Curb Your Enthusiasm's Leon Black is here to preview The Book of Leon
Larry David's trusted assistant has exclusively shared an excerpt of 'The Book of Leon' with EW.
Calling all Curb Your Enthusiasm fans.
Leon Black’s long-anticipated book of musings, The Book of Leon, is gearing up for its Oct. 10 release date, meaning that we’re only days away from receiving the vital nuggets of wisdom that only Larry David’s trusted ally — and, as of last Sunday’s season premiere, interim assistant — could provide.
Leon, played in Curb Your Enthusiasm by JB Smoove, is already getting ready for how to handle the buzz around his upcoming debut. “Some book clubs — they do a circle, and you kind of sit in the middle, but it’s too hard to keep turning your head, looking back,” Leon explains in the above video teaser, as ponders where he might host his book club. “‘What was that, Gladys?’ I don’t want to do that — you know what I mean?”
This isn’t a book to go lampin’ on while you read it — it requires a special kind of dedicated attention, as Leon drops knowledge and theories. Don’t believe it? Check out an excerpt of The Book of Leon below, exclusively obtained by EW, for a taste of what Leon has put on the page.
Excerpt From “The Book of Leon,” by Leon Black
He Ain’t Wrong … He Just Ain’t Right
Whoever you are and whatever your reasons, clearly you made the right damn decision to sit your ass down and read the most important book of your life! So, since you’re here, let’s begin.
You’re about to read a whole lot of sh– in this book, and trust me, this knowledge isn’t for all of you, but I know for a fact that some of you will get what I’m talking about. “Who are those people?” you ask. If you have to ask, then it ain’t you, because those people know who the f— they are!!! Now, people have different ideas on where and how to start a story.
Some people like to start in the middle by saying some sh– that sounds weird because you don’t know what the f— came before it. The problem with that is that if you don’t know where the f— you’ve been, you’re gonna have a hard time figuring out where the hell you’re going. Other, more creative people like to start sh– toward the end, then jump to the beginning and then wrap back around to the end again. You know what I’m talking about? It’s what they do in every movie about a singer. Movies about people like Ray Charles, James Brown, and — just so you don’t think I only watch movies about black people — Johnny Cash. All of those movies always start with a dude looking tired and old as f—. Like we’re catching him a dayand a half before he dies. He’s always sitting somewhere reflecting on his life as he stares at something like a clock or a glass of water or some sh–. All of a sudden everything goes black for a second, and then across the screen we see the name of some tiny ass town like “Broken Foot, Alabama,” or “Chipped Tooth, Tennessee,” and a date from years ago. At this point, we know we are in a flashback, so we are treated to bits of that man’s tragic ass life, complete with all his f— -ups. And then, like a flash, we see him old again. That’s what we see, but the part that we don’t get to see is that old ass man sitting there staring at a glass of water for two hours while people tap the f— out of him to get him to snap out of it. That’s a movie I would like to see: the day James Brown’s concerned friends tapped the sh– out of his shoulder for two damn hours. “James … James … James!”
Anyway, while I like that way of telling a story — I mean, they did that sh– in Pulp Fiction too! I loved that movie! Samuel L. Jackson and John Travolta! Playing hit men! Who the f— doesn’t like Pulp Fiction? Besides I’m not trying to tell you my life’s story. I mean, I will be telling you some sh– from my life, but not tragic sh– and not for entertainment’s sake. I don’t need you judging my life. What the f— do I look like?! Huh? What I share is for you to learn from, not to mock!
Look, I’ma tell you right now, I know a little about everything but not a whole lot about anything, so get from this book what you need and don’t complain to me about sh–!
The Front of This Damn Book
Did you see the cover of this damn book? Woo, some deep sh–, huh?
Well, obviously, that’s me! Now, I could leave it there, but since this is a book and they’re paying me by the word, let me try to explain the cover to you in as many words as possible. If I was to give the version of Leon on the cover a name it would be Ruckus-Damus. That name of course being based on Nostradamus, which sounds like it could have been a great name for a nasal spray. Any of you bastards with sinus problems or allergies know what I’m talking about.
Now if you are educated and know your sh–, you’ve heard of Nostradamus. He was a smart white dude from years ago who used to make predictions about sh– and for the most part he wound up being right. As a matter of fact, he has been so right about sh– that some people think he was psychic. Now for those of you who don’t think psychics are real, I’m here to tell you they are, because I damn sure am! And I’m not some bullsh– long-term psychic. I mean, it was easy for Nostradamus to make predictions: He knew that he and all the muthaf—as who he predicted to would be dead by the time the moment came to prove his sh– right or wrong. Nah, I’m an in-the-moment predictor: My sh– plays out right away, so much so that I’m right there to say to you, “I knew you would f— that sh– up!” Not to mention, way back in 2007 I predicted big things for an unheralded candidate for president when I said I was Barack Obama and I was the president of hitting that ass. Now while I don’t know what that man does in his private life, and I have too much respect for him to speculate (just in case you’re reading my book, Mr. President — much respect!), he did become president of the United States, so as you see my prediction skills are impeccable.
That paragraph just earned me $54 … Cha-Ching!
Although I’m telling you to read this book, I’ve got to be honest: I haven’t read it. I’m just not a big reader. I don’t have time to indulge in flipping pages. If I do read an occasional book, I do it while I’m watching the movie version of it just to make sure the two line up. Now, I don’t mind having someone read the book to me — maybe a friend of mine, or maybe Leonard Nimoy on audiobook. That way I can multitask: I can make a sandwich, go grocery shopping, take a cooking class. You can’t do any of that sh– when you’re just reading a book old school. You’re wasting your life away like that, reading about what someone else is doing while you ain’t doing sh–. I’m too busy living life, making things happen, traveling, pleasing women. If your only outlet for social activity is a f—ing book club, then you need to toss that book into the trash! Tell your book club buddies you all are gonna go out drinking, but instead, get your book club to grind up against some strangers. Live life, so that way YOU can write a book about it and get a book club together around your sh–. I would pay to have a book club sit around in a circle and read this damn book! Have people talk about your life every week, analyze it, tell you how it changed their lives. Bring the muthaf—in’ ruckus!
On a sidenote, my favorite books are the ones with the wizards. I love me some f—ing wizards. The way they cast spells on people’s asses and sh– with them wands and their funny hats. How bad ass is that? Let me tell you something, if you see one of them damn wizards walking down the street, don’t laugh at him. I’m here to tell you don’t do it. One day you’ll be walking your dog with your lady by your side and you’ll see one of them wizards wearing that damn wizard hat and carrying that damn wizard wand and he’ll catch you snickering at him, wave his wand and cast a spell on you and the next thing you know he turned you into a dog and your dog into you. Now you’re a f—ing dog man still wearing your man clothes and your dog is a naked you walking upright with your lady and all you’ll be able to think is “You hatin’ ass wizard, you ain’t sh–!”
But you can’t say that sh– out loud because he’ll put another spell on you. Actually, you can’t even talk because you’re a f—ing dog.