Lüc Carl's Blog, page 21

BOOK SIGNINGS!

Wednesday, March 14th

Barnes and Noble Tribeca, New York City

7:00pm

Monday, March 19th

Book Soup Hollywood, CA

Time TBA

Tuesday, March 20th

Barnes and Noble Dallas, TX

7:00pm

Thursday, March 22nd

Book People Austin, TX

7:00pm

Omaha, NE TBA

Chicago, IL TBA

"They go through all that trouble to get my signature, I make damn sure it's legible." – Don Drysdale

GUY FRIENDS

Guy Friends (as defined by the psyche of a woman):  The somewhat attractive nearly-straight guys that I hang out with but would never fuck. Although in their mind they think that at some point I'll break down and at least give them a courtesy fuck, but the truth is I'll never do that because I need them in my life for the confidence boost while I"m searching for much hotter more successful men who will rip my heart to shreds after I put out on the first date and he never calls me back. At least I have my guy friends to call the next day to make me feel like an attractive empowering woman only hours after giving up the vagina to a guy who I had to remind what my name was 3 times before going home with him.

Guy Friends: To be texted every Sunday afternoon, immediately following  3 hours of conversing with gay friends, after waking up from non-orgasmic super-hot guy that lives on Madison Avenue sex.

 

THE MEANING OF LIFE

I've been doing a lot of soul searching lately. A lot of thinking, praying, church-going, and of course, too much drinking. So pretty much business as usual.

In my travels through my own mind I've come to but one conclusion -I've discovered the meaning of life……

Eating pussy.

Women require three types of lovers…..

Lover 1: The Romantic. He spends time kissing her exactly where she needs to be kissed and can tell right away if the back of the neck is not the appropriate spot. He tells her how beautiful she is. He looks her square in the eyes and says "I cannot live without you in my life. You are my reason for existing. My life is meaningless without you."

Lover 2: The Bad Boy. He grabs her, rips her clothes off and says, "I don't care if you were on the phone with your mother, I need you right now and I'm taking you right here on the kitchen sink." It's possible the woman may not climax with this lover, but this is the lover she will think about when she is left alone masturbating, because such a lover would never allow a woman to masturbate.

Lover 3: The Oral Master. The vagina needs to be eaten. Properly, selflessly, and for the good of the universe. This is the only way to truly make a girl happy. Learn what she likes, as each of them is completely different. One might like a lot of spit, the other might want the lights on. This is the most important of the three types of lovers.

Each man must be all three lovers in one.

Sex is why we drink. Sex is why we gamble. Sex is why we have babies.

Without woman, without the vagina, we wouldn't have things such as electricity or fire. We wouldn't have Twitter or text messaging. The vagina is the reason we as human beings were put on this earth. So eat up. The very existence of man is depending on you.

 

MY LIFE THE ROMANTIC COMEDY

There are those of us who want our lives to be like a Meg Ryan movie because we want nothing more than to be swept off of our feel and live happily every after with 2.5 kids and a dog. Then there are those who want our lives to be like a Meg Ryan movie because we want everyone on the observation deck of the Empire State Building to see that someone has fallen in love with us. And, in fact, those couple hundred people on top of the observation deck are simply not enough. We need the entire world to fall in love with the fact that we've fallen in love. Watching us on the big screen, eating popcorn, wishing the person sitting next to us was half as romantic as the male role in the movie.

Do you really want to fall in love, or do you just want the whole world to see you fall in love? And is there a difference?

SUGGESTED LISTENING: TED NUGENT/TED NUGENT

Ted Nugent's self titled debut album is phenomenal. If you haven't given it a listen in a long time, or ever, check it out now.

Best enjoyed with two hits of weed and a half a bottle of cheap wine.

You should probably turn up your speakers before you hit play.

 

WHY I LOVE/HATE YOGA

I love yoga because I run so god damn much that I have no choice but to go at least once per week to stretch my shit out. Which means I am a fucking bad ass.

I love yoga because it's a room full of half naked chicks.

I hate yoga because after 45 minutes I'm over it and there's another 25 minutes left to go.

I love yoga because one time while in plow pose the kind-of-hot teacher with the huge tits came over and pushed down on my legs getting incredibly close to my cock at which point I said "is this going to cost me extra?" She didn't get it but the rest of the class laughed.

I love yoga because it makes me a better runner.

I love yoga because Lululemon turns me on.

I love yoga because I'm the only dude in a room full of chicks.

I hate yoga because it's hard as fuck.

I love yoga because after my last class the girl with the biggest tits gave me a double take on her way out the door. That's not saying much considering my only competition was a 65 year old man.

I hate yoga because my friends look at me funny whenever yoga comes up and they find out I go regularly. Then I tell them that it's a room full of half naked chicks with their asses up in the air, at which point they ask me for the address and I give them the address for Planned Parenthood. Then I love yoga again.

MANHATTAN HALF MARATHON 2012

First of all I'd like to apologize for being so late. I've been very busy with things heating up as March 13th rapidly approaches. Although I assure you, things were not heating up last Saturday morning.

My alarm went off at 4:45. Wake up, breakfast, shit, shave, shower. My outfit for a race is normally laid out for me the night before. With a blizzard on the horizon, I was unsure what clothes to lay out, so I made sure I had several different options.

NYRR.org said that the race had become a "fun run" and entrants did not need to actually run the race in order to qualify for the New York City Marathon. Qualifying was not my goal, running the damn race was. I bundled up in multiple layers, Tweeting "I feel like Ralphies brother. #Overdressed." The last thing I wanted was to show up at the race already frozen.

I traveled to the Upper East Side to pick up my number and walked 15 blocks to the bag drop. An hour and a half after leaving my house and I now had to decide on an outfit to run in.

I chose the old pair of shoes that I wore to the race as opposed to the new pair of shoes that I'd planned to race in, due to the fact that there was already 4 inches of snow on the ground so why ruin a brand new pair of shoes. I had two fresh pairs of socks in my bag but I decided to go with the ones that were on my feet. The snow was coming down so hard, a fresh pair of socks would have been wet again before I got my shoes back on, so fuck it!

I stripped down to my running pants, threw on a pair of shorts over my pants to make sure I didn't get any dick pain like I had the previous Sunday. On top I had a long sleeve base layer, a short sleeve running shirt, and two running jackets that were designed for rain. A stocking hat, lightly tinted glasses, gloves, and hand-warmers. Off I went to find the starting line, 15 minutes after the race had already started. Which didn't much matter considering there were no timers.

I crossed the starting line into the frozen tundra. Snow coming down at all angles. Of the 15,000 or so runners that had signed up, only maybe 1000 showed up. The most difficult part of the race was passing people. Because for the most part, people were running single file in order to find the surest footing. It was much like running in sand, but if you followed the footsteps of hundreds in front of you, the sand was a bit more compact. Passing someone however, meant going out into the untouched sand which was deeper and took much more effort to get in and out of with each footstep.

I assure you, this was no sand. Quite the contrary. It was 24 degrees with snow coming down from the right into my right eye. As soon as I turned a left corner hoping to have the snow at my back, it was coming down from the left into my left eye. I realized that the snow was coming from all angles and there was nothing I could do about it except hold my glasses half way down my nose in order to block as much snow as possible but allow enough breathing room to keep them from fogging up.

On I went. Each and every mile slower than the last. As opposed to a well run fair weather race which would be the exact opposite in terms of pace per mile.

By the time I crossed the finish line I was over it. The snow was coming down harder than ever and I just wanted to get changed and warm up. Team Drunk Diet made our way to baggage claim, picked up our shit, and wondered off in the freezing cold. Wet, aching, and unable to move our mouths properly to speak, proud.

We found a diner where the hostess told us to sit in the very back near the bathrooms so we didn't scare the other customers.

After a bowl of chicken noodle soup I made my way to the bathroom to change out of my wet clothes into some dry clothes which were no longer dry due to all the damn snow everywhere.

I made my way back to our table and changed in to some fresh socks. I pulled a pair of pants over my pants. All while saying fuck shit and piss repeatedly with a table of young kids right next to us.

You can't take me anywhere.

We made our way downtown to one of my alma maters and celebrated our success over some beers.

 

ENTER TO WIN AN AUTOGRAPHED ADVANCED COPY OF THE DRUNK DIET!

That's right! You can win 1 of 20 advanced copies of The Drunk Diet! And what's more Lüc will sign it!

All we ask in return is that you leave a review of the book on GoodReads.com such as this one by Suzy Welker.

CLICK HERE TO ENTER!

WAR & PEACE

Take the Vietnam war for instance. It inspired an entire generation of amazing music and movies. Without the Vietnam war, we would not have Credence Clearwater Revival, The Doors, Apocalypse Now, The Dear Hunter, Born On The 4th Of July, or the MC5. Sometimes it takes something so terrible as death and euthanasia to inspire people to greatness.

There is a war going on right now, but there is no name for it, and more importantly there was no draft. People only seem to become inspired when they're forced to do something they don't want to do, or others around them are forced to do something they don't want to do.

Don't wait for the death of a brother to light a fire under your ass. Get out there and do something amazing with your life before any more blood is shed.

 

 

BY THE SKIN OF MY TEETH

Having been a fairly good boy in the area of drinking for the past two weeks, I wanted to make sure last night was no exception.

With the Manhattan Half Marathon on Saturday morning, and day after day of grueling training, I've been getting myself to sleep at a decent hour in order to kick as much ass as possible.

Last night I had plans to see a friends band, @BrothersNYC. One thing leads to another and it's 1:00am and I have yet another fresh beer and a pile of Irish Whiskey in front of my face. Surrounded by girls and temptation I get up from my seat at the head of the table in a dimly lit room to use the bathroom. While taking a piss and admiring any new graffiti on the walls, I wash my hands and make a split second decision to get the fuck out of there. Sitting back down on that bar-stool meant another hour and a half and who knows how many more beers.

While at the time feeling a bit guilty for giving up on the party, which was at that point just heating up; come Saturday morning at 5:00am when everyone else in that room is just getting to bed, I'll have to answer to not only an alarm clock, but a starting line. I intend to great that starting line with a look of determination in my eyes.