Just to make a quick point, I’d like to point out that I do not, in fact, think I’m Tucker Maxx. Although I was partly inspired to actually take some of my whoreable stories public, I’m not nearly the asshole that guy is.
Not to say I don’t like him or his work—I bought the book and LOVED it. We have a copy of it on our mantle at the frat house…there’s a copy of The Bible and Neil Boortz’ “Somebody’s Gotta Say It” on the toilet, maybe we have our priorities mixed up a little. Or maybe not.
I don’t know the guy personally, so I won’t make character judgments. But, based on what I’ve read in his words, he’s able to pick up pretty much any chick he wants. If he goes out with the intention of getting laid, you better believe he’ll find some sloot willing to let him stick it in her butt.
Me? Not so much. Sure, I can go out and talk to girls. I can trade phone numbers and eventually even hook up. But I’ve never gone into a bar, found a person at random, and taken them home with me that night. Yet. My game just isn’t good enough. Yet. The one-night stands that I have are usually a little more organized. I’ll meet them off the internet or be introduced to them by a mutual friend. Otherwise, I have to work for every piece of ass I get like a slave picking cotton. Only I get a better reward. Maybe like those crazy fuckers that go up to Alaska and mine for gold. Or the guys on Swamp People that go out and wrestle alligators. Crazy fuckers. Whatever analogy you want to choose, it’s not fish in a barrel.
Another major difference between myself and Mr. Maxx is the fact that he uses his real name in all of his stories. I change EVERY name. On the off chance that this DOES get popular and people start reading it, I really don’t want my mother to find out about most of this. If she knew that I had become a phenomenon of some sort, she’d want to find out exactly what made me popular. She’d Google my name and a story with a name like, “You Can Pick Up Gonorrhea Off A Toilet Seat—If You Fuck on It!” would come up. How the fuck am I going to explain that one away?
It’s not just my mom I wouldn’t want finding out it’s me writing these, either. In about a year, I get out of the Navy and will be looking for a job. If a lot of people had heard of me once or twice at that point, I feel like the interview would go something like this:
Interviewer: So, Mr. Bojangles…? Is that how you say it? What do you know about computer networking?
Me: Close, it’s pronounced “Beaux-jange-uls”. I’ve received advanced military training in electronics and computers. I was responsible for ….
Whatever. This guy isn’t paying attention. He’s trying to remember where he’d heard the name before…”was it mentioned on a technical feedback report or something? No, we don’t have government contracts…where did I see this name before…..”
Interviewer: —That’s it! You’re the guy that wrote that story about fucking that disgustingly fat bitch in the pool!!! HA HA HA!!! Dude, I shit my fucking pants when I read that! Holy fuck!
Me: Ha, yeah, that’s me.
Interviewer: How did you FOLLOW THROUGH with that?!?!?! I mean, I had to stop fucking my wife after she had our third son. Bitch blew up like a fucking balloon. It’s all good though, I started watching a lot more Redtube. Plus, there’s this hot new secretary at the office I’ve been trying to bang out.
Me: Yeah? That’s pretty bad-ass, maybe I’ll get to meet her.
Interviewer: Fat chance, dumbass. No fucking way we have room for a sick mother-fucker like you.
The truth is, I’m not particularly proud of all my stories. But, I would tell these stories to my good friend Danny B (see his blog at DannyBsBlog.tumblr), and he convinced me that most of these were too fucking funny to keep private. Then again, I didn’t want strangers knowing it was ME in these. Would you want the free world knowing your mouth had been violated by a Scotsman? Or that you’d made out with a tranny? Or you banged a whale in its natural environment? I don’t think so.
The resolution was to change all the names in all the stories, my own being the most important. Danny said he would take help spread the word to people who that can stomach the stories, be my public interface, if you will. So, here we are.
Lesson Learned: T-Maxx is an inspiring author with a lot less fear and a lot more game than me. Also, I’m not nearly the asshole that he is.