Hilarity Ensues In Stores

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The Tucker Max Stories

Tucker has moment of reflection, ends poorly

One random Friday I was sitting in my Chicago apartment drinking a beer and watching TV. Around 7, my phone rang. It was “Karen,” one of my booty calls at the time. It was early so I was kinda confused; we normally never called each other until at least midnight, even on weekdays:

Tucker “You drunk already?”
Karen “Hehe. No baby. What are you up to right now?”
Tucker “Nothing. Watching Morimoto make some crazy mushroom crème brulee. Battle Porcini on Iron Chef.”
Karen “Uhhh, OK. Well…I am going on some silly blind date tonight that my friend set me up on…but I was wondering if I could swing by your place and get a protein shake first?”

Very nice. Karen is obviously making an attempt to move up from Irregular Booty Call to Head Dick Sucker.

Tucker “Yeah, sure. Just come on by. I’ll be here.”
Karen “Cool. I’ll see you soon.”
Tucker “Hey baby–bring me some beer.”

Not even ten minutes later, she rolled into my place…with a 12 pack of Miller Light. Karen’s going to have to learn the difference between good beer and watered down horse piss if she wants to move up in my Ho Hierarchy.

She got right down to business because her date started in less than 30 minutes. I kept watching the Iron Chef, because come on, Morimoto is a genius. Plus, I’ve seen the show Karen was putting on before. It’s really good, but it’s been in syndication for months; you don’t really need to pay attention till the ending.

I wasn’t supposed to meet my friends until 10, so when she left around 8 I just kept drinking at my place. I started thinking about how fucking cool it was that I had a girl coming over to my place to suck me off before she went out on a date. I may not be Hugh Heffner, but I doubt many guys pull something like that off on a regular basis.

Then I started feeling bad for her date. This poor schmuck had no idea that the girl whose chair he was pulling out and buying dinner for and being nice to had her lips wrapped around my cock not even a hour earlier. God forbid if this poor dude kisses her goodnight. I wonder if it’ll cross his mind that even with beer breath, her mouth shouldn’t taste that salty.

But in a way, I didn’t feel that bad for him. You can’t make a ho into a housewife, and when you take one out on a date, you aren’t helping your chances. I guess some guys never learn.

Of course, he had no idea what she was like; after all, that was the whole point of the date. I guess it just goes to show, you never really can tell…

OH SHIT!!

HOW MANY GIRLS HAVE DONE THIS TO ME??

I shot up from the couch in shock, spilling beer all over myself.

Has this ever happened to me? Have I ever been the sucker that took a girl out after she bought beer for another guy and then blew him?

Oh.My.God–it has to have happened to me. HAS TO. I’ve been out with so many women, there is just about no way that this hasn’t happened to me. And considering the moral fortitude of many of the girls I’ve hooked up with–suspect at best, wretched prostitute at worst–it is damn near certain that I’ve been That Guy at least once.

I mean, if Karen does this for me, why not for other guys too? I am pretty fucking cool, but there are other cool guys in the world besides me. Or so my friends tell me. Plus, it’s not like I’ve always known what I now know about women. I could have easily been the sucker many times in my life.

And why stop at dick sucking? How many girls have I slept with that were with other guys the same day as me? Or went from another guy right to me? With out even cleaning up?

I wouldn’t even know would I? HOW? HOW THE FUCK WOULD I KNOW? There is no way I could tell, short of smelling the semen on her breath. Would I even smell it? Smell it–WHAT ABOUT TASTE IT?

Oh dear god. Please tell me that I haven’t tasted it. I need to go vomit.

I stomped around my apartment for the two hours until I met my friends out. I explained the whole situation to them and they laughed, made fun of me, and told me to get over it. I wasn’t having it:

Tucker “How can you be so cavalier about this? This is my mental health at stake! I can’t be hooking up with seconds THE SAME DAY. That’s for losers and douche bags, NOT Tucker Max!”
Friend “Well apparently not, Sloppy Joe.”
Tucker “Aren’t you just the comedian?”
Friend Tucker, haven’t you done this to girls before? You know, fucked one in the morning, then gone out and picked up another and fucked her?”

This person is no longer my friend. Like I wasn’t already mind-fucked enough tonight.

Tucker “SO WHAT? IT’S DIFFERENT!”
Friend “How?”
Tucker “BECAUSE IT’S ME!”
Friend “Wait–didn’t you just get YOUR dick sucked tonight? And now you’re out trying to get laid?”
Tucker “FUCK YOU!!”
Friend “Dude, it’s happened to all of us, and we’ve all done it to others. Women are women, men are men. This happens to everyone.”
Tucker “FUCK THAT. I AM TUCKER MAX. I AM BETTER THAN ALL OF YOU. THIS SHIT DOES NOT HAPPEN TO ME!”
Friend “Oh man; Is it going to be one of those nights with you?”

I drank, and drank, and drank, yet I was still unable to drown the thought that I’d been totally played by multiple women, and didn’t even know which ones had done it to me.

That might have been the worst part–not knowing. Well, that and the prospect that I have at some point kissed a girl who still had semen caked to her teeth from 45 minutes ago. I know of at least one ex-girlfriend that cheated on me, but we were long distance and I fucked more than Caligula when I was dating her, so I wasn’t pissed about that. But what about all those girls I thought were all wrapped up in me? How many of them fucked other people behind my back? Literally?

What also fucked me up was that women were doing the same thing to me that I was doing to them, except I didn’t even know they were doing it. For the entirety of my life up to that point I thought I had the upper hand, that I was the player and not the playee when in fact, I was possibly just another chump. The illusion of control was shattered. Needless to say, this little revelation colored my perspective for the rest of the night. If by “colored my perspective” I mean “totally fucked me up beyond all repair.”

Sometimes, too much to drink is still not enough. I needed therapy to bury my anxiety, and alcohol was going to be my counselor. Yes friends, this was going to be one of “those” nights.

At the first bar I went around quizzing girls about how often this sort of thing happens:

Tucker “Let me ask you a question: Have you ever sucked off one guy, then went on a date with another guy right after? Like that same night? Or fucked another guy right after you blew a different guy, but without telling the second one?”

Girl “EXCUSE ME?”
Tucker “Don’t play coy with me.”

As you can imagine, this made me very popular with the ladies.

At bar two, I ordered at least three rounds of shots in the first ten minutes. I kept making toasts like this one:

“Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
The bitch gave me head,
And some other guy too.”

My toasts to cuckoldry got the attention of a group of girls, and they came over to talk to us. My friends, who had not yet consigned all the women of earth to a fiery death and eternal damnation, made up a story about me to explain my behavior. They told the girls that I had just broken up with my girlfriend who I was in love with and to not pay attention to anything I said. It was my first night out and I was bitter and mean. I helped enforce this lie with the toast I gave to the next round of shots:

“This shot feels so good, this shot feels so right,
I can’t believe she fucked me and another guy tonight.
To drown my pain, I bought this alcohol at the store,
Because let’s face it: All women are whores.”

Greased by the bullshit story that I had been dumped, the girls actually thought that I was funny. One of them tried to console me by switching the subject to music. I told her I was a country music fan, which is not even remotely true.

Girl “Really! I like to make up my own lyrics to country music songs. Like, you know that one song, Let’s Get Drunk and Screw? I like to pretend the lyrics are Let’s Wait in Line for Shoes.”
Tucker [I stare blankly at her for a good ten seconds]
Girl [Still trying to be cheery] “Isn’t that funny?”
Tucker You are making me stupider.”
Girl “What!?!?”
Tucker [Wait for it…wait for it…] “I bet you’ve sucked miles of dick.”
She immediately turned away and as she walked off stuttered, “You’re, you’re…a JERK!”
Tucker “Have another shot? DON’T MIND IF I DO!”

That pretty much sealed our fate at bar two. Bar three presented some ample targets, but I was still too head fucked to do anything, so my friends planted me at a table and went looking for girls on their own.

After about three seconds I got bored and started wandering around. I snatched some pink drink off the bar as the girl who owned it looked the other way, took a sip, and immediately spit it out. A girl on the other side of me used this to initiate conversation:

Girl “Gross?”
Tucker “Yeah, it tastes like ass.”
Girl “I like ass.”
Tucker “What’s your name?”

Had it been any other night, I would have turned this little gem into a tongue up my ass crack. Not tonight. Tonight, it was only a matter of time before I fucked it up.

Tucker “But be honest–would you ever eat out one guys ass and then come kiss me the same day?”

And I’m spent.

My friends were doing well with this one group of girls and looked to be on the way to hook-up victory…until I decided that I wanted to hear the sound of breaking glass, and we all got kicked out.

We ended up going to a late night club. When we got there, I was so drunk the bouncer almost didn’t let me in. My last clear memory is my friend grabbing me at the bar after I ordered a double something, and trying to calm me down:

Friend “Dude, you’ve had too much. This is bordering on dangerous.”
Tucker “The only dangerous amount is none!”
Friend “How many drinks did you have at the last place?”
Tucker “You’re counting MY drinks? If you want to act like my liver accountant then you can pay the bill too.”
Friend “I PAY YOUR BAR TABS ANYWAY!”
Tucker “I’M FAMOUS–WOMEN CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!”

They sat me in a corner and went back out on the prowl. One or two more drinks later, I decided that I was going to dance. Completely immersed in my indignant self-pity on the dance floor, I found my savior.

In the corner of the club, dancing alone, I found the person that I could trust. I found my one. My soul mate. The person who would never betray me and who would love me forever and never fuck anyone else behind my back without telling me.

This was the most gorgeous person I had ever seen. Piercing blue eyes and sandy blond hair. Great body. A deep, penetrating stare that belied a wisdom and understanding beyond the average person. Great charisma. And we had immediate chemistry.

I danced with them for an hour, giving them seductive looks, coyly flirting with them, seductively telling them how much I cared about them. And they responded to everything I offered by offering it back. Every smile was met with a smile, every caress with an equal response.

In my eyes, I finally found someone that I was in love with.

I was too drunk to realize this at the time, but my friends were watching me the whole time…and all they saw was me dancing in front of a huge mirror.

With myself.

And no one else within 10 feet of me.

Let me emphasize: I was so drunk, I was dancing WITH MYSELF in the mirror. For AN HOUR. NO ONE was near me.

Not only did I never once realize it, the only thing I remembered the next morning from that club was thinking that I’d fallen in love. For real, it took several of them to convince me that I was dancing alone, and not with the most amazing girl I’d ever met.

My friends also told me that later when the lights came on indicating closing time, I staggered out of the club onto the street, ran away from them, and their last sight was me careening down the street, bouncing off store fronts and parked cars, yelling:

“IF YOU WANT TO GO OUT ON A DATE WITH ME, YOU CANNOT FELLATE ANYONE ELSE FOR AT LEAST TWENTY-FOUR HOURS BEFOREHAND! DO YOU HEAR ME?? AND I WANT YOU TO SHOWER TOO! I HAVE STANDARDS!! BECAUSE I AM NOT A DOUCHE, YOU HAVE TO DOUCHE!!”

Now THAT is Tucker Max Drunk.

But unfortunately, Tucker Max Drunk is not free. At some point the bill comes due. How expensive is it? Let’s tally the total:

You know it’s been a hard night when you wake up totally dehydrated and still dizzy.

You know it’s been a really hard night when you wake up dehydrated, drunk and dizzy and don’t know where you are and have no memory of how you got there.

But it is only when waking from a truly Tucker Max Drunk night that you are completely dehydrated, still very drunk, too dizzy to stand, and though you don’t know your exact location or how you got there, you do realize that you have just woken up OUTSIDE, in a PUBLIC PARK, with a stray dog LICKING YOUR FACE.

Raise your hand if you’ve ever had that happen to you.

I clawed my way to a park bench, pulled myself up onto it, and saw a huge Tin Man statue. For a split second, I honestly thought I’d died and hell was sponsored by Warner Brothers. That was a bit of a shock, because I’d always thought Disney would rule hell. Then I remembered: I lived right by a park called Oz Park, though until this moment it had not occurred to me where it got it’s name.

Encouraged by the fact that I was close to my apartment, I started walking. After falling a few times and finally getting that damn dog to stop licking my face and following me, I found a street name I recognized, and followed it back to my apartment.

I was so concerned with keeping my balance and navigating correctly, I didn’t really notice till I got home that my face and scalp were itching something terrible.

I was reaching up to discover the source of this itch as I stumbled in my door. My roommate took one look at me, audibly gasped and got that “Oh my god” face I’ve seen so many times. He usually lets out a laugh when he sees the after effects of one of my binges, but this time he was so shocked he could only cover his mouth, point and utter, “Go look in the mirror.”

I felt my face, and there was definitely something sticky and hard crusted onto it. Thinking that it was possibly blood and I had sustained a head injury, I rushed to the bathroom, and there in mirror was rock bottom:

The “love of my life” stared back at me with a face covered in hardened, crusted vomit. Yellow and brown bile matted my hair, chunks were in my eyebrows and ears, my cheek and neck even had pieces of grass stuck in the vomit crust. I looked like some sort of botched special effect. So much for being too good for whores’ sloppy seconds.

But the piece de resistance lay on the top of my head, at the edge of the crusted vomit, precariously stuck to my hair, still stuck to the vomit:

A small, dry, hardened dog turd.

POST SCRIPT

The repercussions of that night did not end there. First off, my (now ex-) roommate will call me shit-head for the rest of my life, and I deserve it.

Secondly, my friends rode me endlessly about dancing with myself in a mirror. I still don’t know if I believe them though, because I could SWEAR it was a girl I was dancing with, and I thought I even kissed her. Oh well, let’s hope I don’t stare into a reflective body of water anytime soon.

But more importantly, I will never look at women the same way. Ever. This event, combined with a story my friend told me right after that about his ex-girlfriend letting herself get fucked by three Mexicans in front of him to get even for him cheating on her totally ruined me. Now, every time I look at or talk to a woman, I can’t help but think to myself, “Has she already sucked a dick today? How recent was her last migrant worker gang-bang?”

Granted, I’ve done horrible stuff also, but anyone in the world can read this site and know what I’ve done. It’s the not knowing that really messes with me. What fucks me up is to think that first dates or even other girls I’m casually dating are fucking around on me, and not even just on other days, but right before they see me. I don’t really go on dates anymore since I learned that you don’t need to spend money to get pussy, but when I did, I have to wonder how many girls came out with sperm breath. And how many of those did I kiss? And even now I wonder how many women have I met out at a bar who fucked a guy before going out, and then went home with me?

I talked to all my female friends about this, and the response was varied.

-The dumb ones were like, “Ohhhh–can I come over and suck you off too?” Yes you may. And bring beer.

-The naïve ones were like, “A girl came over and sucked your dick before a date?? No girl does that!!” Riiiiight…and you’ve never had a boyfriend cheat on you. Go back to reading books you buy at the grocery store with Fabio on the cover and leave reality to the rest of us.

-I finally got some usable feedback from my smart female friends. Most of them were like, “This is news to you? That there are women who do what you do? Tucker, I thought you were smarter than this.” Thanks for making me feel better.

One friend in particular summed it up: “At least you had this realization. Most guys go through life being blissfully ignorant. My girlfriends who juggle a lot of guys are the ones who don’t give off any slutty vibe…which is how they totally get away with it. Every guy they are with thinks they’ve got the perfect situation–a sweet girl who comes over at midnight once or twice a week because that’s all she wants. They don’t understand that she’s got the same perfect arrangement with four other guys.”

I futilely tried to maintain that giving me head was so good that women actually wanted to do it and didn’t care about getting anything back, but she just laughed. And she’s right to laugh.

Not that sucking my dick is some chore–believe me I WISH I could go down on myself–but the idea that any guy is so much better than other guys that he is above the cuckoldry of a woman is ridiculous on face. Believe me guys: No matter how good you are, some girl has played you…and you probably didn’t even realize it.

Don’t think about this question for too long fellas, or it will drive you nuts. I fixated on it for a whole night and ended up dancing with myself in a mirror for an hour and then woke up in a public park with vomit crusted to my face and dog shit stuck to my head–trust me on this.

And the VERY best part? Karen and I never hooked up again. She ended up seriously dating the guy she met that night.

And he still doesn’t know what was on her lips when they met…

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