First, let me just say that I adore Action Bronson with my entire heart. He is a citizen of the world, a great rapper, and tries to milk every last drop of life he can in a way that inspires me in the most unlikely of ways. I also find AB incredibly funny and entertaining. If for whatever reason you're picking this book up and *not* a fan already, you will probably not be swayed.

It was entertaining enough. There were plenty of stories that I hadn't heard before. AB bares his soul in ways that I wasn't expecting. Most good memoirs should make you feel like you know somebody better, but I feel like I know AB, the unfinished product of a man still battling with himself in a way that you don't see in most autobiographical settings.

I could and would likely listen to half (or fully) stoned Bronsonisms for hours on end, but even I found the rambling to be annoying at times. Choosing which paragraphs and thoughts will be footnotes and which will go on for pages at a time feels entirely random. It is utter chaos at all times. Ideas come up out of nowhere and die just as quickly. It's completely unfiltered. In fairness, I don't think I'd trade clarity for something less genuine and "presented" to me. I'm glad we got this version of Bronson.

Will this book change your life? Most likely, no. Which is a shame, because I really thought a true renaissance man would be able to communicate just how he does it in a way that will inspire me, but AB is one-of-one, and the moral of this tale is that you have to find your own way. Find your own movement. Nobody else's will do.

I'd draw blood for this man. I don't know if I'd read another attempt at writing.