Mother. Wife. Sister. Human. Warrior. Falcon. Yardstick. Turban. Cabbage.

If you call Twitter "The Twitter" unironically, you probably have no idea who Rob Delaney is.* If you tweet, or have loved ones who do, you have probably read, retweeted, faved, hugged, molested, laser cut, or put into escrow one of his hilarious tweets.**

He was in especially fine form during the 2012 elections, when he tormented Mitt Romney incessantly. Glory days! That's when I started following him, and he's proven to be a delicious creamy middle between the depressing low of real-life news twitter accounts (I've never been more informed or horrified) and the uncomfortable yet oddly hilarious highs of super absurd weird twitter. He's funny, and weird, don't get me wrong - but he also feels like a real person you could have over for dinner without fearing for your life/sanity.

If I like something I generally like more of that same thing (I currently have a 3.5lb bag of sour patch kids in my kitchen), so, surprise, I loved the book. It's basically a memoir, and Delaney has had some epic misadventures. Almost dying via acts of youthful stupidity is a common theme, and provides a nice counter-point to the more serious but no less compelling stories about his struggles with mental illness and his alcoholism.

Also,  I can honestly say I have never before laughed out loud at a story involving a drowned baby. So, there's that.

4 unflattering green speedos out of 5.

*And if you call it "The Twitter" ironically, you are the worst. 

**I've told my mom these are all things you can do to tweets. Sometimes I like to confuse her. "Honey, how do I hug one of your tweets?" I'm a bad person, she is lovely.