Assholes Finish First (16 page)

Nils “Did you get my message? I am in Milwaukee with my girlfriend… and there is a midget convention in town this weekend.”

Tucker “I got your fucking message. Come on man, stop playing.”

Nils “Tucker, I am DEAD serious. They are everywhere. It’s like the circus and
The Wizard of Oz
are in town at the same time. I swear on our friendship there are hundreds of midgets here.”

[
10 second pause
]

Tucker “I’m on the next flight.”

It took me about 40 seconds to throw clothes into a duffel bag and another 20 seconds to sprint out the door and onto Park Avenue. I was in a cab to LaGuardia within one minute of getting the call. The TV and lights in my apartment were still on, I’d left a steak thawing in the sink, and I was still covered in gym sweat.

In the cab, I was so excited I nearly hyperventilated. I called all my best friends and screamed incoherent gibberish about sex with little people. The call to Junior was the best:

Junior “What is wrong with you? Why not just get a midget hooker and be done with it?”

Tucker “Junior, if you buy Dwight Gooden’s World Series ring off eBay, that doesn’t mean that you were on the ’86 Mets. Some things you can only claim if you earn them. MIDGET PUSSY, HERE I COME!”

Junior “I will never understand you.”

I was more excited about this than I was when my book hit the
New York Times
best-seller list. I felt like a six year old at Disneyland on the night before Christmas.

At the airport, in line for my ticket, I was forced to fly Midwest Airlines because they are the only airline that cares enough about Milwaukee to fly there. A very nice, very Midwestern couple was in front of me. The man’s shirt had a picture of cheese on it.

Tucker “You guys going to Milwaukee?”

Guy “Yes sir, heading home after a vacation.”

Tucker “Did you know there are midgets in Milwaukee right now?”

The man and his wife were silent and confused.

Tucker “HUNDREDS OF THEM!”

They turned around and mumbled something about crazy New Yorkers. Whatever, they’ve never fucked a midget, they don’t matter.

The flight was nearly intolerable, because my mind was spinning with questions: What are their daily lives like? Do they get to live in those cool handicapped apartments with the really low door handles and counters? Since their arms are too short to reach their crotches, how do they wipe? Or masturbate?

What is the etiquette for dealing with them? Are you allowed to hold them like a football? Or drape them over your shoulder like a fire hose? When you hug them, can you hold them tight like a teddy bear and promise to pet them and love them? When she’s riding me, can I spin her like a top?

I was in Milwaukee by 10pm. My buddy Soylent picked me up, and we were at the Hilton hotel bar by 11pm. Upon seeing my first gaggle of midgets, I almost shit myself.

There were six of them, sitting at a table, drinking just like normal people, their tiny little legs barely hanging over the seats, tiny little feet dangling like a toddler’s. Their Miller Lite bottles looked massive as they gripped them with both their tiny little hands. Their humongous brow ridges were raised in excitement on their enormous foreheads, as they laughed at tiny little jokes.

Tucker “You know CPR, right? I think my heart might explode.”

Soylent “You are so fucking weird.”

Then I saw her: my MidgetPrincess. Her blond hair and sparkling blue eyes made me think of Gwyneth Paltrow. Her missing neck and bowlegs gave me an idea what Gwyneth would look like if she were placed in a vise and squished to one-quarter size.

As she glided past my table on pigeon-toed feet, I slid low in my chair, hoping to catch her eye. She looked at me and smiled, her mashed-up teeth sparkling in the oily light of the popcorn machine. I gave her an unmistakable “I want to fuck you” look, she shot me back a quick “my spine hurts” face, and I was smitten.

I started planning out how I was going to hit on her, but much to my dismay, I found myself feeling something I had not felt in so long I didn’t recognize it at first: nervousness. What the fuck? I literally couldn’t remember the last time I was nervous around a girl. Is this what it’s like to be an average guy? This sucks.

Every time I tried to talk to one of the midgets I would start giggling and sweating; it was fucking ridiculous and comical. I felt like a middle schooler who’d snuck into his sister’s college party. Eventually, Soylent—who thinks he’s better than me because he isn’t obsessed with fucking a midget—had to take over and get us in with them.

I think the midgets took a liking to Soylent because he is barely taller than they are and he looks exactly like Gimli the dwarf from the
Lord of the Rings
movies. Within minutes we were sitting with the little people. Midget-Princess was at the table, and even though I’d only had like five beers, the room was spinning around her. I would talk, but I couldn’t hear the words coming out of my mouth. She would answer back, and it sounded like a chorus of tiny little angels. Is this what love is like? If so, I might have to try it.

Then it happened:

Soylent “So, what’s up tonight at the Chocolate Factory? Any cool parties?”

MaleMidget “Oh, dude, you should come with us upstairs. It’s the last night of the LP [Little Person] convention, there is a big dance on the fifth floor.”

Tucker “Don’t play with me. If you are lying about this, I don’t think I could handle it.”

MaleMidget [
looking at me like I’m a weirdo
] “No dude. It should be fun. Everyone is up there. Let’s go.”

I ask you to put yourself in the following situation and see what your reaction would be:

Go to a hotel. Hit the button for the elevator. Take note of the step stool sitting underneath the button panel. There is a back scratcher tethered to the stool. On the wall above the stool is a note:
PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE STOOL
. Ride the elevator up to the fifth floor. Walk out into the hallway, and do a double take at the FLEET of Rascal scooters in the ballroom lobby. (Rascals are those red motorized scooters that you always see old people on in the grocery store.) You might first think you stumbled into a geriatric convention, but you study the people on the Rascals and realize something:

Their feet are dangling. They are all midgets! MIDGETS ON RASCALS!!!

Reeling from this discovery, you head into the ballroom and see approximately FOUR HUNDRED MIDGETS!!! ALL OF THEM ARE DANCING TO BABY HUEY!!! AND THEY ARE POPPING AND LOCKING!

I repeat: HUNDREDS OF MIDGETS ARE POPPING AND LOCKING!!!

What would you do? WHAT WOULD YOU DO???

I got a massive erection.

As much as I would love to tell you a really cool story about how I spent the next hour hitting on all the hot midgets, dancing with them, doing tiny little body shots off tiny little bodies, and tossing midgets all around the hotel… I can’t, because nothing like that happened.

Basically, I just sat there, vacant as a lobotomy patient, staring at the midgets, in utter disbelief at the scene unfolding before me—it was complete midget overload. Six midgets at a table had me nearly catatonic; you can only imagine what 400 dancing midgets did. And when I saw the two midgets slow dancing, but the midget guy was so short that the midget girl had to kneel to dance with him, I was done.

I am honestly not sure how the next part progressed, but I do know for damn sure I had nothing to do with it. One moment I was sitting at a table in the ballroom, staring in utter disbelief at the midget dance party in front of me. The next moment I was part of a group walking toward the elevator. That group was me, Nils, Soylent, our female friend Jessie… and three midgets, one female and two male.

Tucker [
whispering
] “Jessie, there are three midgets with us.”

Jessie [
normal voice
] “I know, I invited them. I think the girl will fuck you.”

Tucker [
still whispering
] “If she does, I will name all my illegitimate daughters after you.”

The elevator ride was awesome.

Soylent [
to one of the male midgets with us
] “So, you like midget girls or normal girls?”

Midget “Fuck that midget shit, man. I want me a BIG girl!” [
Pointing at Jess
] “Soylent, you think you could set me up with some pussy?!”

Soylent “Goddamn man, what do you think, I’m running a midget convention whorehouse special? I’m not fucking her, you are welcome to knock yourself out trying, fucker!”

Tucker “Hey man, can you talk to dolphins and pilot whales with that huge forehead of yours?”

DolphinMidget “Fuck you, asshole! Did you come here with Jessie, because I’m gonna fuck her in front of you!”

Tucker “EEK EEK EEK! That’s dolphin for ‘I’m sorry.’ But you already knew that.”

DolphinMidget “Hey, you guys wanna smoke some rock? I got a connection in Milwaukee, this taxi driver. I’m gonna call him in a minute.”

Did a midget just ask me if I wanna smoke some crack with him? I had to pinch myself to see if I was in a dream. Not only are there midgets, there are midget crackheads too? How many times in one night can I think to myself, “This is too good to be true?”

At the hotel bar, Jessie started to go to work on my MidgetPrincess. Jessie was pimping me so hard, she was doing everything but smacking me up for having short money. Being pimped by a girl to another girl is pretty much the optimal situation for a guy, so I did the best thing I could do: shut the fuck up, smiled at MidgetPrincess when she looked at me, bought everyone beer, and let it all play out. When you have a girl running game for you, the more you speak, the greater the chance you’ll fuck it up. Be quiet and let the girl do the work. Women trust women, not men, so the less you interfere—the
less
game you run—the better. Sounds counterintuitive, illogical, and borderline retarded? Welcome to women, enjoy your stay.

At one point, DolphinMidget accosts Jessie when she is in the women’s bathroom.

DolphinMidget “Hey, baby… wanna get down?”

Jessie “Uhhh, no.”

DolphinMidget “IT’S ’CAUSE YOU HATE MIDGETS, ISN’T IT?!”

Though she did not fuck him, Jessie found out the answer to a question we all had. She came back from the bathroom giggling.

Jessie “I just saw him pee! He pulled his junk out of his pants, and laid across the toilet sideways. It was awesome!”

When I got beers for all of us, I discovered something mildly amusing about Milwaukee. If you are ever there, order a Budweiser. Seriously, people FLIP OUT at you. I was confused at first, until it was explained to me: The city of Milwaukee is basically owned by Miller Brewing Company, and of course their big rival is Bud, presumably because they are located in St. Louis. Hey, Milwaukeeans, I’m going to let you in on a little secret: Bud, MGD, Bud Light, Miller Lite—it’s all shitty beer. No one cares except fat-assed cow town hicks like you. Get over it and focus on something important, like why you’re out of breath when you go from the La-Z-Boy to the kitchen.

At closing time, the whole crew—three midgets included—came back with us to Soylent’s place to party. As we crossed the street, several cars zoomed past, so I reached down to hold the hand of MidgetPrincess—you know, because I’m a gentleman and shit.

She reached up to grab my hand, but hers was too small to grasp mine… so instead she wrapped her entire palm and Jimmy Dean sausage fingers around just my pinky.

I’m going to pause here so the visual can sink in. Me crossing the street with a hot midget. Holding my pinky. With her whole hand.

A few minutes later in the elevator, MidgetPrincess grabbed my butt.

MidgetPrincess “Damn, you got a fine ass.”

Tucker “I do Pilates.”

MidgetPrincess “Do you really? I bet you are good in bed.”

There isn’t a better opening than that. Did I come back with a smooth line? Did I woo and charm her, sealing the deal with a suave and debonair retort?

Tucker “I wanna make a mess in your mouth.”

That’s what I said. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know. Thank God she thought it was funny, because if she had been offended and left, I am pretty sure I would have slit my wrists with the closest sharp edge I could find (and for the record, I have never done Pilates, I’m not really even sure what they are).

We got into Soylent’s apartment, she pulled me into his bedroom, and we started fucking. See, this is why you need good friends. In fact, this should be one of the measures of how good a friendship is: Will your buddy let you fuck a midget in his bed? If the answer is yes, then you know that dude is solid.

Clothes off, I slid right in. Her pussy was not very tight, in fact, it basically felt normal. First question answered.

One of my favorite positions is me on top with the girl’s legs over my shoulders. I like that position because it gives my dick a more direct line of entry and, if I position my hips right, I hit the girl’s G-spot in the process. For the most part, I am all about myself in bed, but if everyone can win, why not go with that? Plus, when her legs are over your shoulders, you control everything going on, and I’m a big fan of dominance.

After a few minutes of missionary, I moved to throw her legs over my shoulders. Normally when I do this, the girl’s knees are over my shoulders and her lower legs are either in the air or resting on my back, depending on how I hit it. It went different with MidgetPrincess. I grabbed her legs,
pushed them up on my shoulders, but instead of having her knees next to my ears, her feet were next to my cheeks and a few of her toes went into my mouth. Yes her legs were completely straight.

This was a bit disturbing, to say the least. About ten seconds later, she made me stop because I was hurting her. Even though her pussy was a normal width, it was much shallower than the average pussy, and with her legs on my chest (and her toes in my mouth), the head of my dick was smashing into her cervix like a pneumatic hammer. I won’t lie, I was kinda disappointed, although I should’ve been prepared for it. I was trying to go scuba diving in a puddle, when all I really needed was a snorkel. Second question answered.