Listen. No one is as shocked as I by my love for this man. I read My Booky Wook  (yes, the title is mind-numbingly stupid) on vacation in September and was completely taken aback at how much I enjoyed the book. What’s more is that I felt sort of emotionally invested in his life and well-being. So much so, that I grew increasingly irritated when I heard of his engagement (and, later, marriage) to Katy Perry.

Let’s step back a second.

Is this man attractive to me? Wholly, he is not.

Do I wish it was I who heard wedding bells with him in India a few months ago? Indeed, no.

In fact, do I pretend to entertain the notion that he’d be an even semi-reliable and worthy friend? No, sir.

So, what is this strange hold that Russell Brand has over me that made me tear through his first book and read his second just as voraciously?

I think the answer is – he’s fucking hilarious. He’s incredibly witty, self-deprecating, and has an incredible turn-of-phrase. He gets nostalgic and sentimental about his childhood, has endless anecdotes of drunken, sexed, and drug-induced times with friends, and can barely contain his excitement as he relays the story of the time he gave Helen Mirren his briefs.

Also, he’s nice to his mum.

Anyway, don’t think too long and hard about how pretentious and ridiculous it is that a man under the age of 40 has already published TWO autobiographies. Just enjoy the seduction as you read them both.