Tucker [as I point out my open window] “If you want to meet my friends, you are going to do it naked.”
Talk about a priceless facial expression.
FatGirl “WHY DID YOU DO THAT?”
Tucker “You can either go out the window after your clothes, or you can run out the front door and go get them. It’s dark out. No one will see you. Or you can meet my friends naked.”
She stood there in shock for a good ten seconds. Not about to lose my momentum, I quietly opened the door to my room and pointed to the front door. She looked out the window, and even though I am on the first floor, I guess she didn’t like the idea of going through a window to get her clothes, so she jogged, lumbered, whatever, to the front door, opened it and ran out. I followed her and locked the door behind her.
Problem solved.
As I nonchalantly sat down in the living room, my roommates kinda stared at me in a surprised what-the-fuck manner, then they got up and went into my room.
Hate “Max, where is she?”
Tucker “She’s gone.”
Hate “Wha—how—where is she?”
Tucker “I hustled her right the fuck out. I’m not about to let you jackals see her.”
Hate “AHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA.”
Credit “I wondered what that stampede sound was.”
Postcript
I tell this story a lot, and people, girls especially, often ask me if I regret what I did. Well, first they get real mad at me and act like they are offended, but then they ask me if I regret it. In a way I do; it was kinda mean. But I was only like 23 when it happened; what do you expect from me? Compassion? Caring? Should I have just invited her out to meet my friends and stay for a nightcap? Yeah, I guess that’s what most guys would have done. And that’s why most guys are hard-up schmucks who couldn’t get laid in a monkey whorehouse with a bag of bananas.
What really cracks me up is when girls ask me if I’d do something like this again. Of course I wouldn’t. I already fucked a fat girl once, why would I do it again? That’s a stupid question.
I found out later that Credit and Hate came home early that night because they saw Carry and Amy out, and those two bitches told them I was home with FatGirl. The next day at law school was quite fun.
SlingBlade “Wait—you threw her clothes OUT your window? HAHHAHAHAHA. She must have been huge.”
Tucker “No, she wasn’t that fat. Just overweight.”
Credit “I don’t know Max. I thought we had rhinos in our apartment last night.”
PWJ “It was that bad?”
Hate “The floorboards were heaving and moaning.”
Credit “I think she drove off in a cattle car.”
Tucker “Whatever. As far as I am concerned, this never happened. If your friends didn’t see you, it doesn’t count. I’m invoking that rule to get out of this.”
JoJo “Then you haven’t hooked up with a girl from the website.”
PWJ “Carry and Amy saw you.”
I hate having smart friends. I guess that ends the debate: I fucked a fat girl on purpose.
THE NOW INFAMOUS TUCKER MAX CHARITY AUCTION DEBACLE
Occurred—Summer 2000
Written—September 2002
This is the complete and unadulterated story, as I can best remember it, behind my infamous summer with Fenwick and the “Tucker Max Charity Auction Debacle” email.
Let’s start from the beginning:
In May of 2000, my buddy SlingBlade and I drove out to Palo Alto to work as summer associates at a law firm called Fenwick & West. It was the summer between our second and third years of law school at Duke. The internet and tech boom was hitting its crescendo, and as we arrived in Silicon Valley, the NASDAQ was set to pass 5,000. Remember those days?
Almost immediately upon arrival, I realized that I HATED being a lawyer. My mental picture of what being a lawyer entailed did not include spending countless hours every day sitting in a lifeless office, surrounded by boring people, doing idiotic and ultimately meaningless paperwork. Unfortunately, that is all that a corporate lawyer does. When you are a lawyer, your job is to clean up the messes of others, to rubber stamp and make legal someone else’s real work, to essentially be a paper custodian for the people who actually do important things. The people at Yahoo and Cisco and Network Solutions (all our clients) actually did something; what did I do? Stupid, mindless, and utterly irrelevant bullshit. I was a junior paper monkey, and I hated every second of it. Honestly, I wish I could say it was the firm, I wish I could blame the people or the place, but that was not the case. I hated the very nature of the job. Being a lawyer SUCKS.
When I am bored or unhappy, my behavior becomes akin to an ADD-ravaged toddler until I find something to occupy me. The law firm and the work bored me; so what did I do? Did I endure the boredom and soldier on? Or better yet, did I find a productive output for my creativity, like I did with my website in law school?
No. I got drunk and acted like an asshole. Virtually every day, and especially at firm events where the liquor was free. If being a lawyer was not interesting, I was going to make it that way, goddamnit.
The first Friday I was there, the firm had an all-day orientation for the incoming summer associates. The night before, I got my roommate and myself into the SOMA magazine opening party in San Francisco, where I got completely shit-faced and went home with one of the models at the party (at least, she told me she was a model, but who really knows). When I woke up at 6am the next morning, in her house in Oakland, I realized that I had not carefully thought out the ramifications of this act. My firm is far from Oakland, and I had to be at work at 9am for the start of summer associate orientation.
First things first: I rooted around in her purse, noting the large supply of condoms, and found her driver’s license so when I woke her up, I’d know her name (it was one of those nights). She said she’d give me a ride, but she can’t take me to my place because it was in Mountain View (which is even further away from Oakland than Palo Alto), and she had to be somewhere at ten. That meant I had to wear the same clothes I wore out last night to work Friday. Not really a big deal, except there was liquor, vomit and piss (and probably other fluids) all over them.
Liquor is understandable, but vomit and piss? On the way to her house Thursday night, we had stopped at Jack-in-the-Box. Don’t ask me how she could eat that crap and still have such a good body…she wasn’t a plus-size model, so I guess she was bulimic.
Sitting in the drive-thru, the inhuman amounts of liquor I had consumed caught up to me, so I calmly got out of her car, walked behind a bush, and proceeded to vomit and piss at the same time. It is hard enough to keep from vomiting on yourself when you’re drunk; try doing it while also pissing. Whatever; I just put in a breath mint and hid the urine stains until they dried, and she still hooked up with me. Isn’t alcohol great?
I show up at orientation, stumbling drunk, eyes still bloodshot, smelling like a speakeasy. I somehow made it through without incident until after lunch, when they partnered us up with another summer associate and had us tell each other all kinds of things about ourselves, and then recite to everyone else in the room what we learned. I didn’t know what to say to the guy who was my partner, so I told him I was out all night, and I couldn’t see anything because my contacts had fallen out when I was hooking up with some random girl. He stood up and told this to everyone. I thought it was funny; the hiring partner did not. Whatever, if he can’t take a joke, fuck him.