Review of Chuck Kolsterman's Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs

A genius walks among us. A dorky, bespectacled, fire-bush, genius who simply knows everything about any single topic that has ever been created. His name is Chuck Klosterman, and his manifesto titled Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, has become a work of biblical proportions within the pop culture community. His writing is witty, smart (too smart for me, I had to ask someone smarter what a lot of the words meant), and he delves into random topics with such detail that he's almost Rainman-esque.

Take for example his chapter on Guns N' Roses cover bands. His attention to detail is uncanny and makes the reader think that he spent a great deal of time as a roadie for second-rate rock stars. Which in fact he did. His tales of smoking pot and hanging in sleazy motels with the cheesy band Paradise City are priceless. However, it's not Klosterman's story telling that sets him apart form other writers. His ability to deconstruct each and every aspect of every situation he's ever been involved in makes him the stuff of legend. Not to mention the footnotes (newly added into a second printing), which give us deeper access into his dementia.

I say dementia, because that's the only way one could describe Klosterman's endless supply of knowledge about pop culture. If you don't believe me than read his chapter on Saved By the Bell. His relationship with the show is sickening. He confesses to watching the show up to 20 times a week during the height of its popularity in 1993. The fact that he watched it 20 times a week is not the frightening part. Hell, I could easily sit down and watch Seinfeld 20 times a week, much to the delight of disgustingly rich Larry David who gets paid every time it airs.

But I digress, Klosterman can recall with astounding clarity, when the show aired, and on what channels. 4-5 pm on USA, and 5-6 on TBS. His analysis of the show goes so deep that he comes up with a "Tori paradox." That is, his reasoning for the mysterious departure of the two main females (Tiffany Amber Thiessen and Elizabeth Berkley) in the final season. The surprising thing is that most of makes clear and concise sense. I know, because I used to watch Saved by the Bell. I know what he's talking about. He's the one that came up with this though. Definitely dementia.

As much as I hate to admit it, I'm incredibly, incredibly jealous of Klosterman. He divulges that he's a drunk, and has slept with multiple women at the same time, lying to all of them. This isn't what makes me jealous of him. I'm a drunk and have cheated on almost every partner I've ever had. I'm jealous because Klosterman has the unique ability to intertwine his life with the topics of his essays, including the one about the Christian rapture film, Left Behind. I'm talking about how he compares himself to Stalin and Hitler because he knowingly lied to two women about sleeping with the other one. He says that what he did is not comparable to killing 20 million Russians. The fact remains however that he ignored his morals and lied willingly just to have sex. That's what puts him in the same boat as an evil dictator. He has the balls to give Christians some shit for being weird and predictable when it comes to being born again, but he still gives credit where credit is due and praises them for some good ideas. Like when he says that born agains can't wait to be judged. And that's why he says they are cool.

The bottom line is that Klosterman is a disciple sent down from the gods to explain to us the intricacies of the crack-like substance known as pop culture. With hilarious diatribes and witty digressions, he makes the monotonous chore of dissecting shows like The Real World, and serial killers like Jeffery Dahmer (he spends almost 20 pages discussing how he has three friends that have known serial killers), a necessity for anyone that has ever experienced any part of pop culture. Because whatever it is, he's probably written about it.

P.S. The best line of the entire book is on the 3rd page. "It does not matter that Coldplay is absolutely the shittiest fucking band I've ever heard in my entire fucking life, or that they sound like a mediocre photocopy of Travis (who sounds like a mediocre photocopy of Radiohead), or that their greatest fucking artistic achievement is a video where their blandly attractive front man walks on a beach on a cloudy fucking afternoon." I couldn't have said it better myself.