The UT weekend
by: Tucker Max
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STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT. FUNNY AS HELL, BUT EXPLICIT.
It's a typical Thursday in my
life, noonish, I'm at the laundromat washing my filthy rags, when my cell phone
buzzes. It's my cousin, TheCousin, who goes to the University of Tennessee.
"Dude--Tucker--I've got tickets
to the UT-Miami game this weekend, AND it's Homecoming. You have to come down.
It's going to be awesome."
I need no other persuasion.
Check last minute flights to Knoxville: $1047. Looks like I'm driving.
The drive is no problem, until
I get about 60 miles from the Kentucky-Tennessee border. I stop at some low-rent
redneck place so I can pick up beer for the last hour of the drive. I want to
I had heard about "dry"
counties before, but they were still an abstract and foreign concept to me. I
thought of them as silly anachronisms from a long distant prohibitionist past,
something only found in the pages of National Geographic. I was wrong.
Evidently, every county along I-75 from Richmond, KY to the Tennessee border is
dry. THIS INFURIATED ME. I almost got into a fight with the redneck checkout
woman when she told me I have 40 more miles to go before I could buy liquor.
"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO ARRIVE
DRUNK IF YOU WON'T SELL ME LIQUOR?? WHAT KIND OF BARBARISM IS THIS??"
I stopped right across the
Tennessee border, excited by the sign that says "First Place to Buy Beer." But
at the gas station, there didn't appear to be any alcohol for sale. I inquire:
Tucker "Don't you sell
Attendant "No, we're too close
to a church."
Tucker "What? Didn't Jesus
Attendant "Yeah, well, 'round
here, ya gotta go-on down da road bout'a half mile, to da bar."
Driven by my need for libation,
I "go-on down da road bout'a half mile" and find, literally, a bar with a
drive-thru liquor store attached. But apparently, this wasn't enough. They had
firecrackers for sale, right there next to the beer, in the drive-thru liquor
store. I'll just pause here and let everyone make up their own redneck jokes.
I arrive at my cousin's
apartment, and it's a TV cliché of a college apartment; beer cans piled to the
ceiling, pubic hairs all over the sink, filthy underwear hanging from the lamps.
I go to get a beer from his fridge, and what does he have? Cans of "Country Club
Malt Liquor." Sometimes, I really do think that God hates me.
After enduring a few cans of
this ghetto swill, we head out to a line of bars that everyone in Knoxville
calls "The Strip." Typical college town with typical college bars, we pick one
and start the night.
Not ten minutes later, three
girls walk in--two are attractive, one is fat. My cousin tells me that one of
them has been sweating him for months. Which one? "The fat one."
I immediately walk over and
point out my cousin to Fatty, and she almost knocks me and a random girl over to
get to him and give him a hug. He gives me a look that can only be described as,
"I fucking hate you, and hope you immediately die an agonizing death."
The rest of the night saw two
dramas play out simultaneously: While my cousin tried to fend off the obvious
and painful advances of Fatty, on my side the two attractive girls were battling
to decide which one was going to hook up with me. It wasn't that I was so
incredibly charming they both wanted to fuck me or anything, it was far deeper
and less stroking to my ego. The 1st Law of Scarcity was at work; two of them
plus one of me equals my desirability increasing substantially. It was awesome.
They were being catty bitches to each other, each one trying to monopolize my
attention and push the other one out. It was like a bad episode of Elimidate.
Apparently, I didn't have much
of a say in the matter, but I was rooting for the short girl; she had the better
face, and seemed somewhat intelligent. My cousin saw what was going on, knew I
liked the short girl, knew I was drunk, and set the match to the gasoline:
TheCousin "Hey Tucker, you
know she's French, don't you?"
Tucker "Oh hell no--You're
Girl "My parents are, but I was
born here. I want to move to France after graduation."
Tucker "You fucking
cheese-eating surrender monkey. I thought someone stunk around here. So if I
start speaking German can I push you around and take all your stuff? Those hairy
fucking stink-bags would be speaking Kraut right now if it wasn't for us, and
they aren't the least bit appreciative. I hope they all fucking die, and your
frog-sympathizing ass with them."
That pretty much settled it: I
am going home with the tall one. The four of us head back to her apartment, and
as we walk in, she tells us to be quiet, because her roommate is sleeping, and
she is bipolar and will flip out. Telling me this, especially when I'm drunk, is
akin to letting a starving, rabid pit bull loose in a Montessori school.
"Give me and TheCousin ten
minutes with her; she'll be trying to hang herself with her pantyhose.
HEY--CRAZY! COME OUT HERE. I WANT TO POINT OUT YOUR FLAWS AND SHORTCOMINGS. I
BET YOUR DAD DOESN’T LOVE YOU, DOES HE?"
The tall girl and I eventually
go into the bedroom, leaving my cousin on the sofa to be devoured by Fatty.
During foreplay banter, tall girl makes a request:
Girl "Massage my forearm. It's
Tucker "Right. The only way I'm
doing that is if it’s a post-coital activity."
Girl "What? I don’t speak
Oh boy. It's a good thing I
This girl had a nose job, and
told me that she has to use Q-tips to get the boogers out of her nose, because
the surgery left her nostril holes too small for her fingers to get into. She
got mad when I tested this by trying to stick my fingers into her nose. By god,
she was right; I couldn't even get my pinky in there.
The great irony was ten minutes
later, when she told me that she was so poor growing up that there were times
when she and her mom ate only potatoes and peanut butter sandwiches. My
response, "I guess stripping really does pay sometimes, doesn’t it?" She got
mad, but hey, if she can't take a joke, fuck her.
I wake up the next morning and
find my cousin, naked, sheets wrapped clumsily around his torso, asleep on the
floor next to the sofa. Why the floor? Because Fatty was so big that both of
them couldn't fit on the sofa at the same time. I was in tears laughing at the
scene. We eventually leave, telling the girls lies about how we'll call them
later. As soon as we get outside, my cousin flips.
TheCousin "I cannot believe you
made me do that. It was awful. She said I was only the second person she’d ever
had sex with, which I don’t doubt, because honestly--who would want to have sex
with her? Except for people whose asshole cousin set them up with her, of
Tucker [I could barely get this
out between fits of laughter] "She had a hot face."
TheCousin "Oh yeah, asshole,
she’d be hot as hell if she wasn’t fat as fuck. Eat shit and die, you
Tucker "Well, at least she had
TheCousin "Yeah, that was the
best part. She thought she was hot because she had such big tits, but you didn’t
notice them because they were resting on her stomach. They were like bags of
I really hope his parents read
TheCousin is currently
finishing his undergraduate studies at the University of Tennessee because he
was kicked out of the Merchant Marine Academy. Why? He was on restriction, and
went off campus to get a sandwich. He'd gotten in so much trouble during his
four years there, that this was enough to get him kicked out--THREE DAYS BEFORE
HIS GRADUATION. Yes, he is obviously related to me.
TheCousin and I went back to
his place, and he took a shower, scrubbing himself like a rape victim. He had a
late English class that day, and I decided to tag along and see what it was
like. I went to public school in Kentucky, and I say this now with full
understanding of the meaning: That class, a 300-level class, was possibly the
biggest farce of education I have ever seen. I've heard 14-year-old meth-addicted
Thai prostitutes say more prescient things than the woman that was supposedly a
"professor." I had a hard time believing that this was a class. I wish I could
give you a recap of the conversation, but that would be like trying to recount
the disjointed ramblings of a senilic nursing home sewing circle. That "school"
is a joke. I would have learned more watching a Special Olympics spelling bee.
After class, my cousin showed
me around the campus. There were beautiful women everywhere. Wanting to test my
cousin's game, I dared him to approach a random girl and invite her to the
lacrosse party we were going to that night. He casually sauntered up to a
beautiful girl, used some dumbshit line, and she looked at him with such shock
and disgust I almost fell over laughing. She looked like a homeless person had
asked her to wash his ass. Of course, I wasn't helping much. I came up right
behind him and said, "Is he giving you that lacrosse party line? It doesn’t
exist. If you show up to that address, he's going to drag you into an alley and
beat and rape you."
My cousin wasn't that upset,
because he said that there would be plenty of lacrosse groupies at the party. He
calls them "lacrosse-stitutes."
The highlight of the campus
tour was when we came across this old guy standing on a corner with a megaphone,
preaching to everyone about the Bible and Jesus and what not. He had serious
mental problems, but was nonetheless hilarious. I loved him. He was castigating
and vilifying every attractive girl that walked by. I stopped for awhile to
provoke him. Some samples:
Me "What do you think about
Him "She will burn in the fires
of hell for her heresy! The Lord forbids such dress!"
Me "Hey man, what about her?
Look at her skirt man, that's pretty tempting."
Him "HARLOT! JEZEBEL! She is a
WHORE, WANTON IN HER DEBAUCHERY!!"
Me "Good Lord! Look at that
blonde girl. I'd sell my soul for her."
Him "DO NOT FALL VICTIM TO HER
TEMPTATION! She is a common prostitute, smeared with the paint of seduction,
flaunting her wiles for Satan!"
Me "She owes us a rib, right."
Him "MORE THAN A RIB! SHE OWES
US OUR VIRTUE!! SHAMELESS STRUMPET!!
For my money, there is nothing
funnier than provoking idiots. I could have hung out with that guy all day, but
there was alcohol to be consumed and women to be exploited, so it was off to the
My cousin is also the assistant
men's lacrosse coach at UT. He would play for UT, but he used up his four years
of eligibility before he got kicked out of the academy. He is like a grad
assistant, and hangs out with the team a lot, thus we went to their party that
night at the lacrosse house.
The party was a typical
college party, lots of kegs and college people and what not. At one point in the
night, I got to trading stories, and these three guys I met had some great ones:
Guy #1 told me that, "I'm not
drinking in the shower anymore, because the last time I did that I woke up with
no hair." Apparently, one time he passed out in the shower, slammed his head on
the wall and got a concussion. His roommates, instead of helping him, came in
and shaved ALL the hair off his body.
Guy #2 told me a story about
how one time he got so drunk on Red Bull and vodka that when he woke up the next
day, his mother came in his room and showed him the police report from the night
before. He had NO MEMORY of this, but, according to the police report, he had
driven his car into a house, fought the police when they came to the accident
scene, spit on several cops at the police station, and got a DUI with a .25
blood alcohol level.
Guy #3 (actually TheCousin)
told me a story about when he was in Europe and hooked with up a Swedish girl.
She was giving him head when he started taking off her pants and said, "Alright,
we have to have sex," to which she responded, "I don't know--I can't have
another abortion." He said there is no quicker way to lose an erection. We all
At some point later, I drunk
dialed a friend of mine. The conversation went like this:
Tucker "AAY, waz up?"
Friend "Tucker, what are you
Tucker "Am I slurrin' my
Friend "Are you what?"
Tucker "Yeaaa, everbuddies a
I was sitting in the kitchen
trying to hit on this one girl, and it wasn't going well. So, in typical Tucker
fashion I just swung for the fences:
Tucker "Why don't you come
over here and sit on my lap."
Tucker "Because then your cooch
will be up against my crotch."
It didn't work well.
People started doing keg
stands, which led to perhaps the defining moment of the trip. This one girl, who
was ugly and a bitch (thus, didn’t have basic human rights) started doing one.
Don't ask me why I did this, because I have no idea why, but when she was upside
down, legs spread apart, I punched her right in the vagina. This caused her to
violently spit up the beer she was trying to consume, and fall backwards into
the two people holding her up, all of them splashing to the mud.
I ran off, laughing so
hysterically I couldn't breathe. Thankfully in the alcohol-addled confusion, no
one noticed who did it.
I ended up leaving the party
with a girl who was alumni (remember, it was Homecoming). We'll call her
"Melissa." The only problem was that she didn't live in Knoxville, and I
couldn't find my cousin or his apartment, so we had to go to her friend’s place
where she was staying for the weekend. This wasn't that bad, except that we had
to sleep on the sofa. I hook up in style.
The next morning Melissa and I
start catching up on everything we missed the night before. For instance, she
didn't remember my name. Charming.
It turns out she is a Special
Education teacher, and she told me some great stories about her students.
Sometimes when she gets frustrated with them she'll start moaning and walking
around all weird and say, "I'm not Miss Cochran anymore, I'M A MUMMY!" then they
all freak out and run around the room screaming. Her school is by an Army base,
and every time a helicopter flies over, she yells at her kids, "WAVE! Wave to
the people dying for your country!" and they all run to the window and wave at
She teaches kids in grades 2-4,
and she often has them spell. Sometimes, even though she uses simple words, she
has to use creative grammar to get them to understand what she wants them to
spell, and even then it doesn't always work. One spelling exchange:
Melissa "'Is'...Is you my
Kid "Yes Miss Cochran, I am."
Melissa "No, I want you to
She said the hardest part of
the job is the random and violent emotional outbursts of the kids. Many of them
have severe behavioral problems, and sometimes they just flip out. She's had to
learn several effective ways to "restrain them without leaving marks." One of
the best ways to control them is with sugar. Her quote, "Retards will do
anything for a piece of candy."
Some other random
Me "Do you actually call them
Her "We’re not supposed to."
Me "So that's a yes?"
Her "Well...not to their face."
Me "Do you ever mess with them
in a mean way, like tell them that God hates them because they're retarded."
Me "You ever put signs on their
back that say 'Kick me, I'm Retarded,'
Her "NO! TUCKER!"
Me "Or make them wear a dunce
cap that has 'Retard' written on it."
Her "NO! You're mean! What
would you do if you had a retarded child?"
Me "I’d bash its head against a
rock, and have another kid."
Her "Oh my god!"
She loved it. Thought I was
hilarious. We were still talking about tards when the girl she was staying with
got up and started cleaning the apartment and talking to Melissa. Then she
abruptly turned to me, and said, "I'm sorry, who are you?" Melissa cut in and
explained, "Oh, this is Tucker. He was too drunk to find his apartment last
night, so we came here." This explanation satisfied the girl. Later in their
conversation something was said, not directly to me, that I commented on.
Melissa turned to me and said, "Shhh. You can't talk--you're a random."
I got Melissa's cell phone
number and eventually made it back to my cousin's place. I changed clothes and
we headed out for the pre-game partying at the lacrosse house. On the way to the
party, my cousin and I stopped at a liquor store to pick up some hard stuff. I
go in while my cousin waits in the car, talking to someone on his cell phone. He
later described the next scene as such,
"I knew it was going to be
trouble when Tucker came out of the liquor store giggling like a 12-year old
I had purchased Everclear,
which is pure grain alcohol. 190 proof. The bottle has three prominently
displayed warning labels:
"Caution: Over consumption may
be dangerous to health!"
"Not Intended to Be Consumed
Without Non-Alcoholic Mixers."
Sounds like a wager to me!
I bought a liter of Everclear,
a quart of Gatorade, and a can of Red Bull, and poured all of it into my
CamelBak. I come prepared. [If you don't know what a Camelbak is,
here to see what it looks like.]
We arrive at the lacrosse
house, and I begin sucking back the Everclear/Gatorade/Red Bull mixture, which I
will hereafter refer to as "Tucker Death Mix." It tasted like ghetto romance. It
The lacrosse house sits in a
busy corner on campus, and has a huge wrap around porch, where me, my cousin,
and a bunch of lacrosse players and lacrosse-stitutes were hanging out. The only
problem: Everclear doesn’t get me drunk. It turns me into a raving lunatic. It
has the same effect as a nail gun would on my frontal lobes. I became Phinneus
Gage [for all you uncultured simpletons, see the end for an explanation of who
Phinneus is]; I lost what little social tact I have, and shouted anything course
or rude I could think of. Starting with a 10-person audience, I started making
fun of everyone that walked by the porch. I was too drunk and maniacal to
remember everything that I said, but here is a sampling:
-An ugly guy: "Holy crap, looks
like God screwed up. Don’t worry, you’ll find an ugly girl that’ll love you."
-A hot girl: "You have great
tits; they'll get you a husband some day. If you don't fuck them floppy, that
-A guy with orange, black and
white camouflage overalls (UT colors): "OH MY GOD! DID A BLIND PERSON WHO HATES
YOU PICK OUT YOUR CLOTHES! LOOK AT YOURSELF! LOOK AT WHAT YOU ARE WEARING!! YOU
DEFINE THE WORDS "REDNECK LOSER." EXAMINE YOUR LIFE!!"
-A big fat black guy with
cornrows: "HEY HEY HEEY! FAT ALBERT FUCKED LUDACRIS AND THEY HAD A SON!"
-A fat white guy in camouflage
pants: "LOOK OUT! IT'S THE PILLSBURY COMMANDO! ALL YOU CAN EAT?!? THE JOKE'S ON
THEM!!! Hmmm, steak or chicken, steak or chicken? WHY NOT BOTH? SAY GOODBYE TO
ALL THE LEFTOVERS."
-A woman with the worst, most
disheveled hair I have ever seen: "OH MY GOD! Where did you get your hair done?
A wind tunnel? A bombing range? The "I Hate Myself Salon?" Hey grandma, the
heroin chic look went out years ago. Do you realize that you are in public?"
-A guy with a mullet: "YEAAAAHHHH!
My first mullet in Tennessee! WELL STOMP ON FROGS AND SHOVE A CROW BAR UP MY
NOSE!! WELL PAINT ME RED AND NAIL ME TO THE BARN!! HEY MAN! LET'S DRINK SOME
MOONSHINE AND SET SOME FIRES! COME ON BUDDY!!"
I was like this for a solid
two hours. One girl had to go inside twice to fix her mascara, which had run all
over her face from the tears she was crying laughing at my comments. By the time
we headed to the game, there were about 40 people hanging out on the porch
listening to me rip everyone that walked by. I am convinced that the only reason
no one tried to kick my ass is because there were several large guys hanging out
Let me just say this: There is
nothing better than college football Saturday in the South. The weather is warm,
the liquor is bountiful, the barbecue is sumptuous, there are countless hot
girls in sun dresses, and all of it is topped off with three hours of brutal,
modern gladiatorial competition for your enjoyment. After the game, you go home,
have drunk sex and pass out. What can beat that?
We get to the game, and our
seats are 20 rows up on the 40-yard line. Awesome. The only problem: It's
UT-Miami. I mean honestly, who do you root for, the rapists or the murderers? I
hate both teams. I figured I would just root for myself to find a nice girl.
I got a free coke at the game
by telling one of the black girls working the counter that she looked "like a Hallee Berry posta." Some guy at the game almost tried to kick my ass when he
was looking for his girlfriend, and I told him, "Your girlfriend left with a
bunch of black guys."
This one girl, after drinking
deeply from my CamelBak, informs that she is not in a sorority. Why? Because she
was kicked out for leaving dirty condoms outside her room. She got mad when I
asked her why she didn’t just save everyone the trouble and tattoo 'I'm a whore'
on her forehead.
My idiot cousin had spent the
entire pre-game, and game itself, trying to get laid by offering pulls from my CamelBak to every girl at the game. I thought this was no big deal since alcohol
kills bacteria and germs, right? Yeah, well, apparently not these germs. Before
halftime, I was carrying the entire plethora of viruses, germs and bacteria that
every cocksmoking whore at UT has to offer. By the time I left the game, either
from a virus or from the gallon of pure grain I had inhaled, I was sick. My
lymph nodes were so swollen I looked like I had goiter.
Me, my cousin and a friend of
his find my car, which was parked on a side street, completely boxed in. The car
behind us pulled up literally to the bumper. Still feeling the effects of the
Tucker Death Mix, I get in my car and start alternately backing into the car
behind me and bumping the car in front of me. This doesn't bother me because I
got this car for free (don't ask, I won't tell you). After smashing into the car
behind me a good five or six times, a couple girls come out of the house across
the street, and start yelling at me from their porch.
Girl "HEY!! THAT'S MY CAR!!"
Tucker "WELL WHY THE FUCK DID
YOU PARK IT SO CLOSE TO MINE?"
Girl "DON'T SMASH IT UP!"
Tucker "Alright, then come move
it. I'll wait."
A reasonable request I
thought. Instead, she just stood there for about five seconds, staring at me,
and then raised a large piece of posterboard that had, "Not So Fast My Friend!"
written on it. I hate Lee Corso, so I backed into her car a few more times just
for spite, and drove off.
I was home at 6, and by 8, I
was dead. Saturday night in Knoxville, and I couldn't make it out. Stupid poetic
Did I just pack it in? Nope. I
called Melissa, and she came over to my cousin's place, and we had a great time
hanging out, eating pizza, and having lots of great sex. She stayed there all
night with me. I have to say this about the girl; she is awesome. I was a mess,
blowing my nose, coughing like a TB patient, farting like Jim Belushi, making
rude comments. She was fine with it.
I guess working with retards
is the perfect precursor to hanging out with me.
Phinneus Gage Explanation
People email me asking
this all time: Phinneus Gage was a foreman on the railway. An explosion
accidentally sent a 3 foot long, 13 lb. metal rod into his skull, removing his
left frontal lobe. He survived somehow and the only damage done was a dramatic
change in personality. Before the accident he was "dependable, industrious, well
liked." When he recovered, he was "restless, loud, profane, and impulsive." His
doctor described him as "manifesting little deference to his fellows, impatient
of restraint or advice when it conflicts with his desires, at times
pertinaciously obstinate, yet capricious and vacillating, devising many plans of
future operations, which are no sooner arranged than they are abandoned."
Who does that sound like?
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