In Roseanne Barr's third book, "Roseannearchy: Dispatches from the Nut Farm," the actress-comedian confesses to all her celebrity grudges and tells it like it is, in true Roseanne form.
Read an excerpt of the book below and then check out the "GMA" Library for more great reads.
The first thing I asked myself after making everyone I know check around to see if they could get me a book deal was, Why the hell am I thinking about writing another book? After all, everywhere you look, some pouty intellectual is whining about how we live in a postliterate age, which means that nobody reads anything longer than a text message, and even those are just a few dumb-ass abbreviations strung together -- LOL (laugh out loud), LMFAO (laughing my f****** ass off), ROFLMAO (rolling on floor laughing my ass off), TTYL (talk to you later), or LOLSTC (laughed out loud scared the cat!).
Now here I am, almost fifty-eight years old, being completely honest with myself as I begin to approach middle age (LOL), full to the brim with wisdom, grandmotherly love, and the kind of gas that only a whole head of roasted garlic can generate, so you, dear reader, are in for a treat. I wanted to write the kind of book that I'd like to read, but my publishers, who just got bought again (this time by a Chinese hedge fund or something), told me that trashy crime novels full of lurid sex and gory details that forensics freaks love to revel in are just rotting on the racks. So I went straight to Plan B: a timely, eclectic book by a Baby Boomer that even younger people could take home and read, if they could in fact read after coming up through our skool systom (ROFLMAO).
Speaking of younger people, my five kids (I used to be pro-life), who think of me as a Mominatrix who has somehow always managed to both cruelly neglect them and butt into their lives too much, are glad I'm writing it. In fact, my whole formerly estranged extended family is happy about it. I think it's because it'll give them a chance to really consider my words carefully, get to know me all over again, and then see if there's anything in here that would give them grounds to sue me. God love 'em.
I know damn well that there are a lot of people who never really got to know me and still don't like me, but this really isn't a book about ex-husbands. Some people are almost incurable hardcases, and despite the fact that legions of Roseannethropologists have determined that I've done our desperately diverse, dynamically dysfunctional culture way more good than harm, some folks just won't let me live down that night all those years ago when I started the National Anthem too high, and ended up sounding like a screechy but brittle blend of battlefield surgery and a pterodactyl with its tit in a wringer. I've said I'm sorry a million times! I know this is a Christian nation and all that, but can't they at least consider forgiving me after all these years? Talk about going the extra mile: I'm a Jew and I dressed up like Hitler and baked little burned people cookies to atone for my poor performance! What more can I do, for Christ's sake?