Assholes Finish First Read Online Free Page B

City:
    SlingBlade “You are safe to go back to sleep. Tucker has been bested and the bullhorn problem is taken care of. I repeat, the bullhorn problem has been taken care of.”
    DukeCop “Hey! That means you too. NO ONE gets to use it again. If I have to come back, you’re all getting arrested.”
    As I started to go back to my RV, head hung low in shame, I could faintly hear someone yell out from deep within Tent City:
    “I guess the man got beat! WOOO!”
    Motherfucker. Even ten years later, it still upsets me that my reign as conquerer lasted only a single night. I had so many people left to insult and piss off.
    It’s OK, though, I got the last laugh. In the intervening years, my notoriety has made it so that all those people who were there, when they tell other people where they went to school, invariably have to answer this question, “You went to Duke? Did you know Tucker Max?”
    I may have lost the battle, but I won the war.

T HE S EX S TORIES , P ART 2
    I had a section of stories in
I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell
called “The Sex Stories.” This is how I introduced them:
    “The pen may be mightier than the sword, but I have found that the vagina is stronger than both. No matter what happens to me, no matter how many girls vomit on me or shit on me or screw me over, I keep hooking up with all kinds of women, seemingly without regard for the repercussions.”
    Pretty much every word of that still holds true. Here are some more of my funnier short stories that revolve around hooking up:
    W HOREDENTIFICATION
    Occurred—November 2002
    One night out I get drunk and meet this girl. She seems only mildly into me, so I repeatedly tell her she shouldn’t flirt with me. Of course she takes the bait, I play even more coy, the whole time we’re drinking… you know how this ends:
    With us eating each other’s faces at the bar, while everyone else gets disgusted and leaves.
    The rest of the night is a standard drunk blur. I wake up in my bed, sticky and sore, with her next to me. She looked QUITE A BIT better last night. I am honestly baffled as to how a woman can put on 30 pounds in one night of sleep.
    I make myself some cereal and realize I can’t remember her name at all (granted, it usually doesn’t matter to me, but for some reason at the time I really wanted to get her name right). I rack my brain and genius strikes: Check her purse.
    I find it on the sofa in the living room. I pull out the wallet, casually look into the side pocket, see $80, consider stealing it, but don’t. I feel like taking her money AND her soul is not cool. One or the other.
    I pull out her license. Her name is Stacey. Never would have guessed Stacey. Weight, 110? Yeah. During the Reagan administration. And goddamn, she kinda looks hot here. She’s the first person I’ve ever met who looks
better
in her driver’s license picture.
    I put the wallet back in her purse and go back to eating my cereal and watching Springer. She eventually comes out of my room, looking like she got run over by the cum truck.
    Tucker “Clearly
Sleeping Beauty
isn’t your favorite fairy tale.”
    Stacey “You were funnier last night.”
    Tucker “Well, Stacey, that is one of the main reasons people drink.”
    Stacey “What? Who is Stacey?”
    Tucker “Uhhh… that would be you. Stacey.”
    Stacey “My name is NOT Stacey!”
    Tucker “OK… and my name isn’t Tucker Max.”
    Stacey “Uhhh… Yes, it is. You showed me your stupid fucking website last night, your name was all over it.”
    Tucker “Well, Stacey is the name on your driver’s license.”
    She looks at me with an expression that can only be described as “utter contempt.” She walks into my room and from next to my bed, picks up a completely different purse, one I had not seen, digs through it, finds her wallet, and throws a driver’s license at me. The name on the license is Jennifer, and the picture looks like the angry Yeti standing in front of me. I’m so confused.
    Tucker