Self help books will make you miserable.

90 percent of them are utter shite.

They reinforce feelings of inadequacy. With each new tome you digest you uncover more inherent weaknesses you need to rectify and, before you can say “self-realization”, you are addicted to self help.

There are two exceptions to this irrefutable truth.

How To Get A Grip is the last self help book you’ll ever need to read.

But once you’ve read it, be sure to finger a copy of How To Be Rich And Happy by Tim Brownson and John P. Strelecky.

Here’s why:

Most self help books help the author much more than they help you. The Secret to a life full of abundance, apparently, is asking the universe for hugs, vodka and a decent credit rating. Then you’ll be rich and happy.

Bollocks.

Dishing out dollars on books that give you The Secret to the life you want to lead will do nothing but furnish the pockets of the pseudo-psychologists who wrote the damn things.

(Incidentally, if you buy a copy of How To Get A Grip, I’ll be on my way to half a very cheap cappuccino.)

But if you buy a copy of How To Be Rich And Happy you’ll be directly contributing to the well-being of about fifteen other people who wouldn’t normally get to read anything, let alone a book that is genuinely useful.

That’s because the authors have made it their mission to use the proceeds of the book to give away a further 1 million copies of How To Be Rich And Happy to young people, poor people, homeless people and people in recovery.

That seems like a much faster route to happiness. That sounds like a route to INSTANT GRATIFICATION.

For. The. Win.

So why is How To Be Rich And Happy genuinely useful?

It’s useful because it’s practical. In place of the regurgitated, ephemeral bullshit that’s big on generalities and very low on specifics (“step into your true self”, “embrace your one-ness”, “master your destiny”), this book is full of specifics and examples.

It’s a WORKBOOK. Work through it: get a better life.

Particularly useful is the Value Ranking Tool. Instead of saying “focus on what’s important to you”, Brownson and Strelecky give you clear instructions to work out what is actually important to you.

If you think you already know, you might be surprised. I was. Whereas before I was convinced the secret to a happier me was flaming margaritas, massages from petite brunettes and a weekly blow-job, the truth was, in fact, very different.

You’ll be surprised by your results, too. Think you love your kids above all else? Perhaps you do, but perhaps you don’t. You’ll only find out if you buy this book …

I love the common-sense approach. The authors dissect some received wisdom, the kind of received wisdom that keeps you pumping gas or working at Starbucks and complaining about your life, and replace it with some FACT.

The book gives you the tools – exercises mainly – that allow you to very quickly differentiate between beliefs and facts, to be more optimistic (and the reasons why this is a good thing), to demystify money and your relationship with it, and the how to fail spectacularly and still make progress.

PLUS, while we’re talking about progress, therein lies the problem with most self-help tomes. You read them once, you get a temporary buzz, then you’re back to eating out of boxes and only paying cursory attention to personal hygiene.

How To Be Rich And Happy gives you a measuring tool so you can monitor your progress on the rich-and-happy-meter day by day, if you’re so inclined.

With chapter headings like “Congratulations! You’re Not Dead”, it’s very difficult to find anything to dislike about the book.

Tim’s a funny fucker to boot. The storytelling is clever. Not clever-clever, but clever-illustrative. The storytelling helps you get it. If you’ve ever read anything that’s pure theory (like the impenetrable and mystic Conversations With God) you’ll appreciate the usefulness of being given concrete examples of how other folk put into practice the lessons that the book gives you.

In a genre filled with unapologetic horse-shit, How To Be Rich And Happy stands out as an ordure-free call to action. Buy a copy, improve your own life, and make a difference to the lives of others.

Want to see more? Try these:

• Ten Things You Should Already Know By Now
• How To Change Your Life Forever
• Don’t be offended

This is the most important advice you will ever read. Pay close attention.

I’ve got this friend. Let’s call him Albert.

(Albert’s not his real name. His real name is Derek, but I’m changing it to protect his identity.)

Albert fancies himself as a ladies’ man. To be fair, he is a bit of a ladies’ man.

Oh yes, the ladies love them some Albert.

He’s reasonably good looking, has a decent line in patter. But he’s also one of those guys who goes straight to the dancefloor when you hit the club, and therefore avoids having to buy the first round of drinks (cheapskate bastard).

And that’s where he works his wondrous skills.

He does some funky feet-wiggling black-magic, and before you’ve had time to identify your quarry for the night, he’s fighting off blondes.

Seerusly, it’s a sight to behold.

These girls embarrass themselves to catch his attention. They love them some Albert.

He’s not even that good looking. He just has a particular talent when it comes to eye-contact, hip-gyration and come-to-bed eyes.

Albert was out one night, doing his thang on the dance-floor. After settling on his victim, and getting her pheromones juiced, he came over to say goodbye, with the Amazonian beauty on his arm sporting a “take me” look.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he told me, and winked conspiratorially.

The next morning comes and my phone buzzes.

“How did it go, dude?” I asked.

“Oh man, a total disaster,” he said, and launched into the tale of what happened when he got home.

It turns out that Albert was pretty stoked to have nabbed such a beauty. They got home, he put some Luther Vandross on the gramophone and fixed them both a drink. A little light frottage and dry humping later and she goes to wait for him in the bedroom.

(Side note: Albert always jumps in the shower before he jumps into bed. Apart from the hygiene thing, he says it “keeps them keen”.)

Albert emerges from the shower about five minutes later and walks into the bedroom wearing nothing but a towel.

As usual, the girl is waiting for him, sporting her lingerie and a wide-on.

Albert gets excited.

Albert gets so excited, in fact, that he starts to sing. Nothing specific, just some stream of consciousness babblings to the tune of “I’m going to sex you up.”

Then, he starts to dance – a little stationary jig. His legs are going up and down, his head is bobbing backwards and forwards and his arms are swinging from side to side.

He’s not looking cool, by any means, but the girl doesn’t care. She thinks he’s fun and starts to laugh with him. Or at him. In any case, she’s not turned off, and beckons him into bed.

“Oh yeah,” he thinks, “fun times are here.”

He gets even more excited.

He gets so excited, in fact, that he cocks his left leg like a dog, scrunches up his face, and farts.

Not just a little squeak, but a proper ripper: a floor-shaking, pet-waking guff. This fart set off car alarms.

He decided, for reasons beyond reason, that the best way to celebrate bringing a hot chick home was to break wind, ostentatiously and with great gusto, only two feet from her head.

That’s when she stopped laughing.

She also got out of bed quicker than you can spell methane, and ran off into the night.

He never saw her again.

So here’s the lesson, and the most important advice you’ll ever hear:

If you’re going to pick up a hot girl in a nightclub, farting is an inappropriate means of celebration.

In fact, I’d say that you should save your farting in front of girls for when you’re married. Then you can fart like it’s going out of fashion.

It’s kind of expected.

Want to see more? Try these:

• Ten Things You Should Already Know By Now
• How To Change Your Life Forever
• Don’t be offended

You are a fucking asshole.

Think you’re not? Think again.

• You act primarily out of spite? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You bully your secretary, wife, employees or kid brother? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You’re angry at the world because of your small dick? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You watched some homeless dude get beat up and you didn’t do anything? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You don’t make eye contact with the server? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You cheated on your wife? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You buy your way out of problems? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You’re a hater? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You’re always right? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You click on those Facebook links that offer the meagre promise of scant titillation in return for spamming all your connections? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You call yourself a guru? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You say “I’m not racist, but …”? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You dumped friends for cash? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You’re a YouTube commenter? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You reckon fear is a great motivator? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You trade private jokes in public? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You fight first, think second? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You’re a traffic warden? You’re a fucking asshole.
• You think everybody around you is a fucking asshole? Guess what – you’re a FUCKING ASSHOLE.

So today, try this:

QUIT BEING A FUCKING ASSHOLE.

Be sure to share this. You know plenty of fucking assholes who need it.

Want to see more? Try these:

• Ten Things You Should Already Know By Now
• How To Change Your Life Forever
• Don’t be offended

Spend eighteen months building up good-will, then do this:

1. Order your copies at Amazon.co.uk if you’re in the UK.

2. If you’re not in the UK, order your copies at the Book Depository.

3. “Like” the book’s Facebook page:

4. Click here to tweet about this post.

5. Leave your review somewhere we can read it.

THANK YOU

Want to see more? Try these:

• Ten Things You Should Already Know By Now
• How To Change Your Life Forever
• Don’t be offended

Whassup!

I want to give you a lo-fi look behind the scenes at How To Get A Grip.

I hope you enjoy this very short video as much as I did.

There’s video in here. Click through if you can’t see it.

Want to see more? Try these:

• Ten Things You Should Already Know By Now
• How To Change Your Life Forever
• Don’t be offended

Me in November 2009**

This is my story of addiction. It is the most difficult thing I have ever written.*

In sharing this with others, I hope I can help those with similar problems.

It started off innocently, as these things always do.

The year was 2005, a little over six years ago.

I was at a party with some people I didn’t know very well. Not friends, not acquaintances, just some folk who I’d met in a bar. They seemed OK.

After drinking a few more beers at somebody’s house, an older guy cornered me and pushed a small brown envelope into my hand.

“You’ll like this,” he said, as he winked at me.

“No thanks, I’m not interested,” I said.

“Just try it once,” he said. “A little bit won’t hurt, and you might even enjoy it.”

I was drunk and my resistance was low. I took the envelope into the guest bathroom, sat on the pan, and carefully opened it up.

Inside was a battered copy of Dale Carnegie’s “How To Win Friends And Influence People.”

I had heard about books like this, but I’d always been hesitant. That all changed in one evening.

I’m ashamed to say that I read almost all of it in one sitting. There, on a toilet, on my own, at a party. I didn’t speak to anybody else that night.

It was a terrifying harbinger of the years of antisocial misery that would take over my life, which I will tell you about below. These events and the years of enslavement continue to haunt me today.

The problem, you see, is that Carnegie’s book was good. He was one of the best mind-porn-peddlers ever born. His book spoke to me directly. In a few short chapters he furnished me with tools that had a direct impact on my state of mind and made me believe that anybody, even I, could win friends and influence people.

The shame factor was immediate. My friends at the time (I have lost all of them now) were high-flyers: a collection of expensively-educated and multilingual expatriates who had their shit together. Had I told any of them about my new “hobby”, I would have gone down in their esteem.

I hid my new “thing” from everybody, even my family.

After all, anybody who needs that kind of help is weak, right?

But I didn’t feel weak. I felt strong. I felt empowered. When I was reading his book, and for a few hours after each sitting, I felt that I could do ANYTHING. I was Superman.

After the initial rush, though, the novelty started to wear off.

From Dabbler To Full-Blown Addict

After a month of repeated book abuse, I made what I thought was a conscious decision to increase my dose. The initial readings weren’t enough for me. They triggered a host of new questions, and I couldn’t get the answers from this slim volume alone.

I hit Amazon like a man possessed and paid for rush delivery of Carnegie’s How To Stop Worrying And Start Living. For good measure I threw in Stephen Covey’s Seven Habits of Highly Effective People and Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill.

They kept me going for two weeks. It was exciting to try something a little different. I still hid them from my family and would stay up late at night to read them under cover of darkness.

But I was confused. They said different things. They contradicted each other. These anomalies began to pre-occupy my thoughts during daylight hours. I needed more answers. I needed more specifics.

And so I kept looking. And I kept spending. And things got out of control.

The Downward Spiral

With each new book I read, I would decide it was time to “implement”. But implement what?

There were so many suggestions, so much conflicting advice.

I drilled down into the harder stuff. No more generic happy-books for me, I needed specific, niche happy-books. I spent four hundred dollars in one go on diet books, and after the initial rush, ended up feeling more empty than before.

One book said fasting was the quickest route to physical perfection, whilst another said that missing meals was the surest way of getting fat. One book told me to load up on protein, another told me to load up on fats. One suggested no fruit at all, another suggested a diet of nothing but fruit. There were no-carb, low-carb and slow-carb options. Where to begin? I was frazzled.

The 240 dollars I spent on exercise books were no better. They inspired me, but to do what? Perform repetitions to failure? Only work out to ninety percent capacity? Train daily? Train once a week? Lift weights? Never lift weights?

These internal debates ran over and over in my brain.

By now, I was exhibiting the first displays of mental imbalance and my work was suffering. Like a damn fool I took solace, once again, in more books.

The One Minute Manager was the first work-related tome I picked up, and devoured it in an hour. Then immediately after, it was books about moving cheese, picking parachutes and finding strengths. I looked in results-only work environments, LEAN goal-setting, SMART goal-setting, Getting Things Done and outsourcing to the Philippines. It never ended.

By this stage I was reading a new book every two days. I had stopped going to parties or even leaving the house. I was no longer making love to my wife (despite the forty-seven books I had read on sex and relationships) and I was doing, almost literally, nothing but reading. It was costing me thousands and thousands of dollars each month.

I was fucked.

Self-help was ruining my life.

Bankruptcy

Books were no longer enough. I started going to seminars. To this day I still find it tough to talk about the stuff I sat through in pursuit of spiritual and emotional freedom, but I’ll try.

I traveled the world to feed the demons inside me. I learnt about Emotional Freedom Techniques, Neuro-Linguistic Programming, tapping, Reiki, tantra, chakras, Transcendental Meditation and yogic flying.

I listened to people talk passionately, but with hollow-eyes, about spiritual sensibility, guardian angels, positive manifestation, conscious creation, speaking in tongues, thought field therapy, biphasic sleeping, polyamory relationships and distance healing.

Each seminar was inspiring.

I was mainly inspired to sign up to more programs, mastermind courses and inner-circles.

And then, inevitably, I had no money left.

Jobless, broke and with my wife on the verge of leaving me, did I stop?

Of course not, I was addicted.

I started stealing to fund my habit, and looked for the cheapest, nastiest, quick fixes I could find.

I got those fixes on the internet. I’d sit for hours outside McDonalds, tapped into their wireless connection, reading blogs and forums on lifestyle design, personal development and freedom of expression.

Freedom my skinny ass.

I wasn’t free, I was trapped: a slave to the endless cycle of self-improvement. The ubiquitous silhouettes of flexible women doing yoga at dawn laughed at me. They “expressed” themselves so that I could depress myself.

The internet fed my addiction for months and months. My RSS reader flashed with new content every two minutes. Each article uncovered a new problem I didn’t know I had, but which needed an immediate solution.

I had stopped thinking for myself.

I had traded happiness for the pursuit of happiness.

Self help had destroyed my life.

***

The Road To Recovery – And A Cure

Now, a few months since my lowest point, things are a little different. I still think about self-improvement on a daily basis, but with the help of my family I have countered the worst of my problems.

I am eating again.

Every new morning is a struggle and I take one day at a time. I will always be an addict, but I believe that I am starting to make progress towards leading a normal life.

In making progress, I believe I have found a cure to self-help addiction for the many thousands of you who are suffering from it.

The cure is my 288-page paperback book that deconstructs the myths around self-help and lays out in very simple language the steps you need to take to quit being one of life’s punching bags.

How To Get A Grip is the antidote to self-help. It is the only book you will ever need.

Buy four copies.

***

* in the interests of full disclosure, this post is based only loosely on fact. very loosely on fact, in fact

** with not a small amount of photoshopping

Want to see more? Try these:

• Ten Things You Should Already Know By Now
• How To Change Your Life Forever
• Don’t be offended

1. If you know how to wash dishes and mean it when you say “thank you”, you’ll never be homeless. [Tweet]

This is the de facto homelessness-prevention solution. Make sure you’ve got one true friend, don’t be an ass, and you’ll always have a bed for the night.

That said, you might want to invest in more than one friend. A guest, they say, is a like a fish: after three days, it stinks.

2. Family comes first. Specifically, family comes before comfort, logic and sanity. [Tweet]

Yep, your family can push your buttons better than anybody else, because they’re the ones that sewed them on in the first place. Take a deep breath. It’s biology, and you’ve got to live with it.

3. If it flies, floats or fucks, rent it. If it flies, floats *and* fucks, buy it immediately. [Tweet]

In fact, buy two. I’ll reimburse you for the second one.

4. If you make your husband explain himself, his testicles will atrophy. [Tweet]

“Where have you been?”
“What are you thinking about it?”
“Does my bum look big in this?”

Matrimony for men is, in large part, an abdication of responsibility for thoughtfulness. You’ve got us. Isn’t that enough?

5. If you make your husband ask for directions, his testicles will actually fall off. [Tweet]

cf point 2. It’s biology.

Try the gentler approach: “Honey, can you pull over so I can buy you some beer?”

Then use that shopping opportunity to secretly determine your route without his shamefaced complicity.

6. The correct response to “can you keep a secret?” is “clearly better than you can”. [Tweet]

And anyway, secrets are misunderstood. It doesn’t count, for example, if you only tell your three closest friends.

7. The correct response to “can I have a slice of your pizza” is always “no”.  [Tweet]

Some things are made for sharing: bodily fluids, bottles of wine, secrets.

Pizzas are like fantasies about sleeping with tramps: best enjoyed alone.

8. You’re not half as smart as you think, but you ARE half as likeable as you are smart. [Tweet]

Even though I wrote this, I don’t understand it. It sounds like it should be true, and slightly catty. But for the life of me I can’t work it out.

Proof, if proof was needed, that I’m not half as smart as I think.

I think.

9. Farting stops being funny in your thirties. By your forties, it’s fucking HILARIOUS again. [Tweet]

(Based on experiences of everybody’s dad.)

I’ll tell you from first-hand experience in ten years’ time. Any corroboration welcome in the comments.

10. If a pharmacist offers homeopathic medicine to a sick child, the law permits extreme violence. [Tweet]

And that, my friend, is FACT.

Want to see more? Try these:

• Ten Things You Should Already Know By Now
• How To Change Your Life Forever
• Don’t be offended

The countdown has begun …

If you can’t see the video, click through

If you’re an Amazon UK shopper, you can pre-order your copy now.

If you’re an Amazon US shopper, sign up to be notified when it’s available. And keep watching this space.

Want to see more? Try these:

• Ten Things You Should Already Know By Now
• How To Change Your Life Forever
• Don’t be offended

A lot of stuff is difficult, right?

A lot of stuff makes your sphincter quiver and your pulse harden and your slightly tubby brow moisten when you think about it for too long.

And sometimes, nay often, this fiendishly delicate and difficult stuff is stuff you’d REALLY LIKE TO DO:

• Stop smoking dope before clocking in at work.
• Overcome your fear of raccoons to finally work as an urban zoo-keeper.
• Speak to girls.
• Speak to boys.
• Speak your mind.
• Run the New York marathon dressed in a culturally insensitive (but still quite fun) fancy dress outfit. 
• Run for governor.
• Run your own business.

But don’t worry amigo! Here’s the SINGLE cure for making EVERYTHING easier. If you balk at the thought of swimming the Atlantic, or are convinced that speaking French or writing eloquently and without obfuscation are skills that belong to those mysterious “other people”, then this tip will SAVE YOUR LIFE:

The way to make something easier is to DO IT MORE.

Yes – practice. It’s how you get to Carnegie Hall. It’s how you get better at stuff. It’s how you become an expert.

Rather obvious, innit? And, dare I say it, you knew it already.

Brushing your teeth before you go to bed might be a Sysphean task at the moment, but once you’ve done it every night for a week, it will be easier to do it every night for a month, and for a year.

Complaining to the waiter that your truffle and broccoli consommé is tepid is tough if you’re the retiring type. But do it once a week and you’ll be a pro. 

Even dealing with grief becomes easier with practice. Each day you do it, the burden lightens.

So start small, and regular – like baby bowel movements – and watch the change happen.

Or don’t. It’s your call.

Want to see more? Try these:

• Ten Things You Should Already Know By Now
• How To Change Your Life Forever
• Don’t be offended

Beating yourself off? QUIT BEATING YOURSELF UP!

Masturbation, my friend, is NOT A CRIME (although non-consensual dissemination of semen most certainly is – avoid that.)

Guilt is self-perpetuating. If you’ve been led to believe that touching yourself or unclean or far too much fun for one person to have, then you’ve been misled.

It’s only dirty if it feels dirty, and it only feels dirty if you think you “shouldn’t” be doing it. But there are no shoulds and shouldn’ts when it comes to feeling yourself up – except perhaps for the where.

Do it whenever you like, but don’t do it in aisle four of the supermarket.

That you are free to frot is religious FACT. After all, if God hadn’t meant for us to touch our genitals, he wouldn’t have put them within such convenient reach.

So remember:

Crimes:

• Torturing farmyard animals
• Stealing shit.
• Cruelty to grandparents
• Forgetting your wedding anniversary

Not a crime:

• Having a wank

The benefits of the hand-shandy are manifold. Whether you’re just clearing the tubes or relieving stress, be safe in the knowledge that you’re simultaneously combating prostate cancer, dulling menstrual cramps and getting your glorious rocks off.

Sex with yourself is the single safest flavor of sex, so celebrate strangling the snake and let 2011 begin with a flourish of the wrist.

Want to see more? Try these:

• Ten Things You Should Already Know By Now
• How To Change Your Life Forever
• Don’t be offended