The Big Short, by Michael Lewis

Laughing out loud while reading a book about the disastrous financial events of 2008, is a good way to get fitted for an extremely tight white jacket, with lots of straps and buckles. My wife, however, is a patient woman and will wait for me to do something really nuts, before calling in the burly attendants to cart me away.

The fact is, there are places in this book where you’re left with no choice except to laugh. The absurdity of the decisions and actions that led to the mess, is just that stupefying. You have to laugh, because tearing your hair out in disbelief is not really an option. A disbelief that you’ll find shared by the small handful of people who profited from it all by recognizing the mounting absurdity, and betting against the market.

Sure, there’s the film version too. But it was disconcerting being the only two people in the theater at AMC SouthPoint, while Batman was saying important things about credit default swaps on-screen.

How Mumbo-Jumbo Conquered The World, by Francis Wheen

Mr. Wheen (read his book, and you’ll see why he rates a “Mr.” in mine) is smart, sharp, skeptical and a dab hand with words. Making this the sort of book you can almost shave with.

It certainly wakes you up, but not with the soul-jarring crudity of a wet dog’s nose nuzzling your foot on a winter morning. No. This is much more insidious. Like the slow, sphincter-clenching wake-up call associated with a mother-in-law visiting for the weekend.

Holidays In Hell, by P. J. O’Rourke

O’Rourke writes about war in a manner that would make Hemingway hang up his guns and run home screaming to Mommy.

He gets sarcastic about it.

The book is a bit dated, having been published back in the late ’80s. However, many of the death-filled shit holes he describes so very well, are still… well, death-filled shit holes. In some cases, we have a new cast of death dealers. In other cases, they’ve been overshadowed by newer, gorier death-filled shit holes.

Either way, this is the kind of guy whose bags you’d like to carry in the event of, say, an unscheduled stopover in North Korea, in today’s context.

McCarthy’s Bar, by Pete McCarthy

This travelog by a half-Irish guy starts off with the basic premise that he’s bound to have a good time in an Irish bar with his name on it.

If that doesn’t grab you enough to get you to go out and buy the book – well, your loss.

There’s alcohol. Drugs. Other people having sex. Some nice insights into Catholicism. And a jaundiced view of tourists and tourist traps, that’s surpassed only by Terry Pratchett and his characters Twoflower and Rincewind.