Assholes Finish First (6 page)

When I was living in Chicago, this one girl was so into me she paid for my ticket to come see her in Atlanta for a weekend. She was a cute Southern girl but probably needed to realize that her metabolism wasn’t the same as in college and she couldn’t drink five nights a week anymore. But, hey—free trip to Atlanta!

She picked me up outside security at Hartsfield, holding a sign that said
SEXIEST MAN ON EARTH
. When we got to her car, she threw me the keys.

Tucker “You want me to drive?”

Girl “Well, I have something for you, and I can’t give it to you if I have to focus on driving.”

I’ve seen this movie many times before, but it’s a classic, and very rewatchable.

We weren’t even out of the parking structure before she has her face in my crotch. The best part was that she didn’t stop when I pulled up to the pay booth. The second-best part was the lady working the booth glanced down, barely raised an eyebrow, and calmly gave me my change. Nothing shocks old black women.

I should have told her that I hadn’t showered in like two days (long story) and had swamp ass from sitting in a middle seat on a hot plane for three hours, but whatever. You play crotch roulette, you’re gonna hit double zero once in a while. Plus, she was wearing one of those
WHAT WOULD JESUS DO
bracelets. I kept thinking, Jesus would have used less teeth and worked the balls.

We get on the highway to where she lives to the north of downtown, and it’s rush hour on a Friday. If you know anything about Atlanta, you are laughing right now. If you don’t, let me explain: The I-75/85 corridor runs through the middle of Atlanta. Without traffic, it’s a 15 minute drive across the city. It’s NEVER without traffic. In fact, that section of road has some of the heaviest and most persistent traffic in America.

I’m not a patient driver. I could give you a hundred examples of my road rage, but perhaps the most telling is that on a weekly basis, my dog crawls to the back of my SUV, cowers and gives me her pitiful face, because she thinks my yelling at the idiot drivers is directed at her. Poor Murph.

So here I am, navigating the most aggravating stretch of road in America, getting a nice relaxing blowjob. Who is going to win this battle? Road or Head? It’s like Road Head Thunderdome: TWO MEN ENTER, ONE MAN LEAVES!

Start-and-stop traffic at 5 miles per hour on a 12 lane highway was hard enough. Being cut off by shithead drivers multiple times made it much harder. Still, I maintained my calm. But the accident that was already off to the side, yet still causing delays because ALL THOSE FUCKING RUBBERNECKERS WON’T JUST FUCKING DRIVE… that was too much for me. The road won. Despite the efforts of the hardworking lips on my dick, I got so angry I forgot I was getting road head.

I gunned the accelerator and swerved violently to get around the rubbernecker in front of me. As I did this, I lurched forward in the seat, pushing the girls’ face into the steering wheel as I yanked on it, and I heard an awful screeching squeak—sort of like the sound flesh makes when rubbed against hard plastic.

Girl “OWWW! That hurt!”

She popped up from my lap, and I started laughing so hard, I forgot my road rage.

Girl “What’s so funny!?!”

I managed to point to it in between fits of laughter, and she twisted the rearview mirror so she could see herself.

Girl “Oh my God! We are supposed to go out with my friends!”

On her right cheekbone was a huge, shiny red friction burn.

It was bad. Like, so bad her concealer didn’t even work. The next morning it had a nasty yellow scab on it, like a severe rug burn. She was so distressed about this we stayed in all weekend.

Good thing, too. She was much chunkier than the pics she sent me, which is fine for fucking in private but not so much for going out in public.

I’
M A
Z
IT
, G
ET
I
T
?

Occurred—July 2005

One time in Chicago, I was at a bar watching some complete tool try to hit on a cute girl. He could not have been any more of a douche if his chest cavity was filled with vinegar and had a plastic nozzle sticking out of his head. He was like an Axe Body Spray commercial, but without the plot or character development. It was obvious she was not into him, so I tried to see if I could flip his failure into my success.

Tucker “Hey, dude, I have a bet with my friend. Could you help me out?”

Douche “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

Tucker “Exactly how many shirtless pics do you have on your MySpace page? The over/under is 10.”

She cracked up laughing. I went in for the kill.

Tucker “Don’t worry about it dude, I’m sure you’ll make a Porsche dealership very happy when you turn 40.”

I stood between him and her, smiled at her, and ordered beers for her and myself.

Tucker “Sorry, you might be disappointed by me. I don’t think I have his game.”

Girl “You’re doing OK so far.”

He left, and it was pretty much cruise control from there. A few hours of drinking, a few goofy jokes (“I like it when girls say harder, but not when they say deeper” and “I had a dream that I was in a horrific plane crash, and when I woke up I had an erection”), and we were back at my place.

We started making out, then foreplay, then got down to business. She told me she likes it from behind, so I flipped her over and slid it in. As I was fucking her doggy-style, I reached down to grab her hair—for romance and leverage—and as I did so, I looked down at her back and noticed something so shocking it almost took my breath away:

Right there, in the middle of her back, was the biggest zit I’d ever seen in my life.

It was astonishing. Like looking at the snow-capped peak of Mount Fuji from a plane. I couldn’t get over it. I was so distracted by the fact that this cute, otherwise clear-skinned girl had this single, massive carbuncle on her back, I actually forgot I was fucking her.

Girl “Tucker, are you OK? Why’d you stop?”

Tucker “Oh, sorry. I was… uh… thinking about… um… butterflies?”

She kinda made this weird face so I pushed her head back down, thrust myself back into her, and refocused on fucking.

I kept pushing into her and tried to avoid it, but I just could not get this epic boil out of my mind. I looked around the room for anything else I could focus on, but sadly, I am something of an ascetic in terms of home decoration, and there was literally nothing else in my room to distract me. Trying to count the number of kernels on a popcorn ceiling can keep you occupied for only so long. And it could not compete with the siren’s call beckoning my eyes back to that cyst’s craggy shoals.

Eventually, I could resist no longer. I looked down, and it was still there—staring at me, mocking me, daring me to have the courage to do what must be done. I held off as long as I could. I even tried to make myself cum so I could get away from it, but I didn’t have the dick discipline to pull it off.

I finally just said fuck it and gave in. Knowing I would have only one shot at this, I grabbed the zit and squeezed with all my might.

Girl “OW! That hurts!”

I squeezed the zit so hard, and there was so much pus, it exploded out with such force that the pus HIT ME IN THE CHEST!!

Here’s the strangest thing: I wasn’t grossed out. At all.

In fact, this weird sense of accomplishment and satisfaction came over me, like I had just set right a grave wrong. That zit had been camping out on her back, fucking up the property values for all the nice clean pores around it, stealing her body’s resources to make pus, and I just broke up its criminal enterprise. I had done a legitimately good deed and I was kinda proud of myself.

And nothing was going to convince me otherwise, not even her histrionic yelling.

H
EAD
D
OCTOR

Occurred—April 2007

When I lived in NYC, I came home from a night of drinking and called one of my semi-regular booty calls. I didn’t really like her personality, but it was late and I was horny… so, you know.

She was asleep, but I convinced her to come over by telling her something romantic like, “You’re my number one dick sucker.” I started watching TV while I waited, but the liquor was strong, and I was tired… fading, fading, fading.

I woke up the next morning to 8 new messages on my voice mail:

Message 1, 3:21am [
excited
]: “Tucker, I’m downstairs, come down.”

Message 2, 3:25am [
anxious
]: “Tucker, I’m here! This isn’t funny, you need to come down here right now, hurry up, it’s cold and rainy!”

Message 3, 3:29am [
angry
]: “I hate you so much. Answer the fucking door, you asshole. I know you’re there, stop playing this stupid game with me! Come down here and get me!”

Message 4, 3:35am [
confused
]: “I cannot believe you are doing this to me. I don’t know what I did or why you are acting like this. Tucker, please, PLEASE just answer the door. It’s cold and raining, this isn’t funny anymore, please just come down and get me, I’m sorry I yelled, but just come get me.”

Message 5, 3:39am [
exasperated
]: “YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! I spent the last cash I had on the cab coming over
here, now I have to walk back home IN THE FUCKING RAIN. You don’t even care, you fucking asshole, I cannot believe you are fucking doing this. I HATE YOU!”

Message 6, 3:45am [
serious anger
]: “I am completely disgusted with you. I can’t believe you would do this to me. I cannot believe it. You are such a fucking prick. I am so fucking pissed off right now. I hate you so fucking much.”

Message 7, 4:08am [
sobbing
]: “Why would you do this, Tucker? What did I do? Why would you be so mean to me? I love you so much, and you treat me like this? Why? How could you do this to me? I just… I can’t understand it at all.”

Message 8, 4:19am [
hurt
]: “I’m back home. I don’t know what happened or why you did that. I just wish you had let me in. Well… call me tomorrow I guess, I still want to see you.”

I called her the next day. Normally, I wouldn’t want to deal with all of this drama, but she is a Head Doctor. She has honed her craft to an art form, and one does not discard a dick-sucking artist lightly. Take note, ladies.

E
ARTH
F
IRST

Occurred—April 2010

As I was finishing this book, I lived in Austin, Texas (I still live there, actually), and one of the girls I was fucking was really sweet and nice but ridiculously crunchy. She liked to say she was “environmentally conscious.” OK honey, fine, but when you’re recycling your own poop to use as fertilizer in your garden, that crosses the line from “environmentalist” to “crazy
hippie.” Fortunately she was hot and fun (and she introduced me to the best new liquor I’ve had in ten years, Deep Eddy Sweet Tea Vodka), so I kept fucking her.

To her, I was like her naughty vacation sex. All her friends hated me, so by being with me she felt like she was transgressing. Of course, this didn’t bother me at all, because her friends were those annoying pretentious fucks who think that being vegan makes them better than everyone else. Tell it to the cow who died for the leather seats in your Lexus, you fucking hypocrite. At least I have enough respect for the animal to eat the resulting ribeyes.

She always wanted me to go with her on hikes to see some collection of rocks or look at some old tree. Normally, I would rather jump ass-first into a dildo factory than do that shit, but my dog Murph loves hiking, so I would bring my goofy pup and go with her.

One day she took me to some park that must have been extra full of nature or something, because she was super horny. I’m always horny, so once we got a little ways down the trail, I grabbed her, pulled her about two feet off the trail—you know, for privacy—and started to take her pants off.

EarthGirl “No, we can’t, I’m on my period.”

Tucker “So? Shouldn’t you be into that? It’s natural and shit.”

EarthGirl “No! That’s gross!”

I just pushed her head down to my crotch, and since she loved that, we were on. The key to being good at fellatio is not skill; anyone can watch a decent porn and figure out the proper technique. The key is enthusiasm, and this girl LOVED sucking my dick. As she got more into it, she adjusted so that her crotch was on my shin and she could rub her clit back and forth as she sucked me off. This got her more excited, which made her better at head, which turned me on more, and so on, creating this awesome positive-feedback loop. But after about five minutes of this, she’d had enough.

EarthGirl “Bend me over and fuck the shit out of me.”

She pushed her shorts to her ankles and started to pull me inside her. She remembered before me:

EarthGirl “Oh, wait.”

She pulled out the tampon and flung it on the ground. Thank God; I’ve already done the “fuck a girl with a tampon inside her” thing. It’s not fun.

Tucker “But… what about the environment?”

I don’t think she was listening to me anymore as she yanked me inside of her. In nature’s ultimate bitch fight, Mons Venus trumped Mother Earth.

We finished up and got dressed. She picked up a leaf, found the tampon—the one she pulled out of herself with her pussy blood all over it—wrapped it up in the leaf, then put the period burrito in her pocket.

Tucker “What are you doing?”

EarthGirl “I can’t leave that out here.”

Tucker “You can’t put it in your pocket either. It’s a used tampon.”

EarthGirl “That’s littering!”

Tucker “You’re kidding, right? It’s just cotton and blood. That’s how they made South Carolina!”

EarthGirl “No.” [
in her most indignant tone of voice
] “I leave the Earth like I found it.”

[
Long pause
]

Tucker “I can’t believe I’m fucking you.”

T
HE
C
APITOL
C
ITY
C
LOWN
C
RAWL