Oh, Steve Phillips, you nutty, birthmarked-on-your-crotch gigantic dummy, you.

Seriously? This is the girl you cheat with? The chubby, needy, crazy-eyed, always-the-bridesmaid-never-the-bride, way-beneath-your-league 22-year-old from your office?

In the immortal words of Chris Rock: “That tiger didn’t go crazy. That tiger went tiger.”

Translation: That crazy chick didn’t go crazy. That crazy chick went crazy chick.

Has Monica Lewinsky taught us nothing?

I’ve always been voted most unlikely,” Tracy Morgan says as he lies in bed a day before the release of his autobiography, “I Am the New Black.” “Now that I’m making it, everybody’s paying attention to everything I say.”

And there’s a lot he wants to get off his chest.

Along with a slew of shout-outs (to Tina Fey and Lorne Michaels, among others), a bit of score-settling (with fellow “Saturday Night Live” alums Chris Kattan and Cheri Oteri) and the predictably unpredictable philosophizing and aphorizing the world has come to relish from the 40-year-old, Emmy-nominated “30 Rock” star, the book details the ultimate hard-knock life growing up in the ghettos of New York.

The child of a heroin-addicted Vietnam vet and a gambling-addicted mother, Morgan writes candidly about the anger, pain and sadness that fuel his nothing-to-lose wild-man comedy.

“Somewhere along my way, I lost my innocence,” he tells The Post, three weeks before his Carnegie Hall debut as part of the New York Comedy Festival.

Indeed, his youth reads like a social worker’s worst nightmare.

He lost his virginity at age 8 to a 14-year-old baby sitter. (She also had sex with his disabled 10-year-old brother.) In the middle of a family fight, Morgan wished his father dead, and later that day Dad told him, “You got your wish,” and proceeded to tell his son he was dying from AIDS, which he’d contracted from a dirty needle. Dropping out of high school, he became a crack dealer.

Live from New York, it’s . . . the worst childhood ever.