Assholes Finish First

by Tucker Max

  Tucker “Excuse me ladies, I’m going to muddle up her vagina.”

  I bend her over the sink, and things are going fine for a few minutes. Then I hear chaotic stumbling coming down the hallway toward us, and I assume her friends are going to bust in on us and take a picture, like it’s high school or something. Fine with me; I actually start to prepare for them and shift myself so I am facing the door. That way I can smile and give a thumbs-up as I plug her from behind. You know, to optimize the picture, because there is a 100% chance they’re putting it on Facebook.

  But instead of the door slowly opening and a camera popping in, there is a huge crash, the door flings open, and the roommate hurls herself directly into us, separating me from Colleen’s vagina. She tries to grab the sink but misses, and instead falls onto the floor, all while projectile vomiting. Everywhere.

  ALL OVER THE FLOOR, ALL OVER MY LEGS, ALL OVER EVERYTHING.

  Nasty, brownish puke, stinking of cheap shots, sushi, and bile.

  Tucker “Are you kidding me? Yeah, you ladies can really drink. Legendary. I can’t handle this crew. I surrender.”

  Colleen “Shut up! Help me clean this!”

  Tucker “Are you fucking retarded?”

  I don’t even do my own laundry, and this bitch wants me to clean some OTHER person’s puke?

  Look, if I was some horn-dog 18 year old and just happy to be getting ass, maybe. If I was 22 years old and stupid enough to think I could still pull a threesome out of this, maybe. 26 year old Tucker Max would have played it right: He’d take a steaming dump on the roommate’s bed as retribution for interrupting his coitus, and been so proud that he meted out proper justice that he’d drunk-dial his friends to tell them about it. Then he’d pull Colleen out of the bathroom by her hair after she washed herself off, fuck her until she had multiple organ failure, cum on her face, drink all her beer, and then piss it out on the puking roommate passed out in the bathtub.

  But 30 year old Tucker just gave up. I used her expensive down comforter to wipe the vomit off my legs, then walked home without even saying good-bye. Nothing but a boring night destroying amateurs, ending with ruined jeans and my dick in my hand. No steaming dump, no drunk dials, no facial, and no karmic, retributive pissing.

  I have put up with some stupid shit in my life for pussy, but this was too far. Even I have a line, and this bitch vomited all over it.

  WHY YOU DON’T FUCK USC GIRLS

  Occurred—March 2008

  As a group, college girls are pretty stupid. They don’t realize this because, compared to college guys, they seem smart and mature (sorry, guys, it’s just true, the same thing applied to me at that age).

  Some schools are worse than others. I could probably write a separate book about all the stupid FSU girls I’ve met in my life, but it would be annoying and repetitive, just like their sloppy blowjobs. I have nothing good to say about Notre Dame girls (or guys), but that’s pretty common; when I was in Ireland, even the actual Irish told me they hated the Fighting Irish. But there is one school whose female population stands out to me as possibly the worst in the country:

  The girls from USC, the University of Spoiled Children.

  I dealt with USC girls when I lived in LA. I fucked a bunch of them because they are, as a group, pretty fucking hot, and were often an easier and better option than normal LA girls. That’s not really a compliment, though. It’s like saying they were the best toilet to lick.

  But it was because of a USC girl that I pretty much completely stopped fucking any girls I met in LA. It started with this email:

  “Dear Tucker,

  I just finished reading your amazing book and read it through twice because it was so so funny. And you are hot! But I think I can totally drink more than you! I am in college and all we do is drink! I am the best of my friends and you can’t hang! lol! Let’s hang out so I can drink you under the table, then crawl under there with you! Plus I go to school at USC in Los Angeles! It’s perfect!”

  And led to the following email exchange:

  Tucker: “If you read my book, you should know that no words you can write will ever be as important as the pictures you take. Send them.”

  USC Girl: “Well duh i do NOT want to be like the time you fucked a fat chick on purpose… HA!… and refrain from giving you pics for a while. In fact i apologize for not including pictures in my first e-mail that is simply unacceptable. Anyways, I have attached a few for your viewing, hope you like them. and truss me im that hot in person ;)”

  Tucker: “You’re cute. I’ll drink/hook up with you. I’m free Wednesday.”

  USC Girl: “TUCKER MAX! i am pausing a drinking game to respond to you right now bc i am so excited!! to be honest, i wish you could cum out tonight because although it is easter, it is my birthday and I want u to give me my gift and i am going out. and i will be drunker than u. however wednesday AND thursday work for me!! lets do this!! u better be ready i am going to bury you and then hop on!!! lol!!”

  I know what you are thinking, and you’re right. Even at the time, I knew it: This girl is a dumpster fire of emotional baggage. I’d be safer entering the core of a nuclear reactor than I would be entering this girl.

  But I met up with her anyway.

  Why, even fully realizing the high probability of disastrous failure that these emails are indicating, would I STILL willingly and recklessly place myself in the path of this whornado?

  You know the answer is pussy. There is no other possible defense.

  She walked into the bar, and even before I talked to her, I knew I’d made a bigger mistake than I’d calculated. She had one of those goofy perma-smiles, like the kind worn by people who watch The 700 Club without irony. You know, that girl who, when you’re talking to her, leans in and just stares at you like you’re speaking another language? Yeah, her. Even if I ignored her until it was time to go home and fuck, this girl was still going to be a handful.

  I watched her ping-pong around the bar looking for me, like a giant superball made out of glitter, stupidity, and the freshman fifteen. I groaned and considered my options. She’s not hot, but she’s cute enough. She doesn’t have a very good body, but she does have nice tits. She’s way too immature and is going to be annoying as hell, but still… I’ll be drinking, and she’s definitely going to fuck. I’m already here, all the work is done… I guess I’ll fuck her.

  It’s pussy, right? What did I have to lose? You know, besides my dignity and self-respect?

  USCGirl “Tuuucker Maaaax! Oh my God! I’m so going to drink you under the table!

  Tucker “Sweetie, the only way you could drink me under the table is if I go there to hide from you.”

  USCGirl “Are you drunk yet?”

  Tucker “I just got here.”

  USCGirl “So what!?! You need to catch up!”

  Tucker “Have you been drinking already?”

  USCGirl “Nope, so let’s do shots!”

  Tucker “Shots are for frat boys and fat girls. If you really want to drink, let’s get doubles instead.”

  USCGirl “What’s a double?”

  Tucker “Are you joking? A double vodka soda? You don’t know what that is?”

  USCGirl “No.”

  Tucker “You claim to be this crazy drinker, and you don’t know what a double is?”

  USCGirl “No, I’ve never heard of it!”

  Tucker “You can’t even figure it out from context?!?”

  She goes on to tell me other gems, like how she won’t eat Italian food anymore because her aunt died from choking on a bay leaf. She doesn’t mean this to be funny at all, but I can’t stop laughing at this. Taking this unintentional comedy as a sign that she is actually funny, she starts telling me her “Tucker Max” story that she promised was SO hilarious.

  USCGirl “OK, so one time I was giving this guy a hand job.”

  Tucker “A hand job? When was this, high school?”

  USCGirl “Well, yeah.”

  Tucker “You know how to give th
e best hand job ever? Use your mouth.”

  USCGirl “No wait, listen, so I was giving—”

  Tucker “Here’s a great story: I knew this girl once, and I told her to go get me another double vodka soda, because I needed to get drunk to fuck her. You want to guess how it ends?”

  USCGirl “Ugh, fine!”

  We play this game for three more doubles, and she is getting seriously shit-canned. She goes to the bathroom to punch herself in the cunt or whatever it is women do in there, and I hear a crash. Mind you, this is a pretty small bar, and the bathrooms are right next to where people sit, so everyone hears this. A woman goes into the bathroom to see what happened, and a few seconds later emerges, helping USCGirl walk out of the bathroom, explaining to me that she fell.

  Tucker “Are you that drunk?”

  USCGirl “No! I’m fine, I can drink way more.”

  Tucker “OK, I think we need to have sex now, before it’s too late.”

  USCGirl “I know, I’m so turned on too.”

  Tucker “Not really what I meant, but let’s go with it.”

  USCGirl “We are going to have so much fun!!! But wait—you aren’t going to write about me, are you?”

  Tucker “No way. We’re just drinking and fucking. No one gives a shit about that. At this point in my life, you’d have to do something really ridiculous to get me to write about you. From what I can tell, you’re just a run-of-the-mill drunk slut.”

  USCGirl “Cool!”

  I have a long history of making wildly extravagant predictions, both about myself and the world. Many have come true, some haven’t, but I’m never scared to go out on a limb. So of course, the one time I make a prediction as conservative as I am capable of, it blows up in my face. Whom the gods wish to make a fool, they first make certain.

  Instead of narrating what happened next, I will give you two things written that night. The first is from Nils, who was at my house when we got back from the bar:

  “They stumbled in around 1:30am. I say “they” because it is hard not to stumble when you are trying to herd a drunk, babbling, 5'9” college girl up your stairs and through your front door. Tucker straddled her as they entered, like the parent of an infant who’d just learned how to walk and is a little too excited and overconfident with her new ability. Had he not been in that toddler-safety-net position, she would probably have taken a header through the wrought-iron screen door or taken a bite out of the front porch.

  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 housebroken?”

  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.”

  WHORING FOR CHARITY

  Occurred—January 2010

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

  From: [redacted], [redacted]

  To: tuckermax@gmail.com

  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.