I Hate Everyone...Starting with Me — Five Hours of Unapologetic Comedy Rage

Joan Rivers doesn't care if you like her. She's been in the business longer than I've been alive, and she's earned the right to hate whoever she wants. That's the entire premise of this audiobook, and honestly? It's exactly what I needed during Sophie's nap time when I was folding laundry that had been sitting in the dryer for three days.

Here's the thing about *I Hate Everyone...Starting with Me* - it's basically Joan Rivers doing a comedy set directly into your ears for five hours. No plot to follow, no characters to remember, no threads to pick back up after your toddler screams about the wrong color sippy cup. Just pure, unfiltered Joan, roasting everyone from First Ladies to her own plastic surgery.

More Punchlines Than My Kids Have Excuses

This book is dense with jokes. Like, aggressively dense. One reviewer said "more punchlines per paragraph than any book I've read in years" and that's not hyperbole. Joan doesn't let you breathe. She's ranting about feminists, then pivoting to closet cases, then dragging overrated historical figures, all while somehow circling back to hate herself too. It's chaotic in the best way - the kind of chaos I understand intimately as someone who once found a granola bar in my purse that had been there so long it was basically fossilized.

The format works perfectly for interrupted listening. I paused this thing probably thirty times over the course of a week - once mid-sentence while Joan was eviscerating someone's fashion choices - and picked right back up without missing a beat. There's no continuity to lose. She hates this person, now she hates that person, now she hates herself. Beautiful simplicity.

Joan Reading Joan (Slurred Words and All)

Here's where I have to be honest with you. Joan was in her late seventies when she recorded this, and you can hear it. Sometimes her speech gets a little slurred, a little unclear. I caught myself rewinding a few times, not because I'd lost the plot (there is no plot), but because I genuinely couldn't make out what she said. It's not constant, but it's noticeable.

Would you want anyone else reading this, though? Absolutely not. The comedic timing is still razor sharp. Her delivery is still unmistakably Joan. That signature straight-talking, take-no-prisoners energy comes through even when the words get a little muddy. It's like listening to your grandmother tell inappropriate jokes at Thanksgiving dinner. Sure, she might slur a word here and there, but you're not going to interrupt her.

Fair Warning: Joan Takes No Prisoners

Look, I need to be real with you. If you're easily offended, this is not your book. Joan is vulgar. She's crass. She says things that would get her canceled seventeen times over if she released this today. Some people find it mean-spirited rather than funny, and I get that. Comedy is subjective, and Joan's brand of humor is... aggressive.

I laughed out loud folding tiny princess underwear. My husband asked what was so funny and I couldn't even repeat it because it was too inappropriate for mixed company (and our seven-year-old was within earshot). That's the vibe. If you loved Joan on Fashion Police, if you've seen her stand-up, if you appreciate a woman who simply does not care what you think of her - you'll probably love this. If you prefer your comedy gentle and your memoirs heartwarming? Hard pass. And that's okay.

Who Gets Joan (And Who Should Run)

Perfect for: Anyone who needs to laugh while doing mindless tasks. Fans of Joan Rivers (obviously). People who appreciate comedy that doesn't pull punches. Moms who need to feel like a functional adult is talking to them about something other than Bluey.

Skip if: You're offended by vulgarity, strong opinions, or jokes about literally everyone. If you want something uplifting or redemptive. If you're listening with kids in the car (please, for the love of all that is holy, do not).

Laundry Pile Approved

I finished this in about a week of fragmented listening - nap times, car line waiting, and yes, my sacred garage sitting time. It's under five hours, which means it's actually achievable for those of us who can't commit to forty-hour epics. The time flew by, even with the occasional audio hiccup.

Not groundbreaking, but sometimes you don't need groundbreaking. Sometimes you need a cranky comedy legend telling you everyone is terrible, including herself, while you try to remember if you moved the laundry to the dryer or if it's still sitting in the washer growing mildew. Joan gets it. Joan hates that too.