Assholes Finish First (33 page)

I was on the couch working and got the cursory introduction “[Girl], this is Nils. Nils this is [Girl].” Big mistake. Before he could get her spinning retard wheels pointed in the right direction, she lurched over to me. “We need to have a heart-to-heart,” she said as she flopped down next to me on the couch. Of course at this point she had absolutely no body control,
so she bounced off the couch cushion, tipped over, and faceplanted right into my laptop. Tucker peeled her off of me and dragged her into his room, saving me from the heart-to-heart and my laptop from any more of her drool.”

This is what I wrote a few hours later, at approximately 5am that morning [edited for redundancy]:

“I am so fucking pissed off right now, I don’t even know what to say. This is enough to make me understand why domestic violence happens. I am not in the tell-a-Tucker-story mood, so I’ll cut to the chase.

College girl emails me, wants to get drunk and fuck. Sends pics, meet her at a bar, she is fucking annoying. Stumbling drunk after three drinks. Seriously she swore she was sober when she got there—THEN SHE FELL DOWN IN THE BATHROOM! After like four drinks. When we leave the bar, she is so drunk the bums are offering her change and telling her things are going to get better.

Get back to my place, my dog is looking at me like, “Daddy, what the fuck are you doing?” My dog eats desiccated pig ears and barks at the vacuum cleaner… and yet she still feels entitled to judge me over this girl.

Then the girl passes out while I am taking a shit. Wonderful. I just go to sleep. Whatever, we all get drunk and act like idiots at times, I of all people understand this. I figure I’ll fuck her in the morning when she is coherent again and can participate.

But that’s not going to happen. It’s 5am and I’m so mad I just kicked her out of my house.

Why? Let me show you what I woke up to:

Sometimes I hate my life.”

Now, there are some things to consider in this picture:

• That dog with the priceless look on her face is Murph. She is not only disgusted that I made her sit next to the pee (for size comparison) but is clearly enraged that this “temporary mommy” tried to mark her territory.
  
• Murph is a 50 pound, hunting beagle/Australian heeler mix. She is not a small dog. The urine puddle is bigger than she is.
  
• I don’t have a mattress pad under my sheets. That means she made a puddle that big despite the fact that most of the urine seeped directly INTO the mattress.
  
• The mattress is for a king-size bed. The puddle takes up HALF OF IT.
  
• Look at the shape of the urine stain. It’s nearly symmetrical. Like a Rorschach inkblot of slutty collegiate incontinence.
  
• The kicker: She went to the bathroom in my house BEFORE she passed out.
  
• SERIOUSLY WTF! HOW DID SHE PISS THAT MUCH!!? THE HUMAN BLADDER IS ONLY SO BIG! WHERE DID IT ALL COME FROM?! YOU COULD SEE THAT PUDDLE ON GOOGLE EARTH!
  

The next day she sent the requisite “I’ve never done that before” email:

“Dear Tucker,

I am still in shock about what happened last night and I feel terribly. That is the first time that has ever happened to me and I honestly don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

Note that her apology email has nearly perfect grammar and spelling. I guess when you empty your bladder into someone else’s bed, you pay attention to formalities. My response:

“I know what to say: You owe me for a new mattress and sheets. I already ordered a mattress and bought sheets this morning. The total is $550. Be glad I don’t have a Tempur-Pedic mattress. You can bring the check over tomorrow night, any time after 7pm.”

The next day, my friends took the piss out of me:

Jeff “You should make her pay for some enzyme spray cleaner, or the next one will smell the spot and think it’s OK to pee there too.”

Ryan “At least you didn’t have to fool this one into thinking she pissed the bed instead of you. You’re improving each time, that’s the key to success.”

Tucker “Thanks assholes.”

Nils “So you didn’t fuck her last night?”

Tucker “Nope.”

Nils “You know you’re going fuck her when she comes over. I’d bet money on it.”

Ben “No question.”

Tucker “HAHHAHAHAHAHA! Dude, how funny would it be if I fucked her on the old mattress! Shit, now that you planted the idea in my head, I know I’m going to do it. SHIT!”

Nils “Yeah, without us influencing you, you’d never think of these things on your own.”

Jeff “When you fuck her, flip her over on the old mattress and push her face-first in the stain, as punishment for ruining your mattress.”

Tucker “Dude, knowing my luck that will just turn her on, and then it’ll get weird.”

Nils “Yeah, THAT’S when it’ll get weird.”

Ben “Make for a better story, either way.”

Tucker “Stop it. You know pussy is like a good crane kick to me: If do right, no can defense.”

That night, on purpose, I had my friends in the living room with me. I was legitimately afraid she would still want to sleep with me, and I needed them there to impart enough shame on both of us to prevent it. She got to my place and texted me from her car.

IncontinentSlut: “im here”

Tucker: “you know where the door is youve been thru it twice”

She walked up the steps and tried to push the door open. It took her a legit five seconds to figure out that she had to PULL the screen door open. It was like that famous
Far Side
cartoon where the kid is pushing on the door that has
PULL
on it, trying to get into Midvale School for the Gifted. Except less funny and more sad, because she’s not gifted, just a slutty bedwetter.

Once she finally got inside, she saw all the guys there smiling at her and turned bright red. She crossed the 15 feet or so from the door to where I was sitting on the couch in complete silence, with all eyes on her like the worst possible walk of shame. She handed me a small manila envelope—not something a college girl would have had handy, but more like she had to go to her dad and ask for the money, but not say why.

IncontinentSlut “Sorry.”

She turned and almost ran to the door. I think she would have broken into a jog, except she had to figure out that now she needed to push, not pull the screen door, and that confused her.

Ben “She came into the house the same way she left it: stupid and confused.”

Nils “You only did half your job, Tucker. She’s broken, yes, but is she
house
broken?”

Jeff “I don’t think she is. You have to rub their nose in it before you put them outside, or they don’t learn where it’s OK to go.”

W
HORING FOR
C
HARITY

Occurred—January 2010

As I was working on this book, I got this email:

From: [redacted], [redacted]

To: [email protected]

Date: Nov 15, 2009

Subject: Sex Traffic Us

Dear Tucker Max,

This is Angela and Heidi, and we are the co-chairs of the junior board of [charity redacted]—a diverse group of young professionals who share a common goal of promoting universal girls education and human rights.

We are having a fundraising cocktail event on January 7th in Manhattan and would be delighted for you to attend. We read your manifesto and we found it appalling, so of course we want to fuck you… Thoughts?

We’ve got the time if you’ve got the inclination. Let’s meet for drinks sometime before then to coordinate the specifics.

We look forward to hearing from you soon!

Love,

[redacted]

From: [email protected]

To: [redacted], [redacted]

Date: Nov 15, 2009

Subject: re: Sex Traffic Us

First off, I need pics of both of you.

Second, am I correct in interpreting this as you two wanting to fuck me… for charity? How does that work exactly?

From: [redacted], [redacted]

To: [email protected]

Date: Nov 15, 2009

Subject: re: Sex Traffic Us

Well Tucker, pics attached.

And since you ask… For every minute you last with the two of us, every member of the Junior Board will donate 10$ to [the charity]. Bonus donations to be made for bondage and/or sex traffic role playing.

Does this sound like something you might be interested in?

Before we go further, I need to stop and point something out: Though I am not going to name the specific charity, it is a charity that is… how do I put this without giving it away?… very concerned about the welfare of poor and powerless women around the world. Considering that, go back and read the emails again. Pay special attention to the third email, notably the specific request that we role-play SEX TRAFFICKING.

You almost expect pious religious leaders to be supreme hypocrites and eventually be discovered as closeted homosexuals or pedophiles, but do you really expect people who volunteer for a charity dedicated to empowering women to ASK to be sexually exploited? For fun? Not only that, they want to use this sex game as a way to get their friends to donate to the charity. It’s so hypocritical it’s cartoonish, like a factory that pumps pollution into the air but doesn’t actually make anything.

Perhaps the saddest part is that my life has become so fucking weird that this didn’t even strike me as unusual at the time. Only when I mentioned it in passing to my friend Geoff, and he freaked out, did it really dawn on me how abnormal this was. He asked to come out with me in NYC when I met those two, because he wanted to meet them and see what the hell was going on.

Back to the important parts: The pics were good enough. Neither were what I would consider hot, but both had good bodies and were definitely fuckable, so I set it up for a time when I would be in NYC, and with my buddy Geoff tagging along, met them.

At dinner, it became obvious that these two could have been the poster children for what happens when rich people ignore their children. It was like we were in a real-life Bret Easton Ellis novel; what little soul these girls retained was taken up with drug use, disaffected sex, and a complete lack of meaning, all hidden under the façade of having the “right” job and belonging to the “right” social circles.

I have wiped the memory of that dinner conversation out of my mind because it was so banal, so I had to get Geoff to remind me with his Cliff Notes version:

“My basic remembrances:

—They showed up fairly bombed already. They had split a bottle of wine before dinner. Classy.

—The brunette was pretty cute—a solid 7, 7.5. The blond less so, like a 5. You wouldn’t have slept with her alone (at least I wouldn’t have).

—They were fairly annoying and not that bright.

—They’d never done a 3 way before but had made out with each other in Europe or some shit. They were obviously nervous about actually hooking up with each other, but not really. As if they knew they were supposed to be nervous but were too jaded to actually care.

—The charity thing had come up as a joke originally when they suggested you as a speaker for their charity event. It’s for young women, so you’re obviously not right, but then one of them said she thought you were cute and someone else did too and then a third suggested the 3 way for charity, daring them, and everyone chimed in.

—Very long discussion about the actual scoring methods for the threesome, and how they would determine who had to donate what based on what happened. None of it made any sense.

—The brunette’s sexual history was ridiculous. She kept dating 21 year old guys who couldn’t get it up. As much coke as she and her trust fund friends do, this is a shock?

—The brunette wanted you to be mean to her and you didn’t care enough.

—Brunette was testing you and asked (regarding me), “Why don’t you share?” You were annoyed with them and said it was time to go. She refused, trying to be coy. You said fuck it, told me I was welcome to have them both, and left.

—They were shocked that you actually left the bar without them. They couldn’t believe you didn’t know they were “just joking.”

—They texted you, you responded, and off they went to your hotel…”

Geoff pretty much summed it up. The worst part is that I STILL fucked the brunette that night. Actually, I should say that the worst part is that the brunette was such a jealous cunt, she made the other one leave before she got to my hotel, so I didn’t get a threesome. Whatever. At that point, it was like a home invasion; I just wanted it to be over.

About a month later, I got this email:

From: [redacted], [redacted]

To: [email protected]

Date: Feb 11, 2009

Subject: Charitable Sex

Okay new proposition… how would you feel about being put up for a DTF auction at the [charity’s] cocktail party?

From: [email protected]

To: [redacted], [redacted]

Date: Feb 11, 2009

Subject: Charitable Sex

A DTF auction? You mean Down To Fuck? Where women bid money to have sex with me?

Are you seriously asking me to prostitute myself… for charity?

From: [redacted], [redacted]

To: [email protected]

Date: Feb 11, 2009