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Self help books will make you miserable.

90 percent of them are utter shite.

They reinforce feelings of inadequacy. With each new tome you digest you uncover more inherent weaknesses you need to rectify and, before you can say “self-realization”, you are addicted to self help.

There are two exceptions to this irrefutable truth.

How To Get A Grip is the last self help book you’ll ever need to read.

But once you’ve read it, be sure to finger a copy of How To Be Rich And Happy by Tim Brownson and John P. Strelecky.

Here’s why:

Most self help books help the author much more than they help you. The Secret to a life full of abundance, apparently, is asking the universe for hugs, vodka and a decent credit rating. Then you’ll be rich and happy.

Bollocks.

Dishing out dollars on books that give you The Secret to the life you want to lead will do nothing but furnish the pockets of the pseudo-psychologists who wrote the damn things.

(Incidentally, if you buy a copy of How To Get A Grip, I’ll be on my way to half a very cheap cappuccino.)

But if you buy a copy of How To Be Rich And Happy you’ll be directly contributing to the well-being of about fifteen other people who wouldn’t normally get to read anything, let alone a book that is genuinely useful.

That’s because the authors have made it their mission to use the proceeds of the book to give away a further 1 million copies of How To Be Rich And Happy to young people, poor people, homeless people and people in recovery.

That seems like a much faster route to happiness. That sounds like a route to INSTANT GRATIFICATION.

For. The. Win.

So why is How To Be Rich And Happy genuinely useful?

It’s useful because it’s practical. In place of the regurgitated, ephemeral bullshit that’s big on generalities and very low on specifics (“step into your true self”, “embrace your one-ness”, “master your destiny”), this book is full of specifics and examples.

It’s a WORKBOOK. Work through it: get a better life.

Particularly useful is the Value Ranking Tool. Instead of saying “focus on what’s important to you”, Brownson and Strelecky give you clear instructions to work out what is actually important to you.

If you think you already know, you might be surprised. I was. Whereas before I was convinced the secret to a happier me was flaming margaritas, massages from petite brunettes and a weekly blow-job, the truth was, in fact, very different.

You’ll be surprised by your results, too. Think you love your kids above all else? Perhaps you do, but perhaps you don’t. You’ll only find out if you buy this book …

I love the common-sense approach. The authors dissect some received wisdom, the kind of received wisdom that keeps you pumping gas or working at Starbucks and complaining about your life, and replace it with some FACT.

The book gives you the tools – exercises mainly – that allow you to very quickly differentiate between beliefs and facts, to be more optimistic (and the reasons why this is a good thing), to demystify money and your relationship with it, and the how to fail spectacularly and still make progress.

PLUS, while we’re talking about progress, therein lies the problem with most self-help tomes. You read them once, you get a temporary buzz, then you’re back to eating out of boxes and only paying cursory attention to personal hygiene.

How To Be Rich And Happy gives you a measuring tool so you can monitor your progress on the rich-and-happy-meter day by day, if you’re so inclined.

With chapter headings like “Congratulations! You’re Not Dead”, it’s very difficult to find anything to dislike about the book.

Tim’s a funny fucker to boot. The storytelling is clever. Not clever-clever, but clever-illustrative. The storytelling helps you get it. If you’ve ever read anything that’s pure theory (like the impenetrable and mystic Conversations With God) you’ll appreciate the usefulness of being given concrete examples of how other folk put into practice the lessons that the book gives you.

In a genre filled with unapologetic horse-shit, How To Be Rich And Happy stands out as an ordure-free call to action. Buy a copy, improve your own life, and make a difference to the lives of others.

3 comments

This is the most important advice you will ever read. Pay close attention.

I’ve got this friend. Let’s call him Albert.

(Albert’s not his real name. His real name is Derek, but I’m changing it to protect his identity.)

Albert fancies himself as a ladies’ man. To be fair, he is a bit of a ladies’ man.

Oh yes, the ladies love them some Albert.

He’s reasonably good looking, has a decent line in patter. But he’s also one of those guys who goes straight to the dancefloor when you hit the club, and therefore avoids having to buy the first round of drinks (cheapskate bastard).

And that’s where he works his wondrous skills.

He does some funky feet-wiggling black-magic, and before you’ve had time to identify your quarry for the night, he’s fighting off blondes.

Seerusly, it’s a sight to behold.

These girls embarrass themselves to catch his attention. They love them some Albert.

He’s not even that good looking. He just has a particular talent when it comes to eye-contact, hip-gyration and come-to-bed eyes.

Albert was out one night, doing his thang on the dance-floor. After settling on his victim, and getting her pheromones juiced, he came over to say goodbye, with the Amazonian beauty on his arm sporting a “take me” look.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he told me, and winked conspiratorially.

The next morning comes and my phone buzzes.

“How did it go, dude?” I asked.

“Oh man, a total disaster,” he said, and launched into the tale of what happened when he got home.

It turns out that Albert was pretty stoked to have nabbed such a beauty. They got home, he put some Luther Vandross on the gramophone and fixed them both a drink. A little light frottage and dry humping later and she goes to wait for him in the bedroom.

(Side note: Albert always jumps in the shower before he jumps into bed. Apart from the hygiene thing, he says it “keeps them keen”.)

Albert emerges from the shower about five minutes later and walks into the bedroom wearing nothing but a towel.

As usual, the girl is waiting for him, sporting her lingerie and a wide-on.

Albert gets excited.

Albert gets so excited, in fact, that he starts to sing. Nothing specific, just some stream of consciousness babblings to the tune of “I’m going to sex you up.”

Then, he starts to dance – a little stationary jig. His legs are going up and down, his head is bobbing backwards and forwards and his arms are swinging from side to side.

He’s not looking cool, by any means, but the girl doesn’t care. She thinks he’s fun and starts to laugh with him. Or at him. In any case, she’s not turned off, and beckons him into bed.

“Oh yeah,” he thinks, “fun times are here.”

He gets even more excited.

He gets so excited, in fact, that he cocks his left leg like a dog, scrunches up his face, and farts.

Not just a little squeak, but a proper ripper: a floor-shaking, pet-waking guff. This fart set off car alarms.

He decided, for reasons beyond reason, that the best way to celebrate bringing a hot chick home was to break wind, ostentatiously and with great gusto, only two feet from her head.

That’s when she stopped laughing.

She also got out of bed quicker than you can spell methane, and ran off into the night.

He never saw her again.

So here’s the lesson, and the most important advice you’ll ever hear:

If you’re going to pick up a hot girl in a nightclub, farting is an inappropriate means of celebration.

In fact, I’d say that you should save your farting in front of girls for when you’re married. Then you can fart like it’s going out of fashion.

It’s kind of expected.

4 comments

You are a fucking asshole.

Think you’re not? Think again.

  • You act primarily out of spite? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You bully your secretary, wife, employees or kid brother? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You’re angry at the world because of your small dick? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You watched some homeless dude get beat up and you didn’t do anything? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You don’t make eye contact with the server? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You cheated on your wife? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You buy your way out of problems? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You’re a hater? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You’re always right? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You click on those Facebook links that offer the meagre promise of scant titillation in return for spamming all your connections? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You call yourself a guru? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You say “I’m not racist, but …”? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You dumped friends for cash? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You’re a YouTube commenter? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You reckon fear is a great motivator? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You trade private jokes in public? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You fight first, think second? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You’re a traffic warden? You’re a fucking asshole.
  • You think everybody around you is a fucking asshole? Guess what – you’re a FUCKING ASSHOLE.

So today, try this:

QUIT BEING A FUCKING ASSHOLE.

Be sure to share this. You know plenty of fucking assholes who need it.

12 comments

Spend eighteen months building up good-will, then do this:

1. Order your copies at Amazon.co.uk if you’re in the UK.

2. If you’re not in the UK, order your copies at the Book Depository.

3. “Like” the book’s Facebook page:

4. Click here to tweet about this post.

5. Leave your review somewhere we can read it.

THANK YOU

3 comments