Ram Review: Chelsea Chelsea, Bang Bang

I grew up on Monty Python, National Lampoon and Mel Brooks. My first R-rated movie was Blazing Saddles, and King Arthur still makes me think of Monty Python's Legend of the Holy Grail before The Sword in the Stone. It should come as no surprise, then, that I have a rather twisted sense of humor. Having seen a few of Chelsea Handler's columns in Cosmopolitan, and having caught her show a few times on E!, I decided I might as well pick up a copy of Chelsea Chelsea, Bang Bang to see how it stacked up against my comedy standards.

It opens with her detailing her addiction to masturbation, at age seven. This is not your normal I-had-so-many-issues-that-I-regret-but-have-overcome tear-jerker, either; she goes into detail about how, when, where, with what, etc., and does not seem to regret, well, anything.

It gets (ever so slightly) tamer after, but that raw, sarcastic humor continues, to my delight. Each chapter consists of a few vignettes revolving around a theme, such as pranks she pulled on her gullible boyfriend, her father's ineptitude in renting out a beach house or the vacation during which she brought her driver in order to find a girl for him.

Much like a "Simpsons" or "Family Guy" episode, each chapter will start with one story, which then segues into another, related but still entirely different tale. Many chapters reference back to previous ones, especially as her friends and family make multiple appearances. Many of these stories are ridiculous, but not extraordinary, events that she embellishes either through providing outrageous descriptions afterward or through prolonging the situation during it (I doubt a midnight boat ride was as hilarious at the time, and she did not need to throw a fake dog funeral to scare her boyfriend after a minor incident involving feeding said dog a ravioli at a cocktail party).

Oftentimes, the stories made me squirm a little bit (one probably should not repeat some of the terms she used in regards to minorities, and I am pretty sure peeing in public is illegal for a reason), and I have the greatest of sympathies for the people whose stories she documented (in particular, her Mormon sister, her aging and irrational father and her gullible but logical boyfriend).

Half the time, my jaw was resting on the floor in shock, but half the time, I realized her more innocuous quips were something with which I would come out. She is more sarcastic than Monty Python or Mel Brooks, and that can be annoying, but it can also be refreshing. She is (too) honest and real, and she is funny about it.