by Amelia G : September 1st, 2008
So apparently, while I wasn’t paying attention, best-selling author Tucker Max challenged Nick Denton’s huge blogging empire’s flagship Gawker to a $10,000 bet over the likely domestic gross of his upcoming movie and Gawker declared Jihad on Tucker Max over everything. Not in that order.
Full disclosure: I have drunk beer with Tucker Max and I’ve shaken hands with one of the Rudius Media bloggers. I have partied in Vegas with large portions of the Gawker staff, enjoyed Gawker’s hospitality in Austin, and shaken hands with Nick Denton. I think it is fair to say that I don’t have a horse in this race because I genuinely like and enjoy the work of people in both camps.
Now, Fleshbot is the main Gawker blog I read with any regularity, although, given that I quoted ValleyWag earlier today, obviously it is not the only one I read. So I don’t know how I missed the Gawker flagship’s 20 entries this month about how much they loathe Tucker Max. I worried that I might be being too rough on Joshua Todd and Buckcherry earlier this week, but, damn, compared to Gawker, I am sweetness and light and the personification of all that is gentle.
I wrote a thing a while back where I praised Tucker Max’s writing and general brilliance, but I mentioned that he was coy in his stories about use of cocaine. Tucker Max is very sensitive to people having misimpressions of him and he explained to me that it was important to him that he was about hanging out with beer and hot chicks and not about hookers and blow and that he felt beer and hot chicks were more fun. I’ve …
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by Amelia G : March 15th, 2007
I would like to say that I was aware of Tucker Max long before he was ever in print. On account of how I’m such a spectacularly plugged-in girl on the interwebs. The truth is that there are massively high traffic sites which somehow never have audiences intersect. In actuality, I was stuck in the Phoenix airport when visiting my family and, strangely enough, the Phoenix airport actually has a pretty good Borders. Which even more strangely contained a book with a sleek black cover featuring a gentleman with an antisocial smirk holding, I believe, a bottle and a bottle blonde with her visage replaced with a Your Face Here sign. The title was the clever I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. I bought it along with a stack of noir novels.
Tucker Max’s I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell chronicles the author’s drunken and salacious exploits. He came of age as the offspring of a South Beach restauranteur. From his writing, I gather his taste thus unsurprisingly runs to big-titted blondes with fit but not skinny bodies. Mildly Southern demeanor potentially a plus. Too bad for him that his intelligence level is off-the-scale brilliant. Tucker Max has raised hitting on drunk human sluts to the art form, or perhaps sport, of a more advanced species.
He comes across to some reviewers as a misogynist. He does tend to refer to women as filthy whores and mention that they owe him a rib. The following excerpt from a tale of a horseracing tailgate party drinking contest is a pretty representative exchange from his book:
1:58: She raises the first shot and gives me a toast, “Give me chastity and give me continence – but …
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