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Even People Who Disagree on Everything Agree on Adam Carolla! “As the revolution reaches its final, most humorless stage, there’s no beer, braver, or more insightful observer than Adam Carolla. You may feel despondent about what’s happening right now. This book will remind you that you should also be amused.” —TUCKER CARLSON “Adam and I agree on absolutely nothing, but he’s a sharp, smart, funny guy to disagree with. And there’s a human heart under all the gruffness, snark, and melted cheese.” —PATTON OSWALT “Adam Carolla has been leading the fight against politically correct ‘woke’ culture since before it was cool. His latest book is a must read for all common-sense Americans who are sick and tired of living in a bubble- wrapped world filled with safe spaces and trigger warnings.” —DONALD TRUMP JR. “Adam has done it again! In this book he’s managed to make me laugh at one moment, then cry out ‘What an idiot!’ in the next. His own blue-collar mastery of the language invites the reader into the conversation—just like the podcast—so much so that I breezed through the book in only one siing on the toilet.” —BRYAN CRANSTON “Within these pages, you will find wrien proof that Adam Carolla is insane. Buy this for your uncle.” —JIMMY KIMMEL “Adam has wrien a funny, insightful book with a powerful message a bunch of people will manage to be offended by without reading it.” —TIM ALLEN “Adam Carolla is the sort of blue-collar, sit-at-the-end-of-the-bar, sort-of intellectual I enjoy. With an impressive lexicon of metaphors and cultural references he paints hilarious pictures that will keep you entertained for hours. I really enjoyed this book.” —JAY LENO “In my view, Adam Carolla is the wiiest observer of contemporary American life in our generation. This book is yet another example of his uniqueness. I can only advise you not to read I’m Your Emotional Support Animal in public, as you will laugh out loud so oen, people will begin staring at you.” —DENNIS PRAGER “Adam Carolla is a liar, a whore, a swindler, a degenerate, and borderline illiterate. But he knows a lot about cars. I mean, a lot.” —ALEC BALDWIN “The Aceman has done it again. Nobody helps us all stay sane while giving us a much needed laugh quite like Adam Carolla. And I’m not just saying that because he asked me to.” —RICH EISEN Also by Adam Carolla In Fiy Years We’ll All Be Chicks Rich Man, Poor Man Not Taco Bell Material President Me Daddy, Stop Talking! A POST HILL PRESS BOOK I’m Your Emotional Support Animal: Navigating Our All Woke, No Joke Culture © 2020 by Adam Carolla All Rights Reserved ISBN: 978-1-64293-588-2 ISBN (eBook): 978-1-64293-589-9 Cover photography by Mohr Mohr Creative direction & design by Danny Klein, DKLEINDESIGN + CREATIVE, LLC Interior design & composition, Greg Johnson, Textbook Perfect This is a work of nonfiction. All people, locations, events, and situations are portrayed to the best of the author’s memory. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmied by any means without the wrien permission of the author and publisher. Post Hill Press New York • Nashville posthillpress.com Published in the United States of America Contents Preface: No Apologies Chapter 1: Support Dogs and the Death of Dignity Chapter 2: The Obligatory Trump Chapter Chapter 3: It’s Not All Good in the Victimhood Chapter 4: Commercial Grade Chapter 5: Hashtag Heroes Chapter 6: Academia Nuts Chapter 7: Sick of #MeToo? Me Too. Chapter 8: From Primates to Postmates: The De-evolution of a Species Epilogue: Coronavirus Panic and Pandemic Acknowledgments About the Author Preface No Apologies his preface is going to be about not having prefaces. It drives me nuts T that in our new all “woke” culture, everyone is scared shitless of the le and feels the need to preface any comment that could potentially offend with, “I work with many Hispanics. I have Latino heritage if you go back three generations,” before they go on to talk about the chaos at the border, or “I have daughters. I’m a married man,” before they speak on gender- related issues. It shows just how fucking petrified of the Twier mob every public figure is nowadays. The fact that leists have talked good people who’ve never harmed anyone into giving preemptive apologies to nutjobs is outrageous. Consequently, I’m starting with a warning. I’m not going to apologize for anything in this book. I’m not going to qualify anything in this book. If you don’t like something in this book, you can kiss my hairy ass. I’m like a country that lets the world know it doesn’t negotiate with terrorists who take hostages. Guess what happens? Less hostages get taken. So I’m making a mark now. No fucking apologies. As the great Dr. Jordan Peterson said on my podcast, “You can’t apologize to a mob.” This is all about the progressive movement. Think about those two words. “Progressive.” “Movement.” They mean it’s never going to stop. It starts by moving toward real problems, but when the people in the movement run out of real problems, they still need to keep progressing, keep moving, and that’s where we’re at now. Dig this comparison: smoking. People used to be able to go into restaurants and smoke. They would light up at the table with impunity. They’d order up a steak with a side of Winstons. They’d be blowing smoke onto their entrée and into their kids’ faces, and no one would say shit. Then some ancestor to today’s progressive woke assholes said, “Hey, you can’t smoke in the restaurant. Let’s make a smoking section for you.” The smokers got their cigarees, their ashtrays, their steaks, and their martinis and went off to the smoking section. Then the woke douchebag showed up in the smoking section and said, “Hey, we can’t have you smoking in the restaurant. I know there’s a smoking section, but the smoke is waing over into the main dining room. Why don’t you just smoke at the bar?” All the smokers went, “Okay,” and moved to the bar. Then the PC pussy said, “Hey, I know we said you could smoke at the bar, but now you have to go outside.” The smokers put on their jackets and went outside to the patio. Then the progressive prick said, “You’ve got to get off the property and go out to the sidewalk.” And they moved to the sidewalk. Then Captain Cocksucker said, “You’re too close to the door. You’re not outside enough. Go to the park.” Except now there’s no smoking in the park. So everyone went, “Fuck it, I’m vaping.” And then the self-appointed societal hall monitor said, “Okay, that’s illegal now, too.” The question is: Do they hate cigaree smoke, or do they love telling people what to do? I think you know the answer to that one. I’m not a gun guy, but I’ll tell you who figured this shit out: the NRA. The woke douche from the progressive movement said, “Hey, man, do you really need a grenade launcher on your M16?” and the NRA guy said, “How the fuck else am I gonna light my cigaree?” They laid down a hard line. Charlton Heston declared you’d only get his gun from his cold, dead hands. (I hope Chuck was buried with a rifle just to test this theory. By the way, “from my cold, dead hands” is also my stance on masturbation.) The point is, smokers gave an inch and eventually lost a Marlboro mile. It’s the same with feeding the apology monster on social media. If you don’t give people immediate gratification, they move on. These are the kids who got everything they wanted. They’re a bunch of grown-up Veruca Salts demanding an Oompa Loompa now! If you just wait them out, they’ll move on to their next target. What they want is for you to make them feel like heroes for forcing you to apologize. It’s a power trip. If they try to wring you like a bar rag to get tears out of you and you come up dry, they move on. Never apologize. I’m not a resident of MAGA country, but I goa give the devil his due. This is one thing Trump has goen right, unlike firing me from The Celebrity Apprentice. (More on that and the Trump effect on our culture in chapter two.) Notice that no one ever asks Trump for an apology. They call him Hitler or call for impeachment, but they never call for an apology because they know they’ll never get it. When Dr. Drew’s kids were young, he brought them by my place to get a lile carpentry help from “the Ace Man” on their pinewood derby cars. I busted out the oscillating spindle sander and got to work. Aer a couple of hours, it was time to leave. At the end of the driveway, Drew said to the boys, “Now thank Mr. Carolla for his time.” One of the eight-year-olds said, “We already thanked him in the garage.” Drew said, “Well, thank him again.” The kid argued back, and eventually it escalated to Drew’s using the stern dad voice.

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