If that little piece of wisdom is any indication of the level of education offered to Lee by our friends in the Midwest, it is no wonder that Tommyland reads like it was written during a drug binge: slow, surreal, and at times nauseating. "At seventeen, I joined Mötley Crüe and we became one of the baddest-ass rock bands in history," writes a humble Lee. Granted there are a few tidbits of information that could only be relayed through the twisted writings of a tattooed crazy like Lee, but we prefer our rock stars to not take themselves too seriously. For example, those of you who are lucky (by lucky we mean able to afford $26 for hardcover toilet paper) enough to be granted an audience at Books & Books, here is fair warning. Don't even think about bringing along any DVDs or videotapes for Tommy to sign. Evidently our well-endowed drummer is a little gun-shy when it comes to his video escapades. Not so in the literary world, as Tommy openly discusses courting Pamela Anderson by covering the Oscar Mayer jingle on her answering machine. "My bologna has a first name. It's L-A-R-G-E ..."
We can't help but wonder what sort of demands Lee has placed on our peaceful Books & Books. Will the green room be filled with busty porn stars? If we are to infer correctly from his autobiography, perhaps a legion of adoring overweight females will adorn the halls. Lee recommends the big girls for their enthusiastic vocal affirmations. Always the walking dichotomy, it is interesting to note that although his preferences in bed lean toward the plump, as trophy wives go, only blond bombshells will do. What does that say about this man's fragile ego?
There will be all sorts of Methods of Mayhem when those people still walking around with the Eighties perms, sporting studded leather jackets, get hold of this review. We can already imagine the letters: "That guy only gave a bad review because he wants to get into Pam Anderson's pants." Though nothing could be closer to the truth, to those fanatics we say what Tommy Lee said himself, "Be warned, Tommyland may cause involuntary tears and infrequent vomiting ..." That is perhaps the one understatement in the book from the new king of hyperbole. Tommy, why couldn't you stick to the music? The literary world already was a seething cesspool, and now here you go adding your two cents. Well, sir, here's your change.