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I stumbled across a truly unintentionally hilarious tell-all. Some college chick banged Tucker Max during his promotional bus tour for his movie and she wrote about it on the internet.

I Slept With Tucker Max, the Internet’s Biggest Asshat

The fun starts before we even get past the title! The author’s name is Courtney, but here at the Chateau she’ll be known by the moniker “Suzy Semeneater”. Here’s some advice Suzy S.: Banging a guy and happily announcing it on the internet isn’t the best way to drive home your point that the guy is an asshat.

Tucker Max is a blogger-turned-author-turned-movie-producer who’s basically famous for drinking to obliteration and having sex with girls whom he later savages in graphic detail on his site, TuckerMax.com.

This reminds me of all those SWPL chicks who infest the blogworld claiming, every time they stumble across a game related blog, that chicks don’t really want assholes, and that insisting they do is just men making excuses for wanting to treat girls like shit. Yet here we see Suzy S. willingly fucking a guy she admits “savages” women on his blog.

You get what you give, ladies. Give your pussies to assholes, you’ll get nothing but assholes in return.

By the way, I am a huge proponent of asshole game for the reason that, in my observation and in the observation of men who aren’t satisfied with banging beta-settling fatties and fuglies, most women of fuckable quality (i.e. higher than 6, lower than BMI 23, and under 30) respond Pavlovian-like to assholes. And I kinda enjoy being an asshole sometimes.

It was a Monday night, about a quarter to 11, and I was watching TV with my roommates. I’d asked a few people to go out but no one was feeling up to it. Then, I got a text from my friend Steph: “If you want to meet Tucker Max, come to Cafe 210.”

I was a longtime fan and I’d been dying to meet him, so I got dressed as fast as I could and ran out the door. It was only the second week in school, and in my apartment I was already getting teased for my promiscuity. My roommates laughed as I left and told me to make sure to bring him back! “Yeah, like I’m gonna have sex with Tucker Max,” I thought.

Maxim #26: If a woman says the word “sex” in conversation with you or about you, no matter the context, it means she’s thinking about having sex with you.

I was expecting a huge line at the bar, but when I showed up, it was totally dead. I asked the bouncers if they’d heard anything about Tucker Max coming there. “I hope not,” one of them replied. Inside, I found some of my friends and some girls who were clearly Tucker’s tour groupies assembled. We waited a little while, and just when I thought he wouldn’t show, Tucker finally arrived.

“And then a seismic tremor swept through my san vaginus fault!”

Immediately a drunk girl latched onto him, hugging and kissing and falling all over him. She was cute, and I was just about to sigh, “Well, he’s already got his hook-up tonight,” when my friend Rosie snarled, “That’s pathetic. Who wants to be that girl?”

Maxim #27: Pussies are more pliable in the company of competing pussy.

Game tip: You’ll improve your odds of scoring by attending events that feature male celebrities. Counterintuitive? Maybe, but here’s what happens. The celebrity can only take home at most a handful of girls in attendance. The rest will be left with their meatflaps quivering for cock. A roomful of horny chicks, jealous and lubricated, is easier pickings than a roomful of egotastic bitches with sandpaper between their legs.

Regardless, we worked our way into the crowd surrounding Tucker, until we were face to face with him. I shook his hand, and told him I was a huge fan. His response? “Will you f–k a virgin?”

Tucker Max has tight cocky/funny asshole game.

“Yeah,” I said, “I’ll f–k anyone.” Big mistake.

This is the female verbal equivalent of parting her pussy lips and inserting a speculum for ease of access.

Tucked yelled for his friends to go get some kid, apparently the aforementioned virgin, because he’d “got one” for him.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I interrupted. “Is he cute?”

“No,” said Tucker. “He’s fat.”

I replied that I had standards; Tucker replied that I was a whore.

Naturally, Max’s minor celebrity status allows him to get away with stuff that a typical beta couldn’t. But then I’ve seen plenty of non-famous guys playfully call girls whores and watched as their eyes lit up with lust. If the typical beta first achieves the goal of ridding himself of bad habits that betray his low sexual status, he too will find that calling girls whores works like gangbusters.

Finally, Steph handed me her camera and suggested that Rosie and I ask to take a picture with him. We did, and this time, Tucker blatantly looked me up and down.

How many women’s mags (and men’s mags for that matter) advise men to be discreet about checking out the goods on a date? All of them? The truth is that making it obvious you’re checking out a girl is good game. The trick is to do it with a critical eye, instead of a drooling mouth.

“34 C?” Tucker asked.
“32 C,” I replied, “but good guess. What, are you trying to touch them or something?”
“Oh, I know I can touch them,” he said. “But I like to guess first.”

Here’s a question for my readers. In what context would “34 C?” work as an opener? Your answers will count towards your final score.

When I went back to sit with my friends, they’d been joined by a couple of Tucker’s tour guys. Eventually, the man himself showed up.

“So,” he asked, scooting in next to me. “Are you coming back with me tonight?”

I’m on the fence about describing this as Apocalypse Game. Max’s threshold for apocalyptic pussy prying is naturally lower than it would be for a man who isn’t enjoying a measure of fame.

I have two options. One: dignity. Two: a good story to tell later. So I snuck off and texted my best friend, Matt. Should I f–k Tucker Max? His response: You will be a GOD in my eyes.

Matt: Beta of the Month candidate.

It’s done. Around 1:30, I told Tucker that I would, in fact, go home with him. “Oh, I know,” he replied. “We have a cab waiting, let’s go.”

Han Solo game is getting overexposed.

We got into the cab with everyone at the bar waving and giving the thumbs up. The best part? I didn’t even know most of them.

Your parents must be proud.

Tucker took me back to the Hampton Inn where he was staying, showed me his tour bus (which was pretty sweet) and I met his dog, whom he talks to like an somebody’s aunt talking to a baby, except that he told him, “Say hello to the new slut!”

Some of the best sex I’ve ever had was with girls I utterly degraded.

Finally, in his room, he wasted no time getting completely naked. Like, no foreplay at all. Well, girls? Here’s everything you wanted to know about Tucker Max: His body is nice, but a little too hairy. He’s a great kisser. He screws like he’s jackhammering a sidewalk. I faked orgasm to get him to stop. After he was finished he told me we were going to do it again in the morning. Great! I should have gotten up and left, but then he wanted to chat.

What, no mention of his penis size? For a girl to write about banging an asshat celebrity and not mention anything about his dick, true or not, means one of two things:

  1. She enjoyed the jackhammering, her protestations to the contrary notwithstanding.
  2. She’s totally OK with being used like a convenient receptacle.

I agree with Max and Roosh that there’s no reason to concern yourself with giving the girl an orgasm, particularly if you intend the girl to be nothing more than a one night stand. If you’re alpha enough, she’ll happily go on banging you no matter how sexually unsatisfied she remains. Only milquetoast betas with high-pitched womanly voices like A.J. Jacobs (who was on the Elliot in the Morning radio show today talking about his article which I excoriated) tenderly and diligently work to assure their lovers’ orgasms until their tongues go numb.

We talked about normal things, like how he eventually wanted to get married and have kids, which was a shock.

I like to tell cheap lays that one day I plan to open an orphanage in Calcutta, because I have so much love to give.

He said that he wasn’t interested in being in relationships, and I told him I liked being in them, at which point he totally misunderstood me and proceeded to tell me that we couldn’t date.

At which point she wanted to date him even more.

“You’re not a real person,” I replied, by way of explanation. I also told him about this guy I was kind of hung up on and he was surprisingly nice and insightful, telling me that I was a cute girl and that I shouldn’t pin my hopes on some dude at my age.


Has there ever been a better advertisement for being an asshole to get what you want from girls than the things girls tell their asshole lovers the morning after? Hey, dude, if you’re reading this, your angel was jackhammered by Tucker Max. No need to treat her to dates. A little grabass in the bar and a beeline to your futon should do the trick.

The next day, he woke me up for sex, as promised. It was worse, because he was panting this time, and when he was putting his clothes on, he farted loudly, multiple times. I called a cab, and he gave me 20 bucks for the cab which I gladly took. (Hey, I’m in college.) He hugged me and said, “I’d totally hook up with you again. Call me if you’re ever in L.A.”

Secret society.

Eh. I think one episode of stunt sex is all I’ll ever need.

Translation: “Eh, I think one episode of hot sex is all I’ll ever get from him.”

(If you want to read Tucker’s account — which is slightly different from mine — you can read it here.)

In Tucker Max’s version of the pickup (which is amusingly, and unsurprisingly, much shorter than Suzy Semeneater’s) he describes her as being “very cute”. Here’s a pic of the girl:


Mmmm… nyah.

Writer and student Courtney A. attended Penn State University, where she accumulated lots of stories.

Any guy who marries this girl is a fool. Any guy who meets this girl and doesn’t fuck her on the first night is a fool.


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