What's there to say?

Bill Hicks is a fallen, dark poet. Maybe the dark poet, who didn't like labels on anything. And he certainly didn't like governments sticking their fingers in things, as well as christians, non-smokers, homophobes, rednecks... Endless list.

And he did love the search for truth and the debunking of lies, which - as he states in the book - was once Noam Chomsky's definition of what lays the base for being an intellectual. I think Bill hit the nail straight on its head when he described himself as "Noam Chomsky with dick jokes".

And he was. More than a rambler, always with an open heart - except for that bit in his life when he was a completely out-of-touch alcoholic drug-abuser - and a very open mind...but don't let me label him any more.

The man was a genius, and it's too bad he didn't live for longer.

This collection of routines, letters, lyrics, poems and short-stories is brilliant, should be edited once more and expanded, especially seeing how David Letterman has, during 2010, publicly apologised to Bill's mother.

I bought this for £3 and it's one of the most wisely spent sums of money I've ever shared with the world; I just wish I'd bought ten copies more and given it to friends.