Some say to not judge a book by its cover, but in the case of I’m Barack, Not Borat! there is hardly anything else to judge it by. Yes, the book is completely filled with blank pages, and its only conceivable uses are as a paper weight or a coffee table decoration piece. You could turn it into a secret stash by hollowing out the inner pages, but for $24.99 you might as well find something that is less conspicous, and has a hardcover binding.

The real problem with this book, however, isn’t the marginally pathetic attempt at a sensationalist cover, nor the fact that the paperback copy costs three times as much Barrack Obama’s original bestseller, The Audacity of Hope. No, the real travesty lies in its unfairness to other authors, like Reepah Gud Wan, who composed a novel about flatulence as told by a fictional Buddhist master, or Kathleen Meyer, who wrote not one, but two books of stories about going to the bathroom in the outdoors. The real crime is against those authors who set out to create a book with a shocking and attention-grabbing title, and were forced actually sit down write the book.

It is truly shocking that somebody would do something like this, and on behalf of all the real authors out there, I have only one thing to say to Christopher Jansen. How dare you!

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