Not since a Chicago bootlegger reinvented himself as a Long Island aristocrat has there been as brazen and as fictive an assertion of to the manor borne as that propounded by a former nurse from Bridgeport, Connecticut now doing business as a triple threat: French countess, reality show star, and, of course, author. Bridgeport – it sounds like dancing, doesn't it?

The Contessa LuAnn, undeterred by the decision of her Count to throw her overboard in favor of younger totty, has the brass to instruct the rest of us how to act with "class." Honey, if you're worried about acting classy, you ain't.

Gluttons for reality show punishment were able to watch the "author" at work: throwing out a few condescending yet ill-formed platitudes in the direction of a plain looking woman who in the absence of a rich husband, had to work. And work it was: she had to turn the Contessa's, um, pensées into something that could be dumped onto Costco shelving and sold. 

From the footage shown on basic cable (sorry, no free plugs from us), it appeared that the Costco Contessa spent as much time posing for the cheesecake cover shot as she did stringing together words for the text. Come to think of it, from the cover photo you can see clearly her twin claims to the peerage.

Autism: it's a baffling, troubling affliction with no clear etiology, treatment plan, or prognosis. Fortunately we can count on the expert assistance of seasoned ho's [Surely, pros? – Ed.] like Jenny McCarthy, medical doctor (M.D.) and Fellow of the Academy of Therapeutic Intervention and Treatment Systems (F.Ac. T.I.T.S.). 

Dr. McCarthy offers a comprehensive tome on the cause, prevention, and treatment of the poorly-understood condition, based on her years of clinical experience shaking her funbags in cinematic and television gems such as Skankenstein [Her memoir? – Lit. Ed.], Witless Protection, and Scary Movie 3. Probably she's able to take advantage of the wisdom of her boyfriend and intellectual equal, ex-star Jim Carrey.

What's Dr. McCarthy's advice for avoiding autism? We'll guess it's the usual Hollywood celebrity nonsense of unbalanced vegan diets and colon cleansing, preferably with the fruit juice she'll soon be hawking in her infomercials. 

Normally the ditzy ravings of a sagging blifke wouldn't strike us as a worthy target of our wrath, but we fear that some poor mother somewhere will read this bumfluff and conclude that she's to blame for her child's illness because she ate a cheeseburger during her pregnancy. And that would be a worse tragedy than a Jenny McCarthy film festival.

Finally, unlike the two "authors" whose work we've adumbrated above, we've got one whose literary qualifications lie someplace other than between collarbone and sternum. Previously her daughter has graced the our list of unreadable books (see here); now it's Ma Spelling's turn.

We'll guess that the Widow Spelling can't wait to tell us about how much fun it is to marry some old croaker, plant him, and thereafter dive into his Olympic-sized money pool. We'll hazard the further guess that she'll intersperse this riveting tale with digs at her daughter's shallowness and venality, which in Candy's mind fully justify disinheriting poor clueless Tori.

The part we're having trouble with is figuring who on earth would be interested in this geezer's recollections of the set of Dynasty or her whining about how hard it is to trade down from a 167,000 square foot home. We're thinking it would have to be some old guy with a lot of time on his hands who is also adjusting to a more compact living situation. Maybe Candy would be so good as to autograph a copy for Bernie Madoff.