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One of my favorite anecdotes about the writing process is from John Swartzwelder. Every writer relates to his complaint - how one's own writing seems to decline in quality as time passes. To paraphrase: "It's like some crappiness gnomes snuck into my room while I was asleep and changed everything I wrote the night before". I love early Simpsons, and the mythos surrounding Swartzwelder is hilarious, but this book is bitterly disappointing. Some of the jokes are okay, I guess. There's no wit, just a lot of cleverness. I was hoping for something with a wider scope or vision, but it's pretty much just a detective novel full of jokes, plodding along without developing in any interesting way. It's barely funnier than a low-tier Simpsons episode, maybe from around the same time Swartzelder left the show (2003). There's none of the surrealism that made the Simpsons so great. Fortunately, Jack Handey's novel "The Stench of Honolulu" exists - why couldn't HE have written a whole series? Incidentally, the top recommended book on this page (Norm MacDonald's) is also devastatingly unfunny. Will I ever be as good a writer as those guys? Probably not, I think they sent the crappiness gnomes to get me. That's why I wrote this bitter review.