In Fifty Years We’ll All Be Chicks

A couple years back, I was at the Phoenix airport bar.  It was empty except for one heavy-set, gray bearded, grizzled guy who looked like he just rode his donkey into town after a long day of panning for silver in them thar hills.  He ordered a Jack Daniels straight up, and that’s when I overheard the young guy with the earring behind the bar asking him if he had ID.  At first the old sea captain just laughed.  But the guy with the twinkle in his ear asked again.  At this point it became apparent that he was serious.  Dan Haggerty’s dad fired back, “You’ve got to be kidding me, son.”  The bartender replied, “New policy.  Everyone has to show their ID.”  Then I watched Burl Ives reluctantly reach into his dungarees and pull out his military identification card from World War II.

It’s a sad and eerie harbinger of our times that the Oprah-watching, crystal-rubbing, Whole Foods-shopping moms and their whipped attorney husbands have taken the ability to reason away from the poor schlub who makes the Bloody Marys.  What we used to settle with common sense or a fist, we now settle with hand sanitizer and lawyers.  Adam Carolla has had enough of this insanity and he’s here to help us get our collective balls back. 

In Fifty Years We’ll All Be Chicks is Adam’s comedic gospel of modern America. He rips into the absurdity of the culture that demonized the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, turned the nation’s bathrooms into a lawless free-for-all of urine and fecal matter, and put its citizens at the mercy of a bunch of minimum wagers with axes to grind. Peppered between complaints Carolla shares candid anecdotes from his day to day life as well as his past—Sunday football at Jimmy Kimmel’s house, his attempts to raise his kids in a society that he mostly disagrees with, his big showbiz break, and much, much more. Brilliantly showcasing Adam’s spot-on sense of humor, this book cements his status as a cultural commentator/comedian/complainer extraordinaire.