by Tucker Max
Her message here is that she wants to date a thing (“the star athlete”), not a person. She doesn’t say if she likes him as a person, it’s like it never even occurs to her. But he no longer likes her because she won? So she’s saying not to be better at things than guys you like? And how can he be a star athlete if he can’t outrun a girl?
Is she saying that women should wait on guys to make a move? Also, how sexist and regressive—women shouldn’t pursue men? Wow. Welcome to the 50’s Holly Homemaker.
And excuse me, why exactly do girls have nothing to prove? Is she saying that by dressing like a girl, she’s indicating she has a vagina, and her end of the deal is done. Its up to the guy now. Her assumption is that guys engage girls based solely on the fact that they ARE girls. She’s saying that because she’s wearing a tight top showing her tits and low cut skirt, you know everything you need to know—she has a vagina. The implication is that that’s all she has to offer, and that’s why guys should have to make the first move.
What’s up with him talking to two girls, has a threesome lined up, and then going up to her because … why? She looks like a bigger slut? She’s acting like a standoffish bitch? What guy would abandon TWO girls for her?
What about the other two girls? She draws them all pissed off—she’s accentuating that her victory is not over only him, but over those girls too. She’s saying that they’re desperate sluts, so they deserve to be hurt.
And you know what kind of guy relentlessly pursues a standoffish girl? A date rapist. Why? Because he hates women and wants to punish women like this. Proof: He’s offering her a taste of his roofie colada in the frame.
I guess the point is not to clean up the mess, but to cover it and pretend nothing happened. What does that sound like?
First off, if you like a dude and don’t kiss him because you want to play bullshit games, there’s no guessing—you’re a psycho bitch. And even in her own cartoon, where she refuses to even KISS a dude, her tits are BLOWING off the page. I mean, she looks like Mariah Carey singing the national anthem. To her credit though, I wouldn’t kiss someone who made that face either.
This cartoon is seriously disturbing. Does he kneed her like she is dough? He’s a good masseuse? Or does she want a guy who gets on his hands and knees and begs you for shit like a pussy? Or is she saying that she prefers a guy who literally needs her and is so co-dependent with her that he can’t leave?
And she says to date a guy who is just like you? So he’s a moody, game playing bitch who won’t kiss on the first date? She’s saying to find a spineless, obsessive loser star athlete, who is completely dependent on you, and will beg you for stuff. But also shares your interests in purses and fashion. So she wants a closeted self-hating homo?
You are who you date? YOU ARE WHO YOU DATE??? She’s saying women have no inherent value as human beings, aside from their external status symbols—like purses or who you are dating. She’s literally telling a generation of girls that they will be judged on who they can get to date them. So if you’re single, you are NOTHING. You have failed as a woman, is that it Katy? This is so offensive to women, I’m offended, and I’m a man. If I showed this cartoon to my daughter, I’d turn myself in for child abuse, that’s how awful the message there is.
[And I like how she says “Always hoping for a white knight.” White knight. NOT Knight in shining armour. A WHITE knight. You can’t take a black knight home to your mother.]
Look at how little clothes he has on. She has a heart in her cleavage. She’s barely covering her snatch. How can you not think he’ll expect sex—he can already smell your vagina.
And the dude looks like he’s a castaway, like he was just rescued at sea. Of course he expects sex, he hasn’t seen another person in years.
Look at the bill. $500. What a money grubbing whore.
And yeah, we know you don’t like to fuck in restaurants, you prefer being taken in the back of a crappy SUV in the parking lot.
Let’s not pretend Katy knows the first thing about anyone ethnic and dispense with this shit right now: No one that color is allowed to play tennis at any of the Palm Beach clubs Katy belongs to.
And I like how it’s two brown people together, like she’s saying those people should stick to their own kind. What a bitch.
Apparently, it’s also hot to swing dance until you break your spine.
You know what’s even less hot? Not thinking because you’re fucking retarded.
Nice job not letting the guy under the umbrella, you selfish bitch.
I mean … do I really need to point out that she drew a cartoon where the girl is getting fucked by a horse?
Look at the horses face!!! He’s thinking, “Damn, this girl took my whole load and smiled about it!”
Once I recovered from the gales of laughter that rocked my body, I did what any reasonable 25-year-old male would do after seeing these cartoons: I sent the link to all my friends.
GoldenBoy: “This can’t be real. This is some elaborate joke Tucker has constructed.”
PWJ: “Oh, this is all too real. Tucker doesn’t have the artistic talent to put this together on his own. This is the work of a true genius. Or a completely broken nutjob, like most of the girls that would sleep with Tucker.”
Hate: “Max, I have to admit, I’m jealous. You’ve upped the ante for all of us. This is not just a normal crazy pageant girl, but a crazy pageant girl who broadcasts her craziness to the whole world.”
SlingBlade: “Hold on. She lists her biggest accomplishments as creating her abstinence and sobriety groups, which are respectively called, “Say Nay Today” and “The Sobriety Society.” And this is the same girl who got drunk and fucked you in the back of her car? On the first night you met? I hate women. Look at this shamelessly hypocritical nonsense:
“Life will be better if you live by the letter.”
“What should I do? Strive for virtue!”
“Keep pure ‘til you’re mature”
Two can play at this game:
“If in life you don’t succeed, be a whore to meet your needs.”
“No ifs, ands, or buts, all women are sluts.”
“Why didn’t I rate, now I’m just filled with self-hate.”
“I made a website that’s boring, it helps me rationalize my whoring.”
“I’ll tell this guy I’ve only touched two dicks, even though the real number is one-hundred and six!”
This went on for a few weeks, me continuing to see MissVermont, my friends continuing to mock her website and laugh at updates about our “relationship.” GoldenBoy’s wedding was coming up around that time, and since everyone thought she was so hilarious, I decided to invite her to go with me as my date. My thought process was simple: She’s hot and unintentionally entertaining, both for my friends and for me. Plus, my friends want to meet her. GoldenBoy even went so far as to ask for one of the action figures of herself she sold on the site as his wedding gift, but alas, she was out of them.
We decided to drive to the wedding, which was in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Why drive instead of fly? Two reasons. 1. She couldn’t have her mom find out she was going with me (more on that later), and 2. She wanted to have sex in every state along the way. The drive was rather uneventful, except that we forgot to have sex in South Carolina. No big deal, we can do it on the way back to Florida.
GoldenBoy had rented three massive six-bedroom houses on the beach for all of his friends. The pre-party had already started at his house, so when I got there I quickly introduced her to everyone and started drinking. I pretty much ignored MissVermont and let all of GoldenBoy’s friends from college hit on at her. Of course, my ignoring her only made her want me more. Insecure women are funny.
Later that night, Hate, BrownHole, JonBenet, Credit, and I were at our house bullshitting and drinking before bed. MissVermont was already asleep. At some point, BrownHole accidentally spilled his glass of water on JonBenet. When sober, JonBenet is a great guy, and everyone loves him. But when
he’s drunk, he becomes demonic. This particular night, for whatever reason, his friend accidentally spilling water on him was a grievous transgression that he would not accept. Without warning, he shot up, flipped the table over, grabbed the glass out of BrownHole’s hands and fired it against the floor, sending broken glass all over the house.
Everyone was quiet for a second—the way people who aren’t used to seeing violence are—and then I busted out laughing. I mean, how can you not laugh at a drunk moron spiking a pint glass into the floor? That basically ended the night, and we all went to bed.
My friends got their first indication that MissVermont might be a little “different” the next day at breakfast. PWJ had come in at like 3am (he got so drunk in the airport bar that they wouldn’t allow him on his flight) and we were recounting JonBenet’s little spat with the glass, when MissVermont broke into the conversation to clear up her confusion as to whether the glass shattered or not:
MissVermont “Did it broke?”
That was what she actually said, out loud. To everyone at the table, in total seriousness. My friends were so shocked, they almost couldn’t laugh. It was like a third grader was hanging out with us. They got an even better indication of what she was like when we were talking about what we’d read recently:
PWJ “I actually kinda like the Harry Potter books.”
MissVermont “I do too! Don’t you just wish they were real?!? I wish I could play Quiddich and meet Hermione and everyone!! It’s just so … MAGICAL!!!!
She was as excited as a 6-year-old. And just as sincere.
PWJ “Uhhh, I guess … so what else do you read? Lots of magazines probably?”
MissVermont “I don’t read magazines; I just look at the pictures.”
Then she took a magazine out of her purse and flipped through it as we talked. She came to a photo spread of several musicians.
MissVermont “Rock stars are so hot. I’m such a groupie.”
PWJ “A groupie? How many have you hooked up with?”
MissVermont “Oh no, I don’t sleep with them or anything, but I am such a groupie.”
PWJ “I don’t think you have a proper understanding of what that word means.”
We spent most of the day nursing beers and watching James Bond films. Our favorite was Goldfinger because of the scene where Sean Connery is with some girl at the pool, and when some other agent comes along to talk to him, Sean smacks her on the ass, and tells her, “… Run along now. Man talk.” We all crack up laughing at this flawless execution of ’60s sexism, but then JonBenet makes me a bet:
JonBenet “I bet you won’t do that to MissVermont this afternoon at the reception.”
Tucker “Who are you talking to? Are you calling me out? About disrespecting a whore?”
Credit “I don’t know Max, I don’t think you have it in you.”
Tucker “Fuck both of you.”
MissVermont eventually came back to the house (she’d gone for a walk on the beach with Brownhole) and my friends quizzed her about her conversation with BrownHole, laughing the whole time, as MissVermont recounted the wonderful conversation she had with him, and what a good listener he was, etc. Eventually PWJ had enough and let her in on the secret,
PWJ “Katy, BrownHole is trying to hook up with you.”
MissVermont “No, he’s being so nice.”
Isn’t blind naiveté charming?
Like the idiots we were, we got caught up in beer and Bond, and before we realized it was 5pm and the ceremony had already started. We threw on our clothes and got there just in time to see GoldenBoy and GoldenWife take their vows. Like a bunch of assholes, we walked right in during the ceremony and plopped down in the pews, ignoring the people standing in the back of the church.
Our entrance was made even more distracting by MissVermont’s ensemble. She wore a short, skin tight, strapless, cherry red dress. With sequins. And a push-up bra. I heard one wedding guest whisper something about “the girl with the boobs.” I beamed with pride.
Not many people realize that “Here Comes the Bride” is taken from a Wagner opera involving a prostitute, but it was appropriate for Miss-Vermont. PWJ had actually made it on time because he was playing guitar in the wedding, and was so distracted by MissVermont’s entrance that he forgot the music to “Canon in D” halfway into it. That’s how inappropriately she was dressed. Of course I thought it was awesome, but I’m an asshole.
After disrupting the wedding, it was time to ruin the reception. The reception was at a bed & breakfast only accessible via a single dirt road. Most people parked their cars at a gas station and got on the 15-passenger shuttle that took people back and forth. MissVermont and I instead drove her Explorer there, and thus got a nice early start on the drinking. By now you’ve figured out that MissVermont is an amateur and unaccomplished drinker, about the level of a normal 17-year-old high school girl. She apparently did not realize this about herself, because as soon as we got there, she followed my lead and got a martini.
Tucker “What are you doing? You can’t handle your liquor. Be careful.”
MissVermont “I’m fine. I can do it. Don’t worry.”
If there are two words you never, under any circumstances, want to hear from the mouth of a delusional, emotionally-broken cum-dumpster, they are “I’m pregnant.” Followed closely by, “Don’t worry.” They’re like a detonation charges on an atomic slut bomb.
Everyone poured into the reception area, and once the crowd was large enough, it was time to settle the bet. I was talking in a group with JonBenet, PWJ, Credit, and Hate. Katy came up and started talking to the group. After about ten minutes, JonBenet and I exchanged glances, I slapped her on the ass, and said: “Run along baby. It’s time for Man-Talk.”
Miraculously, my friends held it together. She gave a slightly hurt look, an “OK,” and walked off. They all immediately broke down laughing. I took my deserving place as King of the Reception! It may have been GoldenBoy’s wedding, but I had won the crown! (There is actually video of this incident: www.tuckermax.com/mantalk)
For a while. Though it was funny at the time, this one act vaulted Katy from the ranks of the “random whore” into the rarified air of the “unforgettable whore,” and set off an unbelievable chain reaction that leads all the way to you reading this story. Here is how:
After such a curt brush off, MissVermont—presumably to make me jealous—started flirting with GoldenBoy’s college friends, the same ones that she was talking to the night before. They had no idea she was such a novice drinker, and fed her three cosmopolitans over the next hour or so. I wasn’t paying much attention, until she wandered over and slurred out:
MissVermont “Is Man-Talk over?”
Oh great holy Jesus. She was so drunk she sounded like Joe Namath at an open bar. I just shook my head in disbelief, and turned away from her. Three minutes later, I hear a giant crash behind me and turn to find MissVermont wobbling around, staring at a smashed martini glass at her feet.
JonBenet “I guess it did broke.”
It was only 7pm. Dinner wasn’t until 8:30.
All of GoldenBoy’s friends quickly helped her clean up. I grabbed some chunky college girl who PWJ had been hitting on, who had a room at the bed and breakfast, and told her, “You need to look after her. She is already shit faced. Take her to your room and put her to bed.” Then I refilled my drink and walked to a separate part of the party. I had to leave because I was so fucking pissed, both at her and at myself.
Additional backstory: When I asked GoldenBoy if I could bring MissVermont to his wedding, he and his fiancée said it was fine with them, but GoldenBoy, having gone to law school with me and knowing me well, solicited a promise:
GoldenBoy “Tucker, this is my wedding. You can’t bring one of your typical ‘girlfriends’ and then just start ignoring her in the middle of it because you get bored with her. She is welcome to come, but no scenes, okay?”
I agreed and gave him my solemn promise on this. Now, I know what you�
�re thinking, “Hey, if he can’t take a joke, fuck him, right?” Normally, I would agree, but this was a different situation. GoldenBoy is one of my best friends on earth, and I am loyal to my friends, so I was genuinely distressed about this development. Of course, I was the main reason for the impending disaster, but still—I was upset about it.
After about an hour, I went up to check on MissVermont. I found her alone in the room, lying on the girl’s bed, barely awake, muttering the same thing over and over:
MissVermont “I never drink … I shouldn’t have done this … I never drink … I just wanted Tucker to like me … I never drink like this.”
Oh man. This was just not going well. By this point, I’ve started to get pretty shit-housed myself, and I’m upset about breaking my promise to GoldenBoy. So I deal with these “emotions” the only two ways I know how: burying them in alcohol, and lashing out at MissVermont. I snapped this picture of her: