’t “great,” and “pleasure” is definitely stretching it — it was my . . . hm . . . let’s see . . . how are we talking today? Ah, yes: It was my mid jam to interview Narcee Cyst three times for this important article: once in its Bel Air mansion; once aboard its own personal aircraft carrier; and once around the moon and back in its billionaire-asshole spaceship. But first I contacted a literary expert about this unprecedented form; and then, with considerable discomfort, I actually skimmed YO!!! CHECK ME OUT!!!

Prior to visiting Narcee Cyst, I spoke via IMs on retooled Friendster with Carla Pinko, Professor of Literature at the Polytech Community College of Chicken, Alaska. Professor Pinko assured me that there’s nothing about which to be alarmed, regarding this first-ever celebrity memoir, except that, “the proles are going to suck it up like a 99¢ Slurpee,” and that we should all, “expect a ginormous avalanche of this kind of crapola to follow imminently.”

More intriguing was Professor Pinko’s reference to the pre-publication designation of YO!!! CHECK ME OUT!!! as a New York Times Best Seller, citing the landmark case of Blatty v. New York Times Co. (1986), which, in 1983, saw William Peter Blatty, the author of The Exorcist, suing the revered periodical for $6 million in presumed lost revenue over his popular then-latest novel, Legion (the basis for the 1990 motion picture The Exorcist III), being excluded from the purported list of “Best Sellers.” “That case, which Blatty lost, established that the ‘Best Seller’ list is editorial content, not based on actual sales figures,” explained Professor Pinko, “so it’s pretty clear that Cyst has some tastemaker cronies on the inside who’ve decided to push this — what did you call it? celebrity memoir? — upon the naïve and unsuspecting populace.”

With this fraction of a percentage of a fragment of perception, I arrive, in a timely manner, via two trains, four buses, and a six-mile uphill hike amidst rattlesnakes and scorpions, at the gates of the gates of the gates of the Cyst estate in glamorous Bel Air. The publicist for Narcee Cyst, one W.T.F. Isgoingon, strongly encouraged me to arrive extra early, as each set of gates leading to the Cyst estate requires not only proper credentials, but the answering of a complex riddle, one’s answer being approved, or not, by hangry Komodo dragons. (Those things could really use a breath mint, btw.) Gazing at the skeletons and assorted human remains and scraps of remarkably dated clothing strewn about each checkpoint, you can imagine my relief at getting all three answers — curly fries; Bosom Buddies; stevedore — correct. “Nobody gits that last un,” chuckles the porter, beside a heli-pad, lounging against a massive pile of decaying journalists past. “Nahs job.”

“Not really,” I opine.

“Well, en ya go, thin,” he snorts, gnawing upon what appears to be the skull of someone vastly more intelligent than he, and his cry of “Make America Gr — ” is muted behind me by the slamming of the massive gilded front doors.

I stifle a shudder, et voilá, into the obscene display of utterly undeserved wealth I am ushered. It’s basically the Louvre, sans soup.

Perched upon a throne that’s actually a throne, I find Narcee Cyst, who greets me by extending its ring which it expects to be kissed, but as minutes tick away, it seems to reconsider, stowing that stuff and instead offering me the more conventional ring upon its finger, which I also refuse. Desperate for press, sighing, it settles back into its throne, gesturing for me to make myself comfortable upon a bale of hay several tiers below, which I do, because let’s get this over with.

You really ought to screen your help.

What’s that, mortal? I can’t hear you all the way down there! Speak up!

Nothing. Um, quite a spread you’ve got here.

Hey, thanks. Seventy-three bedrooms. Well, that’s the first level.

I’ve read your book, the one about yourself, and I really —

You love it, right? Everybody loves it! I love it! Yayeee!!!

Uh, sure. How exactly did you come up with this incredible idea of writing about yourself?

Well, as you must know if you’ve actually read the book, I’m best known for standing around, saying other people’s words in front of cameras. But the real me, that’s the emagni. Or, inagme.

Enigma?

That’s it! That’s the thing I am! But not any more, because with my book, all this planet’s mortals such as yourself can finally attain the salvation of knowing how I manifested my journey to myself.

You’re a celebrity.

Mm-hm. The celebrity.

How did you arrive at that career path? Did you fill out a job application, or —

Well, it’s simple, really. In our era, everybody is an astrophysicist. The world is lousy with astrophysicists, dime-a-dozen, dime-a-billion! And politicians, forget it, if they’re not an astrophysicist, they’re a politician, especially if their background is in comedy. It’s just not special. But one day, I was getting a mani-pedi — well, in truth I was giving a mani-pedi — and it just came to me: Celebrity! That’s what I’ll be! Yayeee!!!

Okay, YO!!! CHECK ME OUT!!! is noteworthy in that it includes not one or two, but twenty-seven chapters about your pre-entertainment sports career. What, uh, I guess, was that like?

Amazing. Yayeee!!! It was amazing, because I was amazing. When it came to moving a ball from one part of the thing to the other part of the thing before the other team could do the same but in the opposite direction, I was the best at that!

Okay, check. Hey, what are these creatures that are munching on my seat?

Oh, those are some of my gazelle, for the Komodos, in case we ever run out of journalists.

Heh. Shoo! Heh. Your book fails . . . er, neglects . . . uh, doesn’t mention this, but prior to your stratospheric rise to superstardom, there’s a credit for you on IMDb, as “Extremely Irritating Patient #2.”

Oh, that. I bought IMDb and told them to take that down. It was just a bit part, in the original DCU, which I can claim to have founded, because nobody cares.

The original DCU?

The Disorderlies Cinematic Universe. Straight-to-video sequel. A favor for a friend.

Got that. This is kind of hard for me to say, but one of the things I found . . . ugh . . . fa . . . fascinating about your book, was —

I’m sorry, but that’s all for today.

That’s . . . all? But it took nine hours for me to get h —

It’s time for my midday coffee enema. The gazelle will show you out. See you next time, mortal! Yayeee!!!

The above material proving dismayingly sparse and even more inane than the fodder in People, I agree to meet the subject for a second session, this time aboard its personal aircraft carrier, to which I am flown by fighter jet, with the rubber-band thing catching us just before plunking into the ocean, which I cordially dislike, arriving covered in vomit, some of which is my own.

YOU PUKED! HA-HA!

WHAT?!

WHAAT?!

WHAAAT?!

YOU’RE IMPRESSED, RIGHT?!

YOU SHOW OFF SO MUCH YOU MAKE RUSSELL CROWE LOOK LIKE GANDHI!!

WHAAAAT?!

I SAID: LET’S TALK ABOUT THE TEAM OF GHOSTWRITERS WHO ACTUALLY DID ALL OF THE ACTUAL WRITING IN “YOUR” BOOK!! DID YOU EVEN PAY THEM?!

WHAAAAAT?!

Jet engines drown out the rest of the recording, which is just as well, because they’re quite easy to transcribe: BREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! etc. Still short on material, though, I figure, what the heck, I haven’t been to outer space, so a few days later I clamber aboard Narcee Cyst’s stupid rocketship, the Revenge of the Nerd, wherein, after launch, it’s much quieter, especially once we hit zero-G, then the void of space (which would make a better title for the book, IMHO).

Okay, I guess this is sort of cool.

I know, right?

So back to the topic of —

Hey, listen, journo-mortal: Can you do me a favor? My agent sent me over the first two transcripts —

How did —

Never mind that. The thing is, you’re irrelevant, whereas I’m a demigod, yet you’re the one in bold? It ain’t right. How’s about I get the bold print, since I’m way important, and you’re, let us say, not?

Fine. You take the bold.

Do what?

You have the bold! All right? Are you happy? Can we continue?

Ease down, mortal. Your soul is so unquiet.

Whatever. Hey, is that the moon?

Yeah, that’s the moon. Right now I’m choosing between buying it, or buying South Korea, but I’ll probably buy both.

Dang, this thing is fast. And looky there: that’s the dark side they show on the “History” Channel, where they keep the alien bases. Sweet. Anyway, how did you make your book so comprehensive?

. . .

. . .

. . .

Comprehensive: it means, like, covering most stuff.

Sure, I knew that. To answer: I self-identify as both Boomer and Millennial, and that’s pretty much the entire universe.

How so?

It’s simple: I’m a psychotically egotistical shit who owns and controls everything and lives a life of unrepentant hypocrisy, yet I’m also a disgustingly entitled unconscionable thief who demands complete ideological conformity even if it tips over into irreversible totalitarianism. Either way, me Alpha, me Omega, me infinite, me eternal! Yayeee!!!

I see. Well, that just about covers it for my questions. Congratulations on this unprecedented release of a book about yourself. Can we go back to Earth now?

Sure, we’re almost there. My ship kicks ass.

Okay, is there anything that we didn’t cover, that you want to make sure is included in the article?

Just one thing: Make me look good. That shouldn’t be difficult.

And there you go. Somehow I made it through this triple-header, and I even get to keep this copy of YO!!! CHECK ME OUT!!! — which, in this micro-capsule review, I would best describe as useful: if you happen to have a door that needs propping open.

Happy April Fools’ Day, 2024!