I had never heard of this knob Tucker Max until a blamer inflicted him on me a couple of days ago. But I am not surprised that he exists. Like everyone else who has just turned 30, Tucker Max imagines he has accomplished something. So he has written a book to share his unique greatness with the world. The book consists of misogynist “tales” that, according to the Independent, “involve Tucker Max drinking until he vomits and Tucker Max’s sexual encounters.”
Tucker Max’s book is a New York Times bestseller. Nothing, it turns out, entertains an aspiring young date rapist like stories about some asshole getting shitfaced, hooking up with a girl he has nicknamed ‘ElephantLegs’, and in the morning smearing “whore” in shit on her toilet seat because she wouldn’t put out. The Independent reports that ‘fratire’ is the new literary sensation that’s sweeping the nation.
Like Barbie is to the 7-year-old American girl, Tucker Max is to the 22-year-old American male. Mattel calls it an ‘aspiration figure.’ Little girls aspire to anorexic pinkness. Little boys aspire to drunken assholery.
Giving oneself a reason to live through treating women like shit is hip again (to the point at which one blamer’s male boss can send out to his female staff hilarious comedy joke emails like this). Whew. That was close. The world had become dangerously ‘over-feminised’ during that brief but unsettling period in the 70’s when five or six deluded humorless radical bitch dykes had the balls to suggest that women are somewhat human.