Dear Lüc Carl,

What can I say? When it comes to men, I have a type.

You are my soul mate.  I know we’ve never met, but I can see based on the cover of your book and the various pictures included therein that you are just my kind of hotness.  But this is more than a simple crush based on two sexy people being sexy.  No, my good sir, this is much more.

You see, I read your memoir, The Drunk Diet: How I Lost 40 Pounds… Wasted; indeed, I finished it, front cover to back, in less than 24 hours.  And this, during a time in which I am moving into a new house and renovating my old one, working almost non-stop from the moment I wake up until whenever I finally fall asleep on my couch reading/mind-racing.  (After the Cincuenta Sombras de Grey debacle, this was particularly appreciated.)  Like a school girl in lust, I just couldn’t stay away.

Doctor Quackers says, “Listen to MY diet advice! Chocolate has antioxidants! Eat up, kiddos!” … but I’m gonna go with Lüc instead.

Let me start by addressing the potential objections that this isn’t a “real” diet book written by some asshole with 20 letters after her/his last name (incidentally, none of which stand for “Medical Doctor”); or that there are too many fucking curse words and references to blow jobs; or that no, you really do need to lay off the booze to lose weight:

Suuuuuuuuck it!

Horns up.  That’s the only response needed.  This book is rock ‘n roll.  And it’s hilarious.  Which is why it won’t be right for everyone, but which is why it was perfect for me. (As evidenced, in part, by the beautiful drunken mural of horns throwing on my hallway wall, above.)

“The real problem here, when you’re dieting but you’re still drinking, is the ‘Drunk Munchies.’ …  If I’m wasted, my self-control is gone….  Pretty quickly, I realized that cutting out that extra meal right before bed was working….  I had lost weight, and all I had to do was cut out that fourth meal of the day.”  (p. 48-49)

Oh, Second Dinner, consumed at 4:00a.m., you are the bane of my existence.  As I’ve noted repeatedly, this terrible habit, more than anything else, is responsible for the bit of extra chub I’m carrying right now.  Obviously, this is not something that everyone is going to relate to.  And it’s exactly why The Drunk Diet is ideal for someone like yours truly, who wants to be fit and sexy but who is unwilling to give up drinking and going out in order to remain there.

I mean, heck, one chapter is subtitled “All-You-Can-Eat Is Not A Good Thing.  I Can’t Believe I Have To Fucking Explain This Shit” (hahaha), and it contains sections relating to eating with a hangover and not being a drunkorexic, as well as handling yourself at restaurants and over the holidays.

Beer, bowling, and engraving one’s ass into the couch: I feel ya, Homer J.

It’s not exclusively for us lushes, though.  There’s a lot in here that will be useful or entertaining (and typically both) for a wider audience.  It’s just presented in a no BS, no self-delusion allowed, tone of voice:

• “Soon enough, the ball-busting turned to praise:  ‘Damn, bro, you’re looking good!  Have you been working out?’  Yes, dumbass.  Remember when you made fun of me for ordering broccoli? …  I stopped thinking of vegetables as ‘asparagus’ or ‘string beans’; I was thinking of them as ‘confidence’ and sex.’”  (p. 51)
• “You’ve got to be very careful when you reach a plateau.  It’s too easy to just say, Fuck it.  I’ve lost as much as I’m going to lose, and then go back to eating shit.  This is a good way to wind up heavier than when you started.”  (p. 55)
• “But whenever I started walking, I’d always press pause on my iPod, so I wouldn’t waste a high-energy song on the lazy part of my run.  I didn’t deserve to listen to the good stuff when I wasn’t actually running.  And when I’d caught my breath, I’d hit play and bask in the glory of metal.”  (p. 163)

This last one, especially.  YES.  I love that I’m not the only one who does this.

We can call this an improvement over bicep curls with beer cans only

The Drunk Diet isn’t just a collection of solid diet/fitness advice, though.  Indeed, that info is scattered throughout stories of the absurdity Lüc has engaged in over the years, many of which had me laughing out loud on my living room couch.  Again, tales of bravado and badassery (drunken or not) don’t comport with everyone’s sense of humor, but I thought they were hilarious.  There’s also a decent amount of introspection, now that Lüc has removed himself from the height of his past chaos and debauchery, about that fine line between having fun and toying with self-defeating (if not self-destructive) behaviors… and about how when one is a “partyholic” and when one’s default position is to want more, more, more of everything, there are benefits to obtaining some semblance of moderation in one’s vices and directing some of that excess energy toward something positive like running.  Gee, any wonder I loved this book so much?

So, Mr. Carl, if you ever find yourself in Atlanta, you are cordially invited to come crank the Iron Maiden (swoon!!!) and go for a nice 7 mile run with me… and then we can get hammered on whiskey (or vodka soda, if you’d prefer).  Best Date Ever.

C’mon, Lüc. You know you’re thinking about it.

And on that note, that’s about enough for today.  I’m getting off my out-of-shape ass and heading to the gym.  I need it.  I’ve got a big drinking night ahead of me, and I’ve gotta keep this shit tight.