Insufferable. Strasburg, North Dakota's, gift to Santa Monica and the world does it again. This is the fifth book that Welk and McGeehan have perpetrated together (Wunnerful, Wunnerful!, Ah-One, Ah-Two--need we go on?), and once more they serve up a sticky inspirational mixture of folksiness, schmaltz, and complacent conservatism. This time around Welk tells a few more anecdotes about his ""musical family""--he buries them, that is, in fulsome praise. He gives a few not very intimate details of his boyhood days on the farm, and then, with considerably more zest, the story of how he made a killing in California real estate. He pours on the patriotism: about the only things wrong with this country are government interference in free enterprise and. . . the child labor laws. Welk is frustrated by them because he has so many pubescent stars waiting in the wings, but unable to appear on his show because of legal complications. Ironically, for such a hearty libertarian, Welk is highly paternalistic, and runs his little empire (300 employees) with firm Germanic discipline. He may be generous, but nobody who works for him ever gets a contract. Despite the title, Welk soft-pedals religion. What he believes in, mostly, is honest effort and common decency, and if you don't think that's enough, this blissful 76-year-old workaholic will drown your objections with very bad (domestic) champagne.