And Me, My Tit Is Killing Me

Lest you think I'm the sort of character who welches on his bets, here (at long last) is my review/book report on Joanie "Chyna/Chyna Doll/'Holiday'/Rex/Anna Nicole's BFF" Laurer's auto(ha!)biography If They Only Knew.

I should begin by disclosing my lack of credentials. I am about to make several snide and critical remarks about a book that the poor woman pictured at left (supposedly) wrote. She is a human being with feelings, and aside from several years spent writing music and film criticism, another several years spent writing short fiction, a year spent editing this beauty of a website right here, and maintaining close friendships with several English Majors (one of whom happens to be my MOM), I have NOTHING in my background that qualifies me to judge another person's writing. I'm just being mean.

If They Only Knew is a spastic, incoherent mess, and I don't believe for a second that Joanine Laurer wrote it. It's packed to the gills with the sort of strained imagery and tortured metaphors one associates with the worst kind of ghostwriter: the sort employed by the WWE.

What's more, the arc of the story (such as it is) is prone to five-page digressions, as though Chyna (I'm tired of typing her government name) were rambling into a tape recorder (or, more likely, chatting with her ghostwriter) and wandering down the long-forgotten goat paths of memory (that one's not in the book. It's too good) before being herded back on point by a clucking shepherd. Take, for instance, the part in Chapter 9 where Chyna starts out talking about the Fitness America competitions, takes time out to talk about her bad experience with a BODYBUILDING competition (there is, apparently, a difference), veers WILDLY off to talk about trying to join the secret service, and then retraces her steps for seven pages before getting back to the original point, such as it was.

Oh, and her book has cameos in it. Cameo WRITERS in it. Chyna ropes both Triple H and Mick Foley in to write a few pages of her book. This is presented as though the guests were just walking by as Chyna reached their parts in the story, and she "just lets them tell it." It's hilariously awkward, moreso because this ludicrous device isn't trotted out until page 216 of a 318 page book.

All of this makes it sound like ITOK is good for a laugh. It is. Hell, it's good for several laughs. Deep, massive, soul-satisfying belly laughs. If you cherry pick lines from this book, it'll have you wiping tears from your eyes. If, however, you actually wade through every page, you'll feel like you've spent an hour or two in someone else's bathwater. Chyna's life is an unending litany of failure, misery, and self-loathing. What's worse, the book's tone is relentlessly upbeat. Knowing what we do of her life after the final chapter of the book (abusive boyfriend, sex tape, pill habit, "singing career", stint on The Surreal Life) makes the pathos almost unbearable. It becomes clear to even the most callous, unsympathetic cad (that would be me) that Chyna is DEEPLY traumatized by her life and is using a manic and false self-confidence to shield herself from the actual emotions stirred by (here's the list people): her abusive parents, her cancer, her rape, the sexism of the wrestling business, her con-man father, oh and (according to the porn reviewer at VICE magazine) the FACT THAT SHE'S A HERMAPHRODITE.

Jesus. Anyway, the only way to get through this epic chronicle of self-denial and human suffering is to turn it into a drinking game. Here's when you drink:

Chyna complains about a parent.
Chyna uses a strained or mixed metaphor.
The ghostwriter leaves in a gramatical error.
Chyna veers off on a tangent. Drink twice if it lasts more than two pages.
Chyna talks about the smell of "sports cream" (no shit, this rule alone will get you loaded).
Chyna insults Killer Kowalski.
Chyna talks about how tough you have to be to make it in wrestling, but then is either crying or screaming at someone within two pages. Drink twice if it's Melissa Rivers.
Chyna glosses over her body being "different".

I could add more rules, but the Arabian Facebuster Wellness Policy forbids it. I'll simply leave you to it, adding only that you lightweights aren't gonna make it through the second chapter. Enjoy. I didn't.