Thank God for entertainers.

Without entertainers, we would be spending a lifetime watching some old white Senators sitting round a table asking boring questions to some lying ass politicians.

Without entertainers, life would have been very boring.

We have entertainers to spice up life. It is the essence of their calling. Really, it is the only reason why they exist. The more real they are, the more difficult it is to ignore them despite their annoyances.

The latest entertainer who is suffering from one of those gourmet illnesses of the privileged class – diarrhea of the mouth, is Bobby Brown.

Bobby Brown, a former member of the boy band, New Edition; a former husband of Whitney Houston; and a perennial bad boy, has decided to take the final step before he officially becomes washed-up.

Yes, he wrote a book. No, scratch that. He told someone his story, the version his cocaine perforated brain could remember. And that was how a tell-all autobiography appropriately called “Bobby Brown: The Truth, the Whole Truth and Nothing But…” was written. And like everything about stars, it is coming to a bookstore near you – whether you like it or not.

“The Truth, the Whole Truth and Nothing But…” were the last words Bobby Brown heard from the mouth of a court register the last time he was sober.

In his book, Bobby told us about all the women he slept with – he named names- Janet Jackson (Oh, she used to be a good girl, remember?), Whitney Houston (we know this was true for they had a baby named Bobbi Pity-me Brown), Madonna (hard to imagine that she used to open for New Edition), exotic dancer Karrine “Superhead” Steffans (no comment –she lets her mouth demonstrate for her), Tuwanda, Melinda, Blender, you name them.

Bobby talked about how he got caught up in a marriage scheme aimed at squashing the rumor that Whitney was in a bisexual relationship with her assistant, Robin Crawford.

That was just the first chapter.

Bobby, the gentleman who confessed that his drug of choice was marijuana and not those Whitney later introduced him to, then went on to talk about himself- which is the greatest pastime of stars.

He proudly talked about how he snorted cocaine like Tony Montana in Scarface. Apparently, nobody told the Boston native that Scarface was only a movie.

Bobby was at his best when he analyzed himself. “I am guilty of sleeping with other women . . .” he wrote. “Women are always throwing themselves at you. I’m only human, so I would make the mistake and bite the hook sometimes . . . I let the testosterone take over.”

The big surprise here is that he knows what testosterone is. I didn’t say he could spell it. How could Bobby Brown know what testosterone is? And who deceived this star of Being Bobby Brown into believing that he was only human?

Anyway, do you care? Why should you care?

No matter what you think about them, entertainers are interesting lots. The only thing that makes them different from us is that they choose to be the clowns of our world. Regular people like you and I always stop at things we consider embarrassing. But that is exactly the spot where entertainers begin their push forward.

The great secret of entertainment is that entertainers hype up talent just to dissuade us from trying to be like them. Talent is overrated. Even Britney Spears can tell you that. Anyone who chooses to be a clown and puts in as much resources into such pursuit will ultimately be one. The history of entertainment is littered with such men and women.

In My Prerogative, Bobby Brown’s greatest hit, he complained about being talked about. Right now, he is the one bothering us with his entire yak yak yak. As a faded star desperately searching for a new lease on life, he knows something that many of us do not know – that “something worse than being talked about is not being talked about.”

Maybe we should tell Bobby that he needs our permission before he interrupts us with his drama. That is our prerogative, I think. Or is it his?