Well hell’s bells. I didn’t know Jesse James could write. Or read. But hey! Here he is, pushing a book that tries to portray him as some pseudo-sexual being that just emanates bad-boy sex, dirty leather chaps, and strong whiskey. If it were anybody else (oh, say, Adrien Brody, for example), it’d be totally hot, but really? It just makes Jesse look all Sling Blade demented and, frankly, kind of gross.
But that’s no real deviation from the truth, now, is it.
Yes, friends: Jesse James’ creatively tries to use his unoriginal name to adapt a persona that just doesn’t exist – but I guess that’s what you do when you’re such a blatant embarrassment in real life, isn’t it?