Dave Hill Wrote Some Stupid Book

You've probably heard that comedian Dave Hill's book, Tasteful Nudes, was released on Tuesday. The news seems to (annoyingly) be plastered on every site I look at. We interviewed Dave a while back about what was going on in his life, but since then he's written this book or whatever, so I guess he has some more to say. I was in a particularly grumpy mood during this one so I'd like to thank Dave for not telling me to stick it before we finished our chat.

VICE: I am sick of reading long books, and buying books in general. Why did you make another stupid book?
Dave: First of all, I did not make “another stupid book.” This is my first stupid book—get your facts straight. Also, my book isn’t that long. It’s only like 240 pages, which I know sounds long, but you could probably bang it out in a few mornings waiting around at the free clinic or something. And if you don’t feel like buying my book, just steal it from the store—I will get credit for the sale anyway, so I am totally cool with it. In fact, there are detailed instructions on how to steal my book right there in the introduction. I am the people’s champion and you can basically ask anyone. So there.

Are all of the stories in this book true? If it comes out later that you lied about shit, how will you deal with it?
Yes, they are all totally true. If it comes out later that I lied about shit, I’ll just go on Oprah and apologize and then she’ll probably give me a mid-sized sedan or something. I really can’t lose on this one.

Why should anyone care about what you have to say?
Because I am a poet laureate and a national treasure. Also, I have a just ever so slightly larger than average penis if you hold it in the right light. At least that’s what everybody kept telling me in the Port Authority restroom all last summer. Nyquil, am I right?

Whose dick did you suck to get this book contract?
Who wrote The Secret? That guy, I think. I don’t know, really—it was dark in that Wendy’s parking lot.

How much are they paying you?
Put it this way—if I feel like buying myself some candy, I buy myself some motherfucking candy.

Why are you trying to pass off heavy, human experiences as fodder for your humor? Don't you think that's unfair?
Look—I was contractually obligated to turn in between 60,000 - 80,000 words. After I ran out of dick jokes, I did what I had to do. Unfair, maybe, but I needed the money.

I laughed a lot reading this book, and laughing is really not my thing. I hate laughing. What do you have to say to those people who aren't into laughing? Why should they buy your book?
Just leave the book on your coffee table and it will take care of the rest. We spent a long time getting the cover just right and that shit goes with everything. If someone walks into your house, sees my book on your coffee table, and doesn’t try to bang you, you need to take a good hard look at yourself and figure out what you’re doing wrong.

Ever heard the phrase, "Just because it happened to you doesn't mean it's interesting"? You think about that before writing a book about yourself?
No, but it’s definitely something to keep in mind. For you, that is. Burn! Oh man, I just owned you. But yeah, you raise a good point. There was originally an essay in the book about how this one rugby team I was on got into some crazy plane crash in the mountains and we were all forced to eat our dead teammates’ to survive and stuff, but that shit was a snoozefest, so I took it out at the last minute.

I've bumped into you at a few parties and you don't do drugs. (That's why we never invite you to after parties.) What’s your deal with that? Is your brain or mind or whatever better than ours?
I drink a fair amount and my inner 16-year-old bums a cigarette every once in a long while, usually after about ten drinks. There’s some people who would count that stuff, I guess. But I’ve never really done any “illegal drugs.” A lot of times people think I do because of how I talk or whatever, but the truth is I just never got around to it because I never heard a description of any drug that sounded particularly interesting or out of the ordinary. I did accidentally smoke a spliff outside of a bar once thinking it was a hand-rolled cigarette. But I was so fucked up on Robitussin at the time I didn’t really notice anything. Anyway, getting back to your question: yes, my brain is better than yours. Oh shit, the wall is breathing.