Early in the heyday of Beatlemania, John Lennon was recruited to write a book by a publisher who was smitten with the Beatle's sardonic wit and incredible ability to move product. Alas, Lennon never really got around to writing a book. But, having accepted a good deal of money as an advance, he submitted a random collection of ramblings and jottings, titled In His Own Write, which went on to become a big literary and commercial hit. It also, perhaps inadvertently, paved the way for such celebrity tomes as Sandra Bernhard's May I Kiss You On The Lips, Miss Sandra?, a collection of poems, quips, one-liners, reflections, travelogues, and faux or non-faux diary entries united only by the Hudson Hawk co-star's unyielding self-infatuation. Miss Sandra should be of interest to Bernhard's legions of obsessed fans, but no one else: Generally clever but irritatingly unfunny, Miss Sandra finds Bernhard taking on celebrities, spirituality, and romantic obsession in a book that reveals much about the inner workings of its author and nothing about the world at large. At its best, Bernhard's book reveals a raw talent who's still several hundred volumes short of writing anything worthwhile. At its worst, Miss Sandra is cringe-inducingly awful, particularly in its poetry, which is so amateurish that you half expect it to be adorned with drawings of hearts and pretty horses frolicking in a field. While some of this material might have worked in a stand-up act, it falls flat on the page. The one-liners, generously allotted one entire page each, seem particularly embarrassing when deprived of Bernhard's onstage delivery. Although it weighs in at a skimpy 209 content-light pages, Miss Sandra is still a mighty endurance test for all but the singer, actress, and comedian's most zealous fans.