Assholes Finish First

by Tucker Max;Maddox

  —If there is anything about you that annoys me, I will tell you so. You will leave Chicago knowing everything that is wrong with you. If you try to defend yourself by criticizing me back, I will quickly find your deepest insecurity and viciously attack it for a solid 45 minutes. I call this “foreplay.”

  —I constantly have my hands in my pants. I’m not jacking off or even playing with myself; sometimes I just get afraid I’ve lost my penis somewhere, and I like to make sure it’s still there. Just a heads-up.

  —After I ignore your suggestions on what to do for a few hours, I’ll be hungry for lunch. I will ask you what you want, but regardless of what you say, we will go to my favorite place in Chicago: Harold’s Chicken Shack.

  —Being that you’re the type of person who goes to charity balls, you might be shocked by the “urban” location and decor of Harold’s. Don’t worry: The bulletproof glass is there to protect the cashier—she’s the one who gets robbed, not you.

  —I will snort and grunt as I shovel the food into my mouth with my bare hands. I’ll get grease and hot sauce all over my face and my already stained shirt. I will offer you a chicken bone I’ve picked clean, “Want some?” The look on your face will be funny to me. I will repeat this for as many times as I find it funny.

  —After this glorious ghetto feast, I will take a two-hour nap on the sofa. Be careful, I fart a lot after I eat fried foods.

  —I don’t care what you do during that time, but no, I am not going to cuddle with you. Unless it is postcoital cuddling.

  —After I wake up, I’ll feel bad that you flew all this way and didn’t even get to see any of the famous Chicago sights, so I’ll ask you what you want to do.

  —I’ll pretend to pay attention to what you are saying, while I go to the fridge. I’ll get a few beers, pound them, then ask you again what you want to do.

  —Depending on how many beers I’ve had, I may repeatedly point to my crotch and nod approvingly. This is what I call “a hint.”

  —If you haven’t given up at this point and just surrendered to my will, bravo. I’ll remind you that this is your special day, and we’re going to do what you want to do.

  —Regardless of your request, we will head to an early all-you-can-drink with my friends. You may ask if I am going to change or shower before we go out. I’ll tell you that I will, but just walk straight out the door. I’m so funny!

  —When we get to the bar, I will “forget” my money and you will have to pay for both of us. Fair warning: Unless I am already drunk and I really like you, don’t expect me to thank you for it. My presence should be thanks enough.

  —At the bar, I’ll introduce you to my friends and I might get your first drink for you (to make sure the drinks actually are on your tab), but after that I will wander around talking to other girls to see if I can trade up.

  —Some of my friends will be nice to you and try to help you forget that I am ignoring you in favor of other women. At least a few of my friends will try to hook up with you (the hotter you are, the more they will hit on you, so if none do, that means you’re ugly). Don’t believe the awful lies they tell you. You know the REAL me.

  —A dozen or so vodka clubs into the night, and after I’ve already pissed off most of the other girls in the bar, if there are no better prospects, I will come back and talk to you to see if you want to hook up with me.

  —If not, we’ll go to another place, with more and different girls.

  —On to the next, rinse and repeat.

  —And the next.

  —By the time we get to the fourth or fifth bar, I will be completely shit-housed, will have stains on top of stains on my shirt, there may or may not be several whores trailing us, vying for my attention, and at least one of my friends will have told you that you are too good for me and should love him, because he is such a wonderful person. (FYI: He’s a hater and a liar.)

  —Hopefully by this point I’ve succeeded in breaking you down to the point where you just give in—exasperated surrender sex is the best! I’ll give you a night so memorable, it’ll help you reach a place addiction specialists refer to as “the bottom.”

  —If you think you love me, then I’m sorry your dad was so mean to you. I’ll show you that I care by shooting my compassion juice into you and then cuddling with you as it leaks out onto my sheets, because after all, it is YOUR night.

  —If you hate me so much that it’s obvious you aren’t going to fuck me, I will do something to cause you either to storm off in anger or go home with one of my friends. Then I can go fuck one of the various sluts orbiting me without feeling bad about ruining YOUR day. You get angry revenge sex, and my friend gets laid. Everybody wins!

  —We will wake up the next morning just in time for you to rush to the El and catch your flight. Since you took the train in and already know the way, I won’t bother getting out of bed.

  —When you get home, you will regret ever meeting me. If we had sex, you will rush to the free clinic to get tested. The results will come back negative, and you’ll think to yourself, “At least the fact that he passed out a minute into sex has some benefit.”

  —Any and/or all of this is changeable, revocable, etc., at my will or discretion. (Insert legalese where I waive all responsibility for my actions despite what I do. I would type it out, but I didn’t go to class in law school.)

  —If you made it to this point, you probably think I am a funny writer. I am. And you’re probably also thinking I have to be kidding. I’m not.

  —Seriously.

  Can’t wait to meet you!

  I am sure you can guess how this turned out, but I’ll give you the executive summary anyway: The Dallas Heart Ball freaked out, and I was immediately uninvited.

  I am really not sure what they expected, but like I said: They think they know, but they have no idea.

  I’d hate to see the work I put into this wasted, so let me end with a side note: This date proposal is still on the table for any charity that would like to put it to use. Email me and we’ll talk: tuckermax@gmail.com.

  THE TUCKER MAX SEXUAL TO-DO LIST

  One day during our first year of law school, my friends and I were sitting around drunk, comparing notes on all the unusual places we’d had sex. Some of them had pretty cool ones; I can’t remember any of them, because I never pay attention to anyone but myself. I do remember that my best place ever—Barcelona Museum of Modern Art, on an exhibit—didn’t rate very highly with the group.

  Fortunately, I don’t really care about that crap. At least not yet. Maybe after I get married and stop fucking lots of different women, then all the various places I fuck my wife will be fun to me, like it was to my engaged friends. You know, since it’ll be the only variety left.

  What really mattered to me was all the different types of women I’d fucked. In college, I thought I was pretty cool because I’d hooked up with all the major races: white, black, Asian, Middle Eastern, Indian (casino AND dot), etc. But I was quickly put to shame by GoldenBoy, who had fucked a Canadian female bodybuilder who could bench press more than he could. Wow. That’s cool. Not many people can say that.

  And that was just the beginning. As we went around the group, PWJ trumped me (a famous politician’s daughter, in her dad’s bed), Jojo trumped me (a famous female athlete), even misanthrope SlingBlade trumped me (a friend’s mom). Almost everyone had some sort of cool hookup I couldn’t match. This was complete fucking bullshit!

  Considering that I am better than all of them, I could not let this stand. I vowed to create an epic Sexual To-Do List, one that would include every possible type of cool hookup I could think of. Then I would go out and complete it. I would never lose a dick-measuring contest again! All men may be idiots, but I will be their king!

  I ended up with a huge list and an awesome collection of stories relating to it. Here is the final and completed Tucker Max Sexual To-Do List:

  —hot female midget

  —amputee

  —twins

 
; —virgin

  —within thirty minutes of meeting her

  —without knowing her name

  —mother and daughter

  —married woman

  —mile high club

  —professional model

  —famous woman

  —religious girl on her parents’ bed

  —girl with fake breasts

  —Hooters girl

  —military officer

  —one of my teachers/professors/TA

  —cop

  —federal agent (two actually, DEA and FBI)

  —friend’s mom

  —mom’s friend

  —paraplegic/confined to a wheelchair but still has vaginal sensation

  —female professional athlete

  —escort (without paying)

  —carnie

  —threesome (mff)

  —three girls (mfff)

  —four or more, all girls (mffff+)

  —two different girls in 12 hours, not together or in related incidents

  —three different girls in 24 hours, not together or in related incidents

  —girl that weighs more than me

  —girl that weighs less than 100 pounds

  —MILF

  —GILF

  —Miss America contestant

  —Miss USA contestant

  —Rhodes scholar

  —Marshall scholar

  —real-life CIA or NSA agent (I got only an NSA agent; I would reopen the list for a hot CIA analyst)

  —stripper I picked up that night at a strip club w/o paying

  —daughter of someone big/important

  —plus-sized model

  —porn star

  —giant (6'6”)

  —girl who doesn’t speak any English

  —paroled felon

  —pregnant

  —goth/emo chick

  —girl with colostomy bag

  —a funny tattoo on/around vagina

  —tongue ring

  —clit ring

  —deaf girl

  —girl with a glass eye

  —midget threesome

  Ethnicities/Nationalities

  —English

  —Irish

  —Scottish

  —German

  —French

  —Spanish

  —Mexican

  —Honduran

  —Nicaraguan

  —Colombian

  —Venezuelan

  —Brazilian

  —Argentinean

  —Swiss

  —Dutch

  —Swedish

  —Finnish

  —Russian

  —Belarussian

  —Lithuanian

  —Italian

  —Japanese

  —Chinese (mainland)

  —Chinese (Taiwanese; she stopped fucking me after I nicknamed her PRC)

  —Chinese (Hmong)

  —Korean (South only)

  —Vietnamese

  —Montagnard

  —Cambodian

  —Thai

  —Laotian

  —American Indian (Miccosukee)

  —American Indian (Seminole—an actual Seminole, not just an FSU slut)

  —Indian (Gujarati)

  —Indian (Hindu)

  —Indian (Punjabi)

  —Indian (Sikh)

  —Indian (Tamil)

  —Indian (Bengali)

  —Iranian (Pashtun)

  —Iranian (Persian)

  —Saudi

  —Afghani

  —Palestinian (I asked her, “Where is that country on the map?” She got MAD.)

  —Turkish

  —Eritrean

  —Israeli (real Israeli, not some Jappy American girl—though I’ve fucked plenty of those too)

  —Egyptian

  Why?

  You may be asking yourself, “What is wrong with this guy? Why have a Sexual To-Do List”? If you’re asking that question, you clearly don’t know anything about me, and I’m not exactly sure why you’re reading this book at all. Maybe you picked it up by accident, so in the spirit of tolerance, I’ll explain.

  Compiling a Sexual To-Do List started out about bragging rights. I couldn’t be the center of attention with my friends that day in the law school, and I hated it, so I refused to let it happen again. Now when I’m at a bar with my friends and we start comparing hookups, I have a full clip, one in the chamber, and the safety set to full auto. When someone asks, “Who’s fucked twins?” or “Who’s fucked a deaf girl?” I can be the one who proudly raises his hand and says, “Both.” It’s the ultimate win in male one-upmanship.

  And it pays out dividends forever. 20 years from now, when I’m retired from the game and married with five kids, and PWJ calls to brag that his daughter was named a Rhodes scholar, I can say, “I fucked one of those.” See what I mean?

  If you’re a man who has friends, you understand bragging rights. If you’re a woman scoffing at how stupid men are to care about something so pointless, think about how it differs from competing over shoes, handbags, and diamonds. Exactly.

  Most of what we do—men and women—is ultimately about some sort of status seeking. If you care only about meaningful things and not the silly status competitions most people get into, then you have my congratulations, because you’re a bodhisattva. Say hi to the Dalai Lama for me and tell him I follow him on Twitter.

  This may not be a completely satisfactory answer, because honestly, it’s not the whole answer. There’s also the element of conquest. Like when the reporter asked George Mallory why he attempted Mount Everest (30 years before Edmund Hillary succeeded). His response: “Because it’s there.” Same thing I answered when a reporter asked me why I wanted to fuck a midget: “Because she’s down there.” It’s just a natural thing for a guy, when he sees something that others think is unattainable, to attain it, just for the sake of being able to say he’s done it.

  One of my favorite documentaries, Man on Wire, addresses this issue perfectly. It’s about Philippe Petit, the guy who rigged a tightrope between the World Trade Center towers, then spent 45 minutes walking back and forth. As soon as he got down, the press asked him why he would do such a thing. He looked at them confused, as if he couldn’t even understand the need to ask the question:

  “There is no why. When I see three oranges, I juggle. When I see two towers, I walk.”

  I would add humbly, “And when I see a midget, I fuck.”

  Current Status of the List

  At this point, I’ve retired the list and closed it to new entries because, come on—at what point does novelty turn into absurdity? Like a curve forever approaching its asymptote but never touching it, I could potentially add to the list forever. To sleep with every possible type of girl, you have to sleep with every girl. I like women, and I like having sex with them, but that’s just not reasonable. I want to do things besides fuck—like write about fucking.

  Besides, if the point of all of this is conquest and bragging rights, and I have both of those in spades, why keep going? There’s always another mountain to climb. I’m stopping at a reasonable point, taking a moment to be proud of my accomplishments, and then moving on the next challenge. Like having a healthy, loving, committed relationship.

  Beyond that, I was stretching the limits of what even I was willing to do. Everything worthwhile that was left was disconcerting to me. For example, I met a cute blind girl who seemed into me, but I couldn’t do it. She had those milky, dead, cataract eyes, and they moved independently of each other, like a gecko’s. She was drunk and kept feeling my face, and… I don’t want to accuse a cripple of being inappropriate, but I swear she spent extra time on my eyes, like she was trying to determine if they were the right size to fit in her head. FREAKED ME OUT. I’m passing.

  For a time, I did seriously consider conjoined twins. The problem is that there are only like 10 sets of female conjoined twins in the world, and they are all horribly deformed. (Seriously, I research
ed it.) If I have sex with a girl only because I want to extend the list, that crosses the line from funny-yet-enjoyable to creepy-and-pathological. Most of the fun in the list is not in the collection but in the journey: finding someone you want to hook up with who is also on the list, the experiences you and your friends have along the way, and the hilarious memories you accrue. That, and being able to brag that I fucked an amputee, of course.

  Some of the things on the list are kinda pedestrian, things you and your friends have probably all done. Some others are pretty cool but still definitely attainable. And some are just straight-up amazing. Put them all together and it’s like a straight flush of bragging rights. You may have the high card, but I have the better hand.