Tucker Max, and the Quest for the Holy Grail.

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Tucker Max, and the Quest for the Holy Grail.

You probably don't know who Tucker Max is, and actually, that's all for the better, in the sense not knowing what genital warts are is all for the better. Besides, an unknown entity makes a perfect hero, especially for something like a Quest for the Holy Grail. So, here he is, leaving the safe heavens of Dad's Inn, and the refectory of the School of Barristers (where he was studying to become a shyster one day), against a beautiful, romantic, Mexican Moon.

As you can see, he is not alone in his quest,but rather he is followed by his trusted companions. More about them later. Importantly, he's not the first guy to go that way. In his own words, "The first major player to refuse to buckle to this trend was Howard Stern. The demand for such a voice was so strong that by simply refusing to kowtow to the PC police, he became the King of All Media. Maddox and I represent some of the first internet players in the post-PC New Masculinity; we are the non-mainstream reaction to the feminization of masculinity. We are the gadflies in the sanitized PC soup of entertainment.".

Evidently, both players are in the same league. Well, ok, maybe Stern is a bit over his head here. Also in the news, Tucker Max and a team of Swiss scientists successfully constructed the world's first cold fusion reactor yesterday. Coming on the heels of two decades of the Carter Foundation's failure to eliminate the Guinea Worm disease, Tucker Max and a select team of Operating Tethans single handedly eradicated the affliction by eating each and every single one of those festering Guinea maggots. Finally, Tucker Max single handedly defended free speech, the Constitution, the Internet as a whole and human freedom in general in an epic lawsuit last month.

Further compared - by himself, and himself alone - to such great names as Jimmy Iovine and, we presume, Britney Spears (?!) Tucker Max is quick to point out that "The last thing I want to imply is that I started this movement. I did not. I am another part of it, simply the right people in the right place at the right time". Indeed, an entire movement. Apparently, punters getting drunk and covering themselves in vomit is an extraordinarily new and excitingly fresh trend, something that certainly was never before seen, not in every single tavern anywhere in the world ever since people discovered alcoholic fermentation.

His epic struggle, against "The women who grew up in the 60's, and are now in charge, and they quite literally run shit, and these 50-year-old women heading media companies have personal preferences that do not reflect many American attitudes." is worthy of our attention. It's not the same old story, unemployed useless kid trying to get Ma to pay for his booze. It's something different. It's something revolutionary. It's downright a movement. If the guy's own mother wouldn't happen to be a peaceable, down to earth common whore, we could suspect it's just childhood fixations left over.

Then again, a non responsive, disinterested mother (well, not generally non responsive, just not into kids) would serve to explain why Mr Tucker couldn't find closure at 12, like the rest of the children, and has to go around chasing the windmills to this day. Since Mom was too busy wiping cum off her face all the time, he's stuck trying to solve his conflicts with women in general. Or at least, those of them that grew up in the 60's. You know, commune living, free love type of chicks. We can easily see how they would really, really, really be offended by Tucker Max getting drunk and farting loudly. They positively never saw a man drunk in their life. Heck, they never saw a man in their life, like, at all, like. They just sat around, smoked pot, played video games and read Pride and Prejudice to each other. Honestly. That's what the 60's were all about.

"It's because we refused to bow before the PC gods and destroy our art to meet their ideological demands, we suffer". Indeed, how do you like that. The agony. The horror. Art is in peril people, art ! Presumably, the next chapter in this never ending saga of "art" is forging checks and then complaining about the iron boot of the state, cramping down on free expression, and strangling ART ! Art, nothing less.

Need to fart at a charity dinner ? Let it rip and call it art. Want to have sex but too cheap to buy condoms ? Go for a hanger abortion the following month, and call the lumpy, bloodied results art. It seems an idea destined for greatness, and the fact that it really takes a certain sort of narcissistic, immature personality forever fixated in that doubtful stage right before phallic, right after anal expulsion doesn't seem to hinder things. Plenty of people get stuck there, after all. In fact, women that were too busy attending four day beach party fuck-a-tons to breastfeed produced a good chunk of the people aged 30ish today, and consequently they were left with more or less the same issues as Mr Tucker. Well, those that survived, anyway.

The only problem with this "movement", such as it is - obviously other than it's blatant made-for-tv sequel feel - is that it's self limiting. One of those days, one of the brighter chaps involved with "la revolucion" is bound to notice that, really, you could kill yourself, and call that art. So many things they never knew, about existentialism, about history of culture, about the race's own mistakes they will never need to learn. Not anymore. It's been rediscovered. Hurray.

So, really, Tucker, I'm calling you out, as you love to say. You want to impress Mommy ? Shoot yourself.

She won't care, obviously, but for a change, you won't care either. Not anymore. The release you crave is within reach. Sweet oblivion. Good night, Mr. Tucker.

This article helped 16 confused, neglected old children leave this uncaring, cruel world. Farewell.

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this page was made using a bent spoon. anything else is for failures