Win McCormack’s You Don’t Know Me: A Citizen’s Guide to Republican Family Values is a cheap mud-slinging tome filled to the brim with sexual indiscretions on the scale of Caligula and duplicity on the scale of Jimmy Swaggart. It’s also a hell of a lot of fun.

McCormack is an activist in the Democratic Political Party, so let’s get that out of the way right now. This is an incredibly partisan book that aims to dishonour the Republican “family values” nuts and does so rather neatly by simply amassing a rather monstrous compilation of indiscretions and violations for alphabetical scrutiny.

An introduction sets things off by tracing the history of the Moral Majority Coalition in 1979 and the Republican Party’s association, albeit an obviously troubled and outlandish one, to the moral values espoused by the likes of plump charlatan Jerry Falwell and others. With the electoral vehicles of the Religious Right in full swing towards Washington with more enthusiasm than a sightless hooker on meth, the odd bedfellows found unprepossessing unity in the gain of power and profit from On High.

McCormack’s book highlights the cracks in the paved chainmail, illuminating the repulsive truth of an exchange of political fluids for powerful gain with a series of squalid incidents and situations involving high-flying members of the Right Side of Life. In the late 90s, signs of perverted life emerged from the conservative movement and a host of sex scandals quickly arose to find a place underneath the White House carpet.

With a public largely hung up on a hung Clinton and the likelihood of a cigar’s summit with a cavernous orifice, there was much more rank play stirring on the other side of the aisle. The hypocrites who aimed to depose Blowjob Bill were, at the same time, trolling the internet for juvenile male sex partners, engaging in bestiality, flirting with House pages using IM programs, going on sex tours abroad, sexually abusing underage girls, and causing trouble at Hillary Duff concerts.

You Don’t Know Me unearths the scandals of the right-leaning pervs with meticulousness, citing numerous sources, interviews, and police reports to expose the deceitful quacks and to shed wide-ranging light on some cases we by now know well. Oh, and there are illustrations, too!

Take that portly turd Newt Gingrich as an example. His family values ran so intensely that he not only forced his wife to discuss divorce details while she was in the hospital with uterine cancer, but he had a grisly status in the 1970s as a ladies’ man. And Anne Manning’s oral-sex-only modus operandi slob-lob with Newty only adds fuel to the fire.

Bill O’Reilly’s falafel envy is explored in detail, as is Bob Barr’s Charity Whipped Cream Boob Lick-off and Larry Craig’s bathroom stall Riverdance. It’s all here, folks.

What makes You Don’t Know Me so mesmerizing isn’t that it’s so tacky or so filled to the edge with two-faced jackasses, it’s that it’s true.

Yes, Glenn Murphy Jr. really did perform superfluous oral sex on another man. Yes, John Ashcroft really did want Lady Justice’s boobage sheltered. And yes, Ted Haggard really is a treacherous beaming asshole.