With time off comes great irresponsibility.

I like to read. I read a lot. I'll read just about anything. I like to know things. So it was, when ABC had to pay $15 million to Donald Trump's presidential library after George Stephanopoulos repeatedly (falsely) called him a rapist, we found ourselves back in the depths of the E. Jean Carroll nonsense. And, much like when I decided to read Project 2025, I got tired of reading about a book when I could just read the book myself.

I went online and checked out a copy of E. Jean Carroll's What Do We Need Men For? And, in a turn that may not surprise anyone, this review is NSFW. Not because of anything I have to say about, but because of the depraved, perverted content of the book itself.

This book is more fantastical than a dragon in a floating castle smoking a hookah with Gandalf the Gray.

Conceptually, the book features E. Jean Carroll driving around America with her dog (Travels with Charley, it ain't), stopping only in cities that are named after women, and accosting unsuspecting women (what is a woman? Well, for E. Jean, anyone who identifies as one) with the question "What do we need men for?" She even stops her car in the middle of the road to scream the question at a woman crossing the street in a motorized wheelchair, which I imagine was a traumatic experience. E. Jean then gets mad at someone for yelling obscenities at her to get out of the road.

When someone answers this question, E Jean's follow-up is to name five women who should lead America. I'm sure, at the time, she was looking for the usual Leftist suspects. Hillary, Warren, Michelle Obama, maybe even Kamala Harris. I can't name five women who should lead America because I don't think there are five women in the current political atmosphere that could effectively serve in that role.

Of course, the conceit is abandoned very quickly in order for E. Jean to get to her favorite topic: herself and sex.

Lots of sex.

This book is mostly about E. Jean's sex life.

Also, all the famous people she knows. All the designer clothing and items she has. You know, typical East Coast Leftist stuff, including the typical disdain for anyone in "flyover country." Which is odd, because E. Jean Carroll was born in Michigan, grew up in Indiana.

Doesn't matter, though. She lived in New York long enough to turn her elitist nose up at anyone from a red state.

The book is supposed to be about feminism and female empowerment and yada yada yada.

The book is actually the ramblings of a nymphomaniacal lunatic.

If I were ever to read the diary of a sexual predator, I imagine this is what it would sound like. There is no man in E. Jean's life that doesn't want to rape her. Every thing in the book is described in a perverse sexual context. Even crawling under her car to try to discern what's leaking from underneath is coached in sexual terms, as if she is a gynecologist groping the undercarriage of her Prius (of course, it's a Prius).

As you may know, this book includes the notorious 21 Most Hideous Men in My Life.

This book reads like a rape fantasy.

The first man mentioned is a boy from university who had E. Jean pinned down in a forest and was about to rape her at knifepoint when she was able to break free (all 110 pounds of her) and run for her life, even though she admits she is neither strong nor fast.

Another hideous man, one of E. Jean's ex-husbands, apparently used to choke her to the point of blacking out, and she didn't remember any of those incidents until she saw a woman in her travels with the same shade of red hair as the friend and neighbor E. Jean ran to after one of those choking incidents. Somehow, another assault she was able to magically escape from. Her account with Les Moonves reads the same way. Trapped with him in an elevator until suddenly she's not, and she's able to escape.

Maybe I'm just being a misogynist. I'm sure people escape rapists all the time. But, I don't think all men are rapists. E. Jean's opinion of every man she encounters is nothing but disdain.

In a moment of self-reflection, E. Jean puts herself on the list of Most Hideous Men because, while she was student, she used to go into a classroom dressed in a trench coat, and, with her back to his students, flash a professor in front of the class. She admits to doing this repeatedly. Admits that it was hideous because of the backlash a man would receive for doing the same thing. Admits that a man would be treated like a sexual pervert while she somehow got away with it.

NSFW: She claims that she used a plastic riding horse to masturbate when she was three years old. She admits to scissoring with older children at the age of four. She claims she was repeatedly molested by her babysitter and the babysitter's boyfriend, yet somehow, her siblings conveniently disappear from the story to accommodate this particular story.

She was saved from a rapist serial killer because her dog came out on the porch at exactly the right time.

Of course, the ending is an account of the alleged encounter with Donald Trump. Even she acknowledges the inconsistencies in the story. The story ends with E. Jean, who's life has seemingly revolved around sex up to this point, admits she has not been able to have sex since this alleged encounter with Donald Trump.

Considering the fantastical, sexually explicit, perverted nature of this entire book, I find this whole thing hard to believe. Every sentence in this book screams, "I'm not okay and I'll make you regret asking."

It is unbelievable. It is a fantasy. It is a fiction.

While I doubt anything in this book took place as described, I guess it's possible some of this happened. But even if it contains something real, it has neither truth nor beauty.

0/10

Would not recommend.

P.S. The cat is named Vagina. The dog is name Tits.

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Kate works in production at LwC. She is an author. When she isn’t writing...who are we kidding? She’s always writing. You can find her here on X.