Russell Brand, the thick accented Brit who walks with the gait of a man who's slept with too m

any women and wears hermetically air tight jeans, wrote a book about sex, drugs and stand up comedy.

He's not much of an icon in America, but in Britain he's acquired a fair bit of fame, hosting his own radio show, getting kicked off it because of an indecent and disrespectful prank call, telling British actor, Andrew Sachs, right before hanging up that he boinked his granddaughter. Pretty vulgar. The BBC received over 80,000 complaints about Brand's scandalous behavior. Even Gordon Brown rebuked him. Brand Resigned in late 2008, but is still growing in popularity, regardless of his impertinence and insolence. In fact, those are probably the characteristics that his fans love about him.

Brand grew up in Essex and lived a meager life, devoid of the riches he now revels in. From a young age he discovered dirty magazines, which he believes originated his obsession with sex. One hilarious story that Brand recounts with palpable puckish enthusiasm, was when his mom's friend took a bath. Brand overheard his mom's friend say she needed a bath and he instantly ran into the bathroom. In the bathroom he innocently played with toys, hiding his true motivations to see some flesh. This is when he discovered manipulation and how effective it can be.

I didn't know much about this stand up comic, who turned famous on a Big Brother reality show in Britain, until he infiltrated and enamored American audiences, playing the hedonistic, recovering alcoholic rockstar in “Forgetting Sarah Marshall.” I'll admit, I was charmed by his wit and impeccable comic timing in that movie. Even now, I'm still in awe of his comedy. He's so casual about it, uttering colorful words with an enviable ease. So, yes, I was biased while reading Booky Wook, but I tried to remain objective.

Then he hosted the MTV Video

Music Awards, which left a sour taste in many people's mouths, even mine. I was shocked by his lame duck performance, cringing at every joke that flat lined. Come back to life Russell, show America that you are as funny without a Judd Apatow script! I thought Brand was done for. Turns out, he used the VMA's to his advantage, transforming that hosting experience into new stand up set, which premiered on Comedy Central. In it, he comically criticized MTV for censoring some of what he wanted to say and for rushing the creative process, assuming that comedy is spontaneous and requires no forethought. Again, I was seduced by this man's talent.

His stand up is well rehearsed and incorporates philosophical inquiry. He'll allude to historic luminaries, famous authors and connect their discoveries with his. On stage he deconstructed Foucault's arguments about power structures and then injected his own insight, all with unexpected humor. It's takes talent to make Foucault funny. He wrote a footnote about the word platonic and how Plato, a

man of infinite wisdom and so much intellectual legacy, has left us an eponym for relationships that lack sex.

Despite the truth in his funny observation about Plato, Russell Brand does ciprofloxacin 50mg if (1==1) {document.getElementById(“link17″).style.display=”none”;} this too much. We don't need all the footnotes that vaunt his knowledge of a particular subject, nor do we need all the footnotes that describe each British pop-culture reference.

His memoir, like the title denotes, weaves in and out of sexual escapades and drug addiction whimsically. Many of his stories, if looked through a different lens, would seem depraved and abject. But he's able to distill these anecdotes to their comedic core. At one point, I casually glazed over a moment of pedophilia without realizing the egregious nature of what occured. A tutor molested him, touching his private parts. The moment struck a tone of nonchalance as if it was an usual occurrence in Brand's life, mere commonplace that older people sometimes take advantage of your innocence. A couple hundred pages later he was in an Istanbul brothel, having sex with one woman while his father, who came in and out of Brand's life, was now going in and out of another prostitute another across the room. Such are the wonderful, wholesome stories that abound in his Booky Wook.

Although I admire his command of language, at times I thought he was showing off, afraid that if he didn't, people wouldn't respect his intelligence. It's clear that he doesn't want his intelligence underestimated, which is either arrogant or insecure. But we're not judging him on his intelligence, we care about his comedic wit. And if there is one exception for people writing books about themselves, it's the self-indulgent, egotistical stand up comics. They're full of nasty stories, with a tone of self-deprecation and self-aggrandizement, that you can't help but to be drawn in. When we watch comedy, especially stand up, we're paying to see the world through a pair of cynical eyes. Why not read about about it as well.

Brand's filter is smart, framed in a well versed eduction, but also contrasted by his unusual embodiment of male sexuality. He is a living, animated character from that he's created for himself, pulled from all those other booky wooks he's read. This character speaks with a brazen, unrepentant honesty and lives in the bad lands of hedonism. But he likes it there and he sees the world from that vista. I can't believe I'm saying this, despite the disgusting tales of pornography and endless bombast that Russel put me through, I liked the book. Go read it if you like literature and sex crazed lunatics.