If you don’t know Tucker Max, he’s basically a cross between Bukowski and the “my dad owns a dealership” guy from Aqua Teens. Tucker tells heroic tails of boozing (although the guy strikes me as something of a lightweight), fucking and being an asshole. Some of this is among the funniest things I’ve ever read. I read it in Borders and had to stop at a couple points because I don’t like braying like a donkey thespian in Tijuana in public places. During one story about how Tucker was banned for life from a major hotel chain, I laughed so hard that a fart escaped without me noticing until I heard it. That’s about a once-a-year occurrence.
Did I want to smack Tucker across the face at times? Yes. Not because he considers the residual brain matter that is probably drifting around as he pounds a fuck buddy fresh off a late-term abortion. And not because he leaves one girl an upper decker and makes another give him a lazy Carl. But because he not only orders but repeatedly insists on referring explicitly to a “Red Bull and Goose.” Now that you’ve got a best-selling book, maybe you can move up to Louis XIII and Mr. Pibb, you cunt. And the name, ‘Tucker Max’ makes you sound like a well endowed transvestite.
The most interesting character in the book might be Tuck’s BFF, Slingblade, who is named after their mutual love of a film that barely manages to Fosbury its way into the middlebrow. Slingblade and Tucker represent the yin and yang of aggressive game. Tucker gets laid for being an asshole, while Slingblade gets shut down for being an asshole. For those of us who are assholes, it’s an invaluable case study. Most of us are in the middle. One day you spiritually de-pants some innocent fool at a party, and suddenly you’ve got more tail hanging on you than Davy Crockett. Another day, your vicious drunken ramblings so deeply alienate every woman in the room that it wouldn’t matter if you had a 10-inch, gold-plated cock. After reading this book, I feel l like I have a clearer handle on which kind of asshole behavior moistens and which kind chills. Without going very far into it, Tucker’s recipe for success seems to be to take her along for the ride, rather than leave her in the wake or, like Slingblade, run her straight over. Offer her the chance to be Bonny to your Clyde. Take care to emasculate other men at every opportunity.
It also has to be mentioned that the editing job on this book is just embarrassing. It seems as though the stories are just taken straight from the site. Jokes and descriptions are repeated. On the site, with the articles spread out over years, that’s not a problem. But, for example, when Tucker repeatedly asserts that his stories are true in one reading, it seems like he is desperate to convince. In reality, Tucker is a credible writer. The reason that his stories are enjoyable is that they are about storytelling, rather than chest thumping. This book is a failure of editing, although it remains extraordinarily entertaining. And I say that as the worst editor who has ever lived.