The publishing industry’s fixation with the memoir genre persists like my dog’s child-like fascination with the heater.

In both cases, I’m exasperating a big fat WTF?

Memoirs are the only thing that sells? They’re better? Given all the instances of fabrications and concoctions in memoirs recently, and all the gaffes perpetrated by the Bush Administration, I guess we just like being lied to these days.

Uber-memoirist Augusten Burroughs is set to publish his latest, A Wolf at the Table.

Donald Rumsfeld will also be publishing a memoir. Rummy declined an advance and “the proceeds will be donated to a not-for-profit foundation he set up to fund global microfinance efforts, foster public service among promising young people through educational grants and build links between America and central Asia.” For all Rumsfeld’s failures, file this under “the least he could do.”

Speaking of failures, Mike Huckabee will be publishing a memoir about his unsuccessful presidential bid.

And even the whitetrash mutant offspring of Billy Ray “Achy Breaky Heart” Cyrus, Miley Cyrus of Hannah Montana fame has received a book deal to write her “memoirs.”

And as absurd and unfortunate as it is, Miley’s will sell the most.

I guarantee it.

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