Read I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell Online
Authors: Tucker Max
It was a very unique feeling, to be so actively and aggressively pursue
d
by guys. Now I know what hot girls feel like, being hounded b
y
multiple guys at once. On one hand, it is a flattering feeling because o
f
the attention and the obvious desire for you, but it kind of leaves
a
mildly annoying and hollow tang, because you know that all the guy
s
really want to do is fuck, and they only care about you because of wha
t
you represent to them, not who you are as a person
.
OH JESUS-DID I JUST WRITE THAT
?
At one point during a lull in the conversation, a random gay guy go
t
involved in our conversation, and figured out that I was straight and the
y
were trying to get me to have a homosexual experience. He droppe
d
possibly the biggest, most disturbing conversation bomb EVE
R
DROPPED ON ANYONE EVER
:
[
WARNING TO ALL GUYS
: You want to stop reading here. Th
e
conversation I am about to recount prevented me from sleeping for a ful
l
two days, and has permanently and irreversibly scarred me. Sav
e
your psyche while you still can. Women have nothing to fear.
]
Him "I bet you've already slept with a man.
"
Tucker "Alright, come on man-I invented Tucker Max Drunk, but no
t
even Tucker Max Drunk makes you switch teams.
"
Him "How many women have you been with?
"
Tucker "I don't know, somewhere in low three digits.
"
Him "Oh yeah, I bet you've fucked a man.
"
Tucker [Getting obviously frustrated] "How??
"
Him "I have three words for you: Post Op Transsexual.
"
It took a few seconds for the full meaning and significance of tha
t
statement to filter through my drunken brain
.
Tucker "What? Get the fuck out of here. I've never fucked one o
f
those.
"
Him "You wouldn't know.
"
Tucker "Man, give me some credit.
"
Him "Have you ever slept with a woman who told you she couldn'
t
naturall
y
lubricate, that she had to use KY?
"
Oh no
.
Tucker "Well ... yeah ... two, actually.
"
Him "Uh-huh.
"
Tucker "No. No way. Stacey was one, I went to college with her, she wa
s
definitely a woman. Everything about her was woman. And she wa
s
like 17 when we fucked. You can't be post-op that young.
"
Him "Probably not. What about the other one?
"
Please no ..
.
Tucker "Uhhh, I met her in Miami ...
"
Him "What did she do?
"
Tucker "She was a stripper.
"
Him "Did she have fake tits?
"
Tucker "Yes.
"
This isn't happening. He is fucking with me
.
Tucker "No, man, she was not a fucking man. She didn't have a
n
Adams apple.
"
Him "That is a two hour outpatient surgery. Easily done. Cheap too.
"
Tucker "But it was ... she had a pussy. IT FELT LIKE A PUSSY
"
Him "Surgery is amazing these days. She probably even had a clit.
"
WHAT THE FUCK?
?
Tucker "But she was soft. Her skin I mean. She felt like a girl.
"
Him "You're smart. You know what large amounts of estrogen do to th
e
male body, don't you?
"
Tucker "But what about her voice? She didn't sound like those absur
d
trannies on Springer.
"
Him "Again, estrogen. And maybe even vocal chord surgery. It woul
d
make sense if she has a lucrative stripping or escorting gig to protect.
"
I just stood there, too shocked to move, trying to recall every detai
l
about her to refute his argument
.
Tucker "Wait, wait, wait ...
"
Him "She gave great head, didn't she?
"
Tucker "She was a stripper! They give head for a living!
"
THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING
.
Him "Was she tall? Taller than you?
"
Tucker "Yeah, but I've dated lots of girls who were taller than me.
"
Him "But I bet none of them had hands as big as hers.
"
I AM GOING TO VOMIT
.
Him "Did you have anal sex with her?
"
Tucker "Yeah.
"
Him "You ever had anal sex with other girls?
"
Tucker "Yeah.
"
Him "Felt a little different with her, didn't it?
"
Oh dear merciful Jesus. He was right. I distinctly remember that
.
Tucker "FUCK THIS!! NO FUCKING WAY THAT I FUCKED A MAN!!
"
Him "I think you did."
Tucker "SHUT UP SHUT UP-I CAN'T BE HEARING THIS!!!"
Him "Don't feel bad, this happens to lots of guys. You'd be shocked." Tucker "OH MOTHERFUCK!! NO WAY. THIS IS NOT HAPPENING I AM NOT HAVING THIS CONVERSATION!! WHAT IN DEAR GOD IS HAPPENING??? I DID NOT FUCK A FAKE WOMAN!" I was in SHOCK. I could not sleep or function for the next two days, as I went over every detail I could remember about this "girl." I am still undecided about her. Yes, he made good points, but everything about her I recall as being feminine. The way she smelled, her touch, her appearance, everything. And it was a nice strip club where I met her, Rachel's in West Palm Beach. Don't they check for these things?
He went on to explain that some post-op transsexuals will go to the bathroom before sex, and put the KY in without even telling the guy. Others don't even have fake breasts, because the elevated estrogen levels can give them B cups. He said she might not have been the only one. My brain was completely fried after that conversation. I still don't know what to think.
Gentlemen, all I can say is don't spend too much time cataloging your ex-hook-ups because it will drive you nuts. Just pretend you never read this and move on. You wish you had heeded that warning now, don't you?
This always happens to me, and it pisses me off.
If I dawdle and wait too long to approach a group of girls, invariably the ugliest one "calls" me in the group. I have no idea why. One girl I know told me it was because I am attractive but not great looking, so ugly girls think they have a chance with me. And she added that to people I don't know, I have an approachable air about me. What sweet irony. One night my friends and I were out drinking, and we were sitting next to a table of girls. One was pretty hot, one was fuckable, and the other was awful. She was a fetal alcohol case, no question. Sunken nasal bridge, thin upper lip, a short upturned nose and smooth skin between the nose and upper lip-all the telltale signs. She looked sorta like she'd been hit in the face with a frying pan.
Before we make our move, one of the girls comes over to talk to me. Do you want to guess which one? Well, it wouldn't be a story unless it was the bag of smashed assholes, now wou.ld it?
As my friends talked to the fuckable ones, I tried to make it clear to PanFace that I was not into her. I told her the most absurd shit, things that I was sure would offend her so badly she wouldn't want to even look at me much less fuck me:
my way out, just to show my disdain for you.
"
COME ON-even a washed up stripper shilling for quarter tips at
a
topless truck stop would have told me to fuck off. Whether she though
t
I was joking or not-and I was kinda-some of that shit is just over th
e
line. What girl would keep talking to a guy that said those things?
I
mean honestly-I told the girl that I would only fuck her from behin
d
because if she looked at me I would lose my hard-on. The girl had t
o
have stopped at some point, right
?
Nope. She got all googly-eyed and smitten and told me I was th
e
funniest guy she'd ever met. Doesn't it always happen this way? I woul
d
have just ended it for real, but before I could, she discovered m
y
weakness: An open tab
.
I couldn't finish my drink before she'd have two more in front of me. O
f
course, this feedback loop led to disaster
:
The constant stream of Red Bull and Goose made me more animate
d
and sarcastic ..
.
Which made her more into me ..
.
Which allowed me to tolerate her more ..
.
Which inspired her to lean into me and expose her cleavage ..
.
Which caused me to comment on her nice breasts ..
.
Which led to her massaging my crotch ..
.
Which made me consider what she would be like in bed ..
.
To continue with this line of thought I had to switch to doubles ..
.
Yeah, I fucked her
.
Oh, but it gets better
.
The next morning I wake up in a strange bed with pink silk sheets. Fo
r
about a minute I seriously wasn't sure who I had gone home with, be
-
cause there was no girl in the bed. Then Pan-Face came bounding i
n
the room. All the awful memories came rushing back in my head
:
Girl "What's wrong? You look upset.
"
Tucker "Oh Christ ... I can't believe myself ...
"
Then the rest came back to me-last night this girl had basically promise
d
me the world; breakfast, laundry, fellatio-on-command, everything
.
Well, I fucked her, I'll be damned if 1don't get my side of the bargain
.
Tucker "I thought I told you I wanted breakfast in the morning.
"
Girl "OK! What do you want? I have eggs and bacon and pancake
s
...
"
Tucker "All of it. And you also promised to fellate me on command. I want that as my appetizer."
Oh man. Here I go again. I always do this.
Whenever 1hook up with some marginally attractive girl I get pissed at myself, for obvious reasons. Then, almost as punishment, I make myself sort of keep se'eing/fucking her. Not because I am trying to pretend that I want a relationship-I'm honest with the girl-but because 1 feel like if I get my money's worth in other areas, then it was worth it to lose a little bit of my soul by fucking some girl I shouldn't even be seen in public with.
After she went down on me [she was really good], I watched American Chopper re-runs while she cooked me an awesome breakfast: an andouille sausage omelet with cheese, sauteed garlic and grilled onions, soggy bacon just like I like it, an English muffin buttered just right, skim milk with ice just like I like it, and a cappuccino (she had a machine) with just the right amount of froth-to-coffee ratio. I almost applauded her when I was done-but instead I had her go down on me again. Over the next few weeks, it got bad. I would go over to her condo at like 2am without calling, drunk out of my mind, fuck her like she owed me money, sleep all day in her bed while she was at work, and then have her make me dinner when she got home. We'd go out and she'd buy me drinks, and then I'd make her leave before my friends or other girls would come out to meet me. When she came over to my place, she would bring Carson's ribs or Harold's chicken or some other deli- cacy, do my laundry, fuck/suck at command, and then leave without even spending the night. After awhile, even I began to feel bad. Sort of.
Ladies, let me give you some advice. You can throw all your stupid fucking chick-lit, self-help, why-doesn't-he-Iove-me books out, because this is all you need to know: Men will treat you the way you let them. There is no such thing as "deserving" respect; you get what you demand from people. Let a guy fuck you in the ass, cum on your back, drink all your beer and then leave, and he'll do it. But if you demand respect, he will either respect you or he won't associate with you. It really is that simple.
Or you can just act like Pan-Face, and turn out the same way: The turning point for me, the exact moment I knew I had to cut the charade off and move on, was the day she showed up at my place in
a trench coat. I was in my standard position: sitting on the couch
,
watching Jerry Springer in gym clothes, with my hand down my pants
.
She kinda stood there smiling at me, until I looked up
:
Tucker "What are you doing? It's 75 degrees outside.
"
At that, she dropped her trench coat to reveal a tight white t-shirt an
d
panties. Printed on them were these words (she had the shirts mad
e
specially at some store)
:
Shirt "Tucker Max's tits
"
Panties "Tucker Max's pussy
"
Had I been 17, I would have thought that was the coolest thing I'd eve
r
seen. At 27, I could only see the imminent and now unavoidable disaste
r
that was going to result from this girl falling in love with me
.
Of course, I still slept with her that night
.
But after that I stopped calling her, and I am pretty sure that as a result
,
she went bat shit crazy and moved back to wherever she wa
s
from. I'm not really sure; I would routinely find 50 missed calls on m
y
cell phone from her and 30 emails in my inbox, so I blocked her emai
l
address and changed my phone number. I'll leave that mess for th
e
beta males to deal with
.