Tucker “Well, his room has to stay clean doesn’t it? You know of a better way to get him to understand the seriousness of the issue?”
Girl “That is so wrong!”
SlingBlade “Sounds reasonable to me.”
Well, once I realized she was taking me seriously, I really went nuts with the bullshit:
“I do all sorts of classical conditioning with him. For example, I have a foghorn I set off every time he takes a bite of any food. You should see his little spoon shake as he raises every bite of Frosted Flakes to his lips.”
Or my personal favorite:
“One day when he was at school, I took all his action figures and hung them from the ceiling with nooses around their necks. I pinned notes on them with tags. Some were ominous like, ‘You’re next’ or ‘Only the beginning,’ but some were nonsensical, like ‘Fish are delicious.’ I swore to him that I had no idea who did it. I told him that it was probably the demons in his closet, and they must be getting sick of his shit, and he should probably be careful at night. He cried a lot over that. I don’t think he slept for a week.”
By the end of the conversation, she was in tears. I don’t mean this figuratively. She thought all these ridiculous lies were true, and she was crying, thinking about the poor child who was enduring all this abuse. I almost felt bad for her. Then I remembered that I’m an asshole and she’s an idiot, so instead I laughed at her.
Sadly, that was not the end of the mediocre girl parade. Some of us went out drinking in Pittsburgh after the wedding, and though I have met hot girls in Pittsburgh before, they must have all been hanging out with the Steelers that night, because none were out at the bar we went to.
At some point, two girls approached me and started hitting on me. I always feel bad for mediocre girls who hit on me. On one hand, I like it that they have the courage to actually take things into their own hands with a guy and not just passively wait for guys to come to them. That’s sexy, and I want to encourage more of that behavior in women.
On the other hand … these girls looked like something I’d draw with my left hand. I don’t mean to be a dick (that’s a lie), but come on ladies: Do you really not have any notion of where you fit in the hook-up hierarchy?
Of course, alcohol and rationalization can solve that problem, so I talk to them for a while. The one girl who was way more into me, MediocreGirl, kept asking me questions about myself, and I kept making goofy jokes. The other girl, BitchyGirl, had a look on her face like she’d just smelled poop, and got progressively more annoyed with the situation. Then Mediocre-Girl asked me another question about myself, and it happened:
Tucker “But enough about me. Let’s talk about you. What do you think about me?”
BitchyGirl “Oh that’s great, why don’t we just focus even more on you! Why don’t you tell us about your stupid books!!”
The funny thing was, I didn’t know they had recognized me, and I hadn’t mentioned one thing about my books or anything like that. MediocreGirl was trying to slow play me, but BitchyGirl hated me too much to let it ride. What a golden opportunity for entertainment. When the universe sends you signs like this, you don’t punch a gift whore in the mouth.
Tucker “Uh oh. I think you need to see a doctor, your Down Syndrome is acting up again.”
BitchyGirl “Oh that’s real original.”
Tucker “So people call you retarded a lot? Maybe that means something.”
BitchyGirl “What’s next, you going to call me an idiot?”
Tucker “Well, I generally go with ‘fucking idiot,’ but we can stick with just plain ‘idiot’ if you prefer.”
BitchyGirl “Oh you’re so funny aren’t you, every girl wants to fuck you, you’re just the greatest guy of all time, MAKE ME PUKE!”
Tucker “I don’t know why you’re mad. If you’re going to be an idiot, you may as well be the fucking type.”
I think the fact that I remained totally calm and smiling pissed her off the most.
BitchyGirl “You can fuck off and DIE!”
Tucker “Just some advice: You’re not really hot enough to talk about fucking.”
BitchyGirl “Whatever! You don’t even dress well!!!”
Tucker “I know, I shoulda bought an outfit, but I paid my light bill instead.”
Everyone laughed, except the two girls. They were just completely confused. I guess they don’t listen to Project Pat in Pittsburgh.
There was all sorts of drama after that between BitchyGirl and MediocreGirl, but I didn’t pay attention. I thought they had gone, when MediocreGirl came back over. She made some apology, whatever.
MediocreGirl “I still want to hang out with you.”
Tucker “Great. I assume we’re going to fuck right?”
MediocreGirl “What?!? No!”
Tucker “Then there’s not really any reason for us to hang out.”
MediocreGirl “What? Why not? I think you’d be fun to talk to, to hang out, witty banter, all that stuff.”
Tucker “If you aren’t fucking, I’d rather shit my house keys than hang out with you.”
MediocreGirl “Can’t a girl just hang out with you and not have sex?”
Tucker “Of course. I have a ton of platonic female friends. It’s just that YOU are not going to be one. Unless I’m putting my penis in you, there is no other value to you. You bring nothing else to the table.”
MediocreGirl “Look, all I want is to talk to you, pick your brain, see what you’re like, you know, stuff like that.”
Tucker “See, what you’re talking about is why hanging out with ME would be fun for YOU. It doesn’t explain anything about why it’d be fun for ME. You don’t bring banter. You aren’t witty. You aren’t funny. There is nothing to pick from your brain. You’re looking for me to entertain you. A relationship is an exchange, not a one-way street. Look beyond your own personal desires for a second and understand what you bring to the exchange—nothing. Except a wet hole.”
MediocreGirl “I AM very funny and interesting! All my friends say so!!”
Tucker “You mean like that stupid bitchy girl who just left? Great judge of character.”
MediocreGirl “More than her!”
Ironically, by telling her she wasn’t interesting, I had made it into an interesting conversation. But I’ve been down that road before; the half-life on explaining idiocy to an idiot is short.
Tucker “Look, I gave you the chance to be interesting, and you failed at that. I gave you the chance to be slutty, and you failed at that. You’re out of chances.”
Girl “Well you missed your chance to get with me!!”
Tucker “This is like a pile of dogshit telling me that I missed out on stepping in it. I think I’ll be OK, thanks.”
Funny enough, I think that statement pretty much describes the whole city of Pittsburgh.
TUCKER’S BACHELOR PARTY AND WEDDING — NOWHERE
Neither of these has happened. Not even close.
I’m sort of pissed that I don’t have a bachelor party or wedding of my own to write about. Of course, I don’t even have a girlfriend, much less a fiancée or a wife, which is a fairly important part of the whole bachelor party/wedding apparatus.
I’ll eventually get married, but when I think about it, I seriously doubt I’ll even have a bachelor party. What’s the point? I don’t need a last night of freedom. What could I do that I haven’t already done? Most importantly, what do I even have left that I want to do?
Nothing. My 15-year run of drunken excess and sexual revelry was the most amazing bachelor party ever. I’ve lived all of that type of lifestyle I want to live. If I felt like I needed a bachelor party on top of it, it would probably mean I wasn’t done with that part of my life yet.
But I am done with it.
Which is why the time has come for the final chapter …
EPILOGUE: THE RETIREMENT
There’s a certain feeling you get
when you’re real and you spit
and peo
ple are feelin’ your shit.
This is your moment
and every single minute you spend
trying to hold onto it
cause you may never get it again.
So while you’re in it
try to get as much shit as you can
and when your run is over
just admit when it’s at it’s end.
—Eminem
When I got to the literary world, it was like a great big pussy, just waiting to get fucked—and I stepped up and fucked the ever loving shit out of it. As I sit here putting the finishing touches on this book, it’s September 2011—exactly nine years to the month since I launched Tucker Max.com. I’ve cherished almost every moment of this past decade. All the successes I’ve achieved are humbling and amazing to me; they surpassed every dream I had for myself when I started. In the nine years since I started, I’ve entertained countless people, sold millions of books, invented a new literary genre, and had a movie made about my life. And I haven’t even turned 36 yet.
This is not to say I haven’t made mistakes or done stupid things I wish I hadn’t. Of course I’ve done things I regret—how could I not?—but I wouldn’t change anything, even the setbacks and failures I’ve had to endure. Good always comes with bad, and both have been beneficial in their own way.
But as awesome as my last nine years writing these stories has been, I think it’s time for me to move on. There are a lot of reasons, but the big one is pretty simple:
This is not who I am anymore.
When I first started in 2002, I was writing stories about the way my life wasat that moment. But over the last couple years, I’ve realized that I don’t do all the funny but stupid shit I did when I was 25 anymore, and I find myself writing about the way my life used to be. I’m not the same person I was when I started writing these stories, and I don’t live the same life I did then—so it no longer makes sense for me to keep writing that way.
Plus, even though I had a blast and I racked up some great stories, you’ve read them all now. With the publishing of this book, I’ve told all the great fratire style stories I have about drinking, partying, and fucking.
Given that, I think it makes sense for me to step off this stage and leave fratire behind, forever.
Three final things:
1. I’m only done with fratire, not with writing or life: I am retiring from fratire, but I am NOT “retiring” in the sense that I am done with life. I’m not going to lay on a beach and count my money, or stop drinking or having sex with girls I like, or stop doing the things I love doing—that’s bullshit. I will NEVER stop being who I want to be. I’m not done as a writer either. I have a shit ton more things I want to write about (in fact, I’m already working with Nils Parker on an advice book that’ll come out soon), I’m just done writing the “Tucker Max” style stories that I made famous. These stories invented the “fratire” genre, but my run in it is over; it’s up to someone else to pick up the fratire torch and carry it to new places.
2. Thank you: I want to thank all of you. Seriously, I cannot express enough how much all the support from you people has meant to me. You aren’t really a writer until someone pays to read your work, and millions of you have paid your hard earned money to read my writing, and that is awesome. I sincerely thank each and every one of you who supported me (and make sure you get your free copy of Sloppy Seconds, which is my tangible thanks to my fans).
3. More to say about retirement, just not here: I have a lot more thoughts about retiring, my career, fratire, etc, but most of them are self-indulgent, weepy bullshit, so I’m not putting them here. My books have always first and foremost been about laughter and entertainment, and that’s how I want to keep it. The deeper, emotional, self-reflective parts of my life are very important to me, but I’ve never really put them in my books, and there’s no reason to change that now. If you care about the rest of my thoughts on this subject and want to read them, I’ve posted them on my website: www.tuckermax.com/retirement.
Thank you all again for supporting me. I hope you’ve had as much fun reading about this aspect of my life as I had living it.
“We should all be so lucky as to go out like that—knowing our limitations, knowing we have reached the apex of our career, and leaving on our own terms.”
—Gregg Doyle
“I believe one thing holds it all together. Everything I’ve ever done was with excitement, because I wanted to do it, because I loved doing it.”
—Ray Bradbury
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Since I knew I had another book coming out shortly, I didn’t do any acknowledgements for Assholes Finish First. Consider this a combined thanks for that book, this book, and Sloppy Seconds:
Nils Parker: His editing is so crucial to my work, I’m not sure I can overstate its importance. He doesn’t write my books, but without his substantial input, suggestions, joke help and editing advice, there is no doubt in my mind that the last two books would have been no where near as good as they are. So many of “my” iconic jokes and lines are stolen from him, I gave him a percentage of the profits from this book—and I STILL think I got the better part of the deal. I’ve said this for years: He’s a better writer than I am, possibly the best writer I know, and I’m lucky to be able to work with him.
Erin Tyler (Bunny): Erin has done so much more than just help me with my writing; she has helped me with my life more than anyone ever, including my parents, and much of my success as an artist and a human is due to the simple fact that she’s my friend. I deserve the credit for my success, but honestly, but without her helping me, I might not have had any success at all. To say I’m lucky to have her in my life is such an understatement as to be laughable; like saying Scottie Pippen “had a role” in all those Bulls championship teams.
Above, I said Nils is “possibly” the best writer I know. I hedged that statement because of Erin; she’s his only competition for #1. Erin has been working on her own books that will come out eventually, and I want to be on record right now as saying they are already way better than mine. I predict they’ll not only outsell mine by a large margin, but will be embraced by the world and become true classics that people love and read for generations. I am the bigger star today—but that’s only because the world hasn’t read her books yet.
Jeremie Ruby-Strauss: Jeremie has been my editor through all four of my books. I’ve never worked with anyone else, partially because he’s so fucking good at his job, but possibly also because no one can work with me. I’m not an easy person to deal with sometimes, but Jeremie handles me like a seasoned pimp. I think the best proof of what a great editor Jeremie is lies in the results: go pick up the acknowledgements sections of all the major, out-of-left-field best sellers over the past decade. There is one name you’ll see over and over—Jeremie Ruby-Strauss. This is not an accident. He’s one of the best, if not the best, out there.
Of course I have to thank all my law school friends—PWJ, SlingBlade, Hate, Jojo, Credit, El Bingeroso, GoldenBoy and JonBenet. Without them, none of this would have been possible. As a group, they are funnier than me, smarter than me, cooler than me, and probably even more fun to hang out with than me. I’m the famous one simply because I wrote all this stuff down, not because I was any better at it.
I have to give a mention to my long time agent, Byrd Leavell, if for no other reason than the fact that he’s had to endure, by his estimate, over 20,000 book proposals sent to him from people claiming to be some version of “the next Tucker Max.” He’s never signed one of them—but he has signed some of the best new original writers out there, and if you think you’re one of those, he’s the guy to talk to. There are not many agents who really understand new media and where publishing is going in the future, but I guarantee you, Byrd is one of them (mainly because he’s smart enough to listen to what I tell him).
Definitely have to thank Kathleen O’Hurley (@Slashleen), who gave me the inspiration for many of my favorite lines in the book. Also than
ks to Jason Mustian (@jasonmustian), who gave me a ton of funny jokes, even though he’s a dirty Brooklyn hipster.
My assistant Ian Claudius did a great job helping put this book and AFF together. He doesn’t deserve any credit for how good it is, but he did do all the shitty work that sucks to do, but has to be done. And my copy editor on this book, Emily Reynolds, is the first copy editor I’ve ever worked with that actually did a good job.
I forgot to thank Elliot Throne in IHTSBIH, which was an egregious oversight. He knows how important he’s been to my success. Without his help at a crucial time, none of this might have ever happened.
Other people who directly contributed to the stories in this book or in AFF, either by jogging my memory about details, suggesting changes, or otherwise adding something to make my last two books better:
Paul Ardaji (“Junior” in the stories), Michael Soloway, Doug Polster, Matt Berry, Ben Corman, Jeff Waldman, Ryan Holiday, Lorraine Schwartz, Luke Heidelberger, Charlie Hoehn, Mike Boulerice (KungFu Mike). I would put my dog in the acknowledgements because she’s sat at my feet as I’ve written almost every word of my books, but that’s ridiculous. She only cares about marrow bones and tennis balls, not this bullshit.
I’m sure I’m forgetting a ton of people. What do you want from me, compassion and empathy? Have you READ my books? Now get the fuck out of here and go make your own stories.