It breaks my heart to give this book one star. 
 I love Amy Poehler. In fact I love every member of that early two-thousands (the decade, not the century) female Saturday Night Live cast ensemble: Poehler, Fey, Rudolph, Dratch. 
 I often mentally include Kristen Wiig in the mix, too, because she's fantastic, but she was sort of late to the party, having joined SNL a year before Dratch and Fey left. 
 But as I was saying, I think highly of Poehler. I enjoy her comedy, her intelligence, her personality overall. But I didn't like this book. 
 To me, Yes Please reads more like a scatterbrained diary than the well-crafted memoir I had been hoping for. Very little of the book seems to have been composed with any forethought; it's as though Poehler were performing improv in "lit" form. Except while she may be a master of the art on a stage, her improvisational talent doesn't really migrate to the written page. Her stories meander along without any real segue between them, each having a very "oh and by the way" aspect to it. Maybe it was meant to be random and incoherent but it just didn't work for me. 
 At one point in the book Poehler mentions her addiction to self-googling, so in many ways I am hoping she doesn't stumble across this review because I'd hate to imagine her feelings being hurt by it, so maybe it's best that no one votes for it. 
 In other words, do what you guys normally do.