THE BOOK OF DAVID

Late of many appearances on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson and two-drink-minimum gigs, comedian Steinberg tells the story of his life as though it were ripped from the Old Testament. Beware of a joke that groweth old upon constant repetition.

Such is the lesson to be learned from this memoir, which doth predicate itself upon the supposed humor of a comic pretending to speak to God, referring to himself in the third person and to his routines as, nay, not standup, but “sermons.” So it was that in a bygone time, young David came to be in that remote and ridiculous land of Winnipeg, which entailed much wailing and gnashing of teeth before he traveled to comedy’s Promised Land, Second City in its glory days. Improvisational comedy success lead to his knowing of many maidens (the time was the Sexual Revolution, and they revolted). Steinberg then made the pilgrimage to California, where he sat at the right hand of Carson. Steinberg’s sentences beget other sentences, and still more sentences after them, until a great many sentences are upon the page, and the reader is afflicted with dismay and lethargy, so full are these sentences with willfully anachronistic details and repetitions of a non-funny nature.

Merits divine chastisement.