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NOTE: STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT. FUNNY AS HELL, BUT EXPLICIT.


This is a collection of stories from when my roommate's brother and his wife left us their dog for a month while they went on vacation. His name is "Marley" and he is a five-year-old Yellow Lab.


Marley is a gift from God

This dog is awesome. I'm not sure if there is a better way, save being famous, to pick up women. Marley is a cute and friendly dog, so every girl comes up and wants to pet him, and of course, he loves attention, so he's all licking faces, wagging his tail, and smelling crotches.

The very first day Marley shows up, I take him for a walk, and my roommate's brother hands me a plastic bag as I am walking out the door.

Tucker "What the fuck is this for?"
Jason "It's not all about picking up girls; you have to pick up other things when you have a dog."

WHAT! What the fuck is he talking about? I have to pick up the dog's shit? Are you kidding? This is not happening, and I inform him as much.

Jason "No, dude, you really have to do it. It's the law."
 

Fine. I take the bag, and tell Marley that if he ever shits when I am walking him, I'm going to make him eat it. He licks me in the face, with the same tongue that he uses to lick his crotch, and we head out.

Not even 10 minutes into the walk, Marley and I run into two girls sitting outside a bar, who see Marley and start with the "Ahhh, look at the puppy." Like me, Marley is a big fan of attractive young ladies, so he runs up to them and starts licking one all over her face. I tell him:

Tucker "Marley! Don't do that -- you don't know where her face has been."

She was not as amused as I thought she should be.


Why responsibility can suck

I left my apartment at 6pm and went to an “All You Can Drink.” Promotions such as these are a paradox to me. They are both “A Reason To Live,” and “A Potential Way To Die.” I remember very little about the night. One incident I do remember very well -- when you introduce yourself to a girl and she responds with, “You don’t remember me, do you?,” your best bet is to just walk away. Nothing you can say will save the situation, even if you offer to hook up with her again to refresh your memory.

I stumbled back to my place around 3am, and was abruptly woken at 6am by a girl enthusiastically licking my face. What the fuck? What is wrong with her? I grabbed her head, and her furry, floppy ears added to my confusion, until my vodka addled brain realized that the girl in my bed was my dog, Marley. He was slobbering all over my face with the same tongue that he uses to lick other dogs asses and his own little doggy penis. Great. I push him off and pass back out.

Did you know that dogs need to use the bathroom at regular intervals, just like humans?

Yes, well, I had not really thought out the implications of making my dog hold it for 18 hours.

Namely, he can’t. When I woke the next day at around 1pm, he had a nice surprise for me.

OK, that’s fine, when you have to go, you have to go, right? But he took it a step farther. Not content with just relieving himself, Marley decided to make a statement, to let me know he was pissed. He urinated directly on my laundry pile, creating a nice big yellow stain all over my dirty clothes.

I was less than pleased.


Marley goes to the dog park, humps everything

There is a dog park called "Wiggly Field" about 10 blocks from my house. There are always good looking girls there with their dogs, so of course, I eagerly take Marley. We show up the first time, I let him loose, and start a conversation with a nice looking woman. It was hardly five minutes before my world became surreal. Never, not in my most crack-addled stupor, not hopped up on prison-quality crystal meth, could I ever imagine myself having this conversation with another human being:

Tucker "Gosh, I'm really sorry that my dog keeps humping your dog."
Dog owner "Oh, it's OK. She's fixed."
Tucker "Yeah, so is he, but it doesn't seem to stop him, which really confuses me. I'm trying to figure out where he gets all this testosterone. Maybe at the 7-11 or something, I don't know."

Marley is hornier than R. Kelly in an elementary school. He'll hump any dog he can find, male or female, young or old, big or small. The first time I took him to the dog park, he must have thought it was a Roman bathhouse, because he just ran around mounting every dog that would stay still for two seconds. I'm trying to chat up a beautiful young lady, a task made difficult when you have to continually stop your dog from raping other dogs.

Yes, there is gorgeous symbolism in this, and yes, it is perfect poetic justice, blah, blah, blah, but all I want is to be able to talk to that cute girl with the collie, without Marley humping her dog like he's going to the electric chair tomorrow.

The worst part is, he humps indiscriminately. Male dog, female dog -- he doesn't care. They're all pink on the inside to him. I have yet to really figure out the etiquette on this issue either. What am I supposed to do? Make sure he doesn't hump anything at all? Pull him off only once he achieves penetration? Ignore him and pretend he's not mine? After all, these are dogs we're talking about. They lick their own assholes and sniff other dogs’ shit. Does it really matter if they harmlessly hump each other at the dog park?


Marley goes to a bar, finally earns his keep

There is a bar right by our house that allows dogs. I don't know if you've ever taken a dog into a bar, but if you haven't, then put it at the top of your "To-Do" list. It might be one of the greatest ways I've ever seen to meet girls. Everybody wants to pet the doggie.

One girl in particular adored Marley. Wanted to do nothing but pet him. I'm guessing from her reaction, that the most action she'd gotten in awhile was from him licking her. She was virtually making out with him. This girl was possibly the most needy girl I've ever met in my life. Within the first five minutes of talking to her, I knew that she wanted a boyfriend, she can't meet guys, she has so much love to give, etc, etc. I quickly got sick of her using me as a metaphysical brothel for her emotions, so I let fly, "If you lost some weight, I bet guys might talk to you." She wasn't fat at all, so I thought she'd get the joke. She didn't. Hey, if she can't take a joke, fuck her.

I eventually started talking to a very attractive girl. We were talking about Marley, and his defining characteristic came up quickly:

Tucker "Yeah, he's a good dog. Except that he's profoundly homosexual. He exclusively humps male dogs."
Cute Girl "What? No, he's not gay -- it's a dominance thing."
Tucker "It's not a dominance thing. He does other homosexual stuff too. He gossips endlessly about other dogs, watches the Christopher Lowell show, constantly frets about being skinny enough, and licks his penis constantly. Now you tell me he's not gay."

She thought this was hilarious, and introduced me to all her friends. She and all her friends were very attractive, and very cool...and very much with their boyfriends, who were all sitting with them. Normally, this would anger me, but the boyfriends thought I was hilarious and kept buying me beers. One of the boyfriends bought a round of shots, and wanted a toast. I don't know why, maybe because I had the dog, maybe because I hadn't paid for shit and they expected something out of me, maybe because I had been entertaining them all night, everyone in this group turned to me to give the toast.

Guy #1 "Hey, Dog Boy, give us a toast!" This statement was met with cheers from the table.
Tucker "Uhhh...OK...umm...To Marley?"

Booing and hissing rose up through the dozen or so toast participants.

Tucker "I don't know, what kind of toast do you want?"
Guy #2 "A toast. A real toast; something funny."
Guy #1 "Yeah, come on, Dog Boy! You can do it!"

I realize that the boyfriends were trying to make fun of me, setting me up for ridicule to make themselves look better in the eyes of their hot girlfriends. That's fine. I would have done the same thing. But they obviously did not know who they were dealing with.

I got up on a chair, and prepared to address the crowd.

Guy #1 "Everyone look, Dog Boy and his mutt are gonna give a toast!"

The room got quiet, I paused for dramatic effect, and gave the only funny toast I know:

"Here’s to the women we've met, and to the women we've fucked,
And to those amongst us who've had no such luck.
Here’s to beer in the glass, and vodka in the cup,
Here’s to pokin' her in the ass, so she won’t get knocked up.
Here's to all of you, and here's to me,
together as friends we'll always be,
but if we should ever disagree,
then FUCK ALL OF YOU, HERE'S TO ME!"

Not to sound arrogant, but the fucking place erupted. I was a hero.

I wish there was a happy ending to this story, but even after a performance like that, I still went home alone. Sometimes even MJ misses game-winning shots.


Dog people don’t have a good sense of humor

As you may know, our dog for a month, Marley, humps every dog that gets in his striking distance. At first this was embarrassing, but I've learned to live with it. Sometimes I can even have fun with it. For instance, instead of just profusely apologizing for Marley's humping, I've shifted the blame to others. Conversations now go like this:

"Gosh, I'm really sorry my dog keeps trying to hump your dog. He's normally never like this. Are you putting some kind of canine perfume on your dog?"

Or like this:

"Maybe your dog is teasing mine. You ever think of that? Your dog does seem to be flaunting its wares a little loosely. What does he expect, sashaying around the dog park like some sort of cheap doggy prostitute?"

Some people laugh, others don't.


Tucker goes to open bar, throws up on Marley

I get a call from a friend telling me that Joe's, a huge sports bar, is having an open bar from 7-9 on Friday. All I have to do is just show up. Sounds like a great plan, right? Couldn't go wrong, could it? As my friend Corey likes to say, "If history has taught us anything, it's that Tucker can always make things worse."

Once I arrive, I realize that this event is indeed a real-life open bar. That makes me happy. Then I discover that the event is sponsored by some singles dating service. I decide that my friend is a jerk. After the third ugly girl in a row comes up and tries to talk to me, I am firmly cemented in my resolve to disembowel my friend and feed his entrails to stray cats.

This event was awful. It was the grease-trap of dating. Everyone that no one else wanted was at this place. You could almost feel the tense desperation in the crowd. It was depressing. Since I was there alone because I couldn’t find anyone to go out with me and thus had no audience, I just found a spot at the back of the bar, gave the bartender 10 dollars, and told her to keep my well-vodka and club soda full. She does a very good job.

9pm comes, and I leave to meet my roommate at another bar, The Black Duck. By the time he arrives, I already have two drinks in my hands, and am babbling incoherently about some hat I am wearing that I apparently stole off a homeless person. We walk downstairs, and as is wont to happen with drunks, I fall down the stairs. My roommate turns around to see if I'm all right, and to his immense surprise, even though I fell all the way down a flight of stairs, I still have both drinks in my hands, with nothing spilled out of either of them. This might be a sign of alcoholism. Not the abusive drinking mind you -- the fact that I can fall down stairs and not spill either of my drinks.

The night proceeds in rather standard Tucker form. We head to a friend’s apartment, where I manage to insult everyone. I wish I could recount my comments and quips to you, but I don't remember them; by that point my drunkenness had reached Dennis Hopper levels. I can’t even understand anything I said into my voice recorder.

My roommate eventually escorts me home, and asks me repeatedly if I feel like I am going to throw up. I tell him I am fine, and fall into bed. Three minutes later, I vomit all over my bed...and the dog, Marley, who likes to sleep in my bed. Of course, the dog is not happy with this, so he gets up, taking my vomit with him, and jumps on my roommate's bed. My roommate starts petting him, and much to his chagrin, he gets Tucker vomit all over his hands.

He was not happy. In fact, judging by the look on his face, I think he would have stabbed me with a paring knife if he thought he could have disposed of my body without getting caught. Really, he was that pissed.

I ended up throwing away my sheets, and turning the mattress over. You know you've had a rough night if you have to flip the mattress in the morning.



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