This is a tremendously funny and deeply depressing memoir that I'm pretty sure was written for me and me only and that's okay. Literally this entire book is about shit that happened to by dad's family growing up poor in North Philadelphia in the 50s/60s/70s and yet somehow it wasn't written by him. The Dimes Square gals would do well to see what growing up severely Catholic is really like (that being said, if you'd cover my rent I'd love to do blow with you, Mr. Thiel)