Sloppy Seconds: The Tucker Max Leftovers (48 page)

THE RIMJOB INTERLUDE

Occurred, December 2009

This one did ask and did want to see what I wrote, so I showed her the series of past Blowjob Interludes. Of course she wants to be different…

So she’s eating out my ass as I type this. This is awkward, on my hands and knees, typing with someone’s tongue in my shit pipe. But I have to admit, it’s nice. Nice enough that I typed all fucked up.

[Edit: I was going to leave it that way as a testament to her ability, but she is one of those anal grammar Nazis and corrected everything in “her” story.]

[Edited after she left: I am pretty sure I showered since my last crap, but she didn’t ask. Weird; usually the type of girl who is an anal grammar nerd is also afraid of poop. Whatever. I’ve stopped thinking I know anything about women any more. The more you think you know, the less you actually do. I think Einstein said that. I don’t know, but whoever said it, I bet my asshole is shinier than his right now.]

PART 5

Occurred, May 2010

Had another want to be in a book. I showed her this series of vignettes, she read them, and like most girls, demanded that she do something “new and different.” Nothing is new, honey; the Romans did it all and more two thousand years ago, but whatever.

I told her the best way to be different was to act like she was emotionally stable. She waved that off quickly. I made some other suggestions—I type while she cleans my place, I type while she makes me dinner—she didn’t like any of them. She wanted it to be sexual. I suggest I do her from behind, and set my computer on her back and type while I am inside her. Not “baller” enough for her. Then, she lit up with excitement:

Girl “I know! I will fuck you in the ass, and you can write about that?”

Tucker “Yeah right. Next idea.”

Girl “I’m serious! I even have one in my car.”

Tucker “Have what?”

Girl “My dildo!”

Tucker “You ride around with your dildo…in your car?”

Girl “Not just my dildo, I think I have the whole strap-on belt too.”

Tucker [flabbergasted] “Are you fucking serious?”

Girl “What? I do it to guys all the time.”

I stared at her for a second, assuming she was kidding and would say so. Nope.

Girl “You know you want to do it.”

Tucker “You can leave now.”

Girl “Don’t be a pussy!”

I went straight old-school Eddie Murphy on her:

Tucker “Get the fuck out of my motherfucking house!”

THE FAT GIRL LEFTOVERS

Whenever something happens to me that could be a funny story, I try to write down as many notes and quotes as I can. Most of the time I do a good job with my notes. Not always.

I intended to put the two stories below into the
Hilarity Ensues
story, “Fat girls cross Tucker, hilarity ensues,” but I cut both because of memory/ recall /notes issues.

Though I have the “Fat AND Racist” notes as being a single conversation with one obnoxious fat girl, I am not confident that it was. I definitely remember the fat girl the story is about, but my notes aren’t totally clear that all of those jokes are from our interaction with her. We fucked with a lot of people that weekend, and both of us were VERY drunk the whole time. I know all that shit was said, but I may be getting something basic like who it was said to wrong, so I decided to put it in here.

“The Tucker Max Diet” is fucked up for one specific reason: for the fucking life of me, I cannot remember what I said in the most important exchange in the story (you’ll understand as you read it). My buddy who was there with me that night doesn’t remember it either, and I can’t find the girl. Great.

FAT AND RACIST

Occurred, April 2007

One time I was hanging out with my buddy Junior, and we were at a bar to meet some girls, when I accidentally bumped into a girl and spilled her drink all over her hand. It was my fault, so without paying much mind to the whole thing, I quickly apologized and offered to buy her another round. Usually people in this situation are gracious and cool, and they thank you and get back to whatever it was they were previously doing. Not this girl.

Girl “Uhhh…you can do better than that.”

The temerity of her tone pulled my head around in her direction like my dog when she hears the word “treat.” What I saw threw me for a total loop.

Now, understand, comparing fat girls is a lot like a Turd Beauty Pageant—no matter who wins, it’s still a piece of shit—but while this girl was not the most disgusting fat girl I’ve ever met in my life, she could have been on stage with her. She was 5’8”, maybe 230 pounds, with a tight red shirt that forced her fat rolls out over the waistband of her way-too-tight jeans, like the worst muffin top you could imagine. She had that white trash kind of bad skin complete with the type of low-level acne people get when they eat too much junk food. She looked like a red velvet cupcake with butterface icing.

Tucker “Do better than what?”

Fat Girl “Do a better job than that trying to pick me up.”

I turn to look at Junior, to get confirmation that she actually said that. He shook his head in dismay. Everything went off the wheels from there:

Junior “Oh no.”

Tucker “What did you just say?”

Fat Girl “I said that was a lame attempt to pick me up.”

Tucker “I’m sorry, please say that again one more time, because I want to be very sure about what you said. I’d feel bad if this was a mistake.”

Junior [to the fatty] “If you want to like yourself in the morning, you won’t answer that.”

Fat Girl “I SAID that your attempt to pick me up was bad, and that you should try again with something better.”

I stared at her in disbelief and shock. Not only did I not own a forklift, but she was so fat, and so ugly, and such a disaster in every way…it was like when a crazy person talks such intense nonsense that for a second, you begin to think you’re the crazy one. For a brief moment, I actually questioned myself, trying to see the angle she was seeing that I HAD to be missing.

Then I realized she wasn’t seeing anything I was missing; she was just a fat fucking idiot. Thus began one of the most ridiculously hilarious and insane exchanges I’ve ever had in my entire life:

Tucker “You’re right; I do find you attractive.”

Fat Girl “I know; that’s why you’re trying to talk to me.”

Tucker “Yep, and I want to sleep with you.”

Fat Girl “Oh, I know.”

Tucker “But…I want to wait.”

Fat Girl “For what?”

Tucker “For the version of you that’s not disgustingly fat.”

Fat Girl “I’m hot.”

Junior “Hot? You mean the temperature is high, that’s why you’re sweating so much, right?”

Tucker [bar whisper to Junior] “Junior, shut up, you’re blowing it! You never get to see marine mammals up close like this.” [Back to her] “Can I see your propeller scars?”

Fat Girl “Whatever, there are plenty of guys who are into me.”

Tucker “Oh no doubt. In fact, I know the perfect guy for you. You’ve probably heard of him; he’s famous. His name is Hagrid.”

Fat Girl “Hagrid? Who is that?”

Tucker “You’re fat AND illiterate!?! You just keep getting better!”

I would tell you that this was the point when the bartender brought her some fried appetizer she ordered, but that’s not true. He brought TWO plates over. After that, we had to keep talking to her to see if she was even real.

Junior “I bet 90% of the guys that hit on you are black, aren’t they?

Fat Girl “I do love the dark meat.”

Tucker “I think you like every type of meat.”

Junior “For real—you don’t think that says something about your weight?”

Fat Girl “I like it. You know the saying, ‘Once you go black, you never go back.’”

Tucker “No, you have it wrong. The saying is ‘If you’re fat, you HAVE to go black…and because of that, we don’t WANT you back.’”

Junior [aside to me] “You’ve slept with black girls.”

Tucker “It’s different. Black girls can be really hot.”

Fat Girl “You’re just jealous of black guys. Your dick is too small to handle this much woman.”

Tucker “So is a freight elevator. I’m in good company.”

Fat Girl “Well I know plenty of black guys that can handle it. I always pick the black guy.”

Junior “Pick? Like, from different choices?”

Tucker “You’re saying MORE than one person wants to have sex with you?”

Fat Girl “A bunch of guys tried to fuck me last night.”

Junior “I’ll believe anything now.”

Tucker “Wait—back up. You give preference to black guys over other types of guys who hit on you? I don’t think this is the kind of affirmative action Thurgood Marshall was fighting for.”

Eventually, she tried to play the standard trump card, even though it’s not really in her deck:

Fat Girl “You’re a racist.”

Tucker “I’m racist!?! I choose who to have sex with based on what they are like as a person. You’re the one who picks which guys to fuck BASED ON THEIR SKIN COLOR! That is the very definition of racism, which makes YOU the racist, not me.”

Fat Girl “Like I said, you’re just jealous.”

Tucker “OF WHAT??? YOU’RE FAT, UGLY, ILLITERATE, STUPID AND RACIST! AND A BITCH!”

Junior “This is almost impressive. It’s like reality has no meaning to her.”

Where do these people that lack such basic self-awareness come from? It’s not like this shit is unique to her. That’s the whole premise of shows like “Jersey Shore”—that it’s fun to watch idiots who don’t realize they are idiots. But seriously—where the fuck do they come from? What factors produce these people?

Whatever it is, I have to give Fat Girl a lot of credit—nothing we said had any effect on her. It wasn’t like she was employing some kind of sophisticated psychological defense mechanism she’d developed over the years. Words simply didn’t register with her. Maybe there is something to the idea of being so stupid that you don’t even know how stupid you are.

THE TUCKER MAX DIET

Occurred, June 2003

If you read
Assholes Finish First
, you remember SippyCup. He’s the guy who sent me that long email telling me about how I was his hero, the guy who got his nickname because he kept dropping his beer, and we made him start drinking out of an actual sippy cup. That guy. Well, I know I made him out to be a kind of pussy…and that’s because he is one. A good guy and a lovable pussy, but a pussy nonetheless.

There are some things about him that defy his normal pussy behavior, however. Like his angry, insane hatred of fat girls. “Insane hatred” might not be a strong enough description. I’ve seen him foaming at the mouth screaming at a random fat girl who did absolutely nothing to him, except be fat in his presence. For whatever reason—I’m guessing childhood rejection—when faced with a fat girl, his seething anger trumps his fear, and he flips out on her.

Most of the time when he flips out on a fat girl, he crosses the line with that shit, and goes from funny to lame before you can blink. Funny requires intelligence and mental dexterity: it’s not about hurting the person, it’s about finding the humor in the situation. SippyCup doesn’t care about creative put-downs or witty insults; he wants to find the quickest path to complete dehumanization. He just recklessly dives into the soul of fat girls and stabs them repeatedly with the red-hot pokers of his outrage and disdain. It’s almost never funny.

But sometimes it is. Especially when the girl comes back at him.

One of these times was in 2003. I was hanging out with Sippy in Austin, Texas, and some girls who read my website and loved it wanted to come hang out with us. I can’t remember if I looked at pics of them or not, but this was 2003—long before I had enough girls asking to come fuck me that I was rejecting many—so I doubt I did, and I thus don’t think I warned Sippy that one of the girls coming out would be fat.

Two girls showed up. One was pretty hot, and one had a nice face, but was fat (Pamela). Not obese, but definitely overweight. A borderline boom boom fatty. Sippy was aghast, and pulled me aside.

Sippy “Tucker, I can’t believe you let a fat girl come hang out.”

Tucker “I don’t care; I’m fucking her friend. She seems OK though.”

Sippy “What am I supposed to do?”

Tucker “Jump on the grenade.”

Sippy “WHAT?!? SHE’S FAT!!”

Tucker “Dude, just get real drunk, then find something redeeming about her, and focus on that.”

Sippy looked at me like I’d just described the grand unifying theory to him. I guess the idea that you could talk to fat girls without berating them was new to him.

He tried this for a while. Listening to his halting, almost farcical attempts to talk to her like a normal person was high comedy. It was like watching two people who don’t speak the same language try to communicate. And they’re both retarded.

Confident that my sage advice had won the day, I went to the bathroom…and returned to find him already neck deep in argument:

Sippy “No, you’re wrong. Being fat IS the worst thing a person can be. Much worse than being a murderer.”

Here we go.

If you’re a fat girl, the best tactic to use against Sippy when he says stupid shit like this is to not engage him on the fat issue, but instead attack him back. I mean, he tries so hard, bless his heart—but at the end of the day, he’s still a skinny, dorky, insecure nerd with a nose that would give Toucan Sam beak envy. If you redirect the conversation to his faults, and you’re smart about it, you can generally overwhelm him.

Unfortunately, Pamela let Sippy define the boundaries of their conversation—fat—and engaged him there. Which of course brought out angry, “I hate fat girls” Sippy, and he spent the next hour making abusive, ad hominem attacks. Most were stupid, but this girl was SUCH a glutton for punishment that he got a few funny ones in:

Sippy “What did you have for lunch?”

Pamela “Well, I had—”

Sippy “IT WAS TOO MUCH.”

Pamela “What?”