Perhaps you’ve heard of Tucker Max. If you haven’t, don’t worry—this guy’s 15 minutes of fame have been long overdue to max out.

He is one of those types of overnight celebrities who are all too common these days: the ones who don’t actually do anything productive but end up scoring book deals and movie offers. In Max’s case, the guy’s pretty much made his entire career out of being a raging asshole, a description that he gleefully self-applies. His blog, book and movie revolve around one thing: himself and his disgusting, misogynistic and unimaginative college-boy antics.

At this point you’re probably thinking that I’m a humourless feminist with an axe to grind. But let me make things clear: I love dirty humour. I’m the first to jump onto a “that’s what she said” joke. I love Beavis and Butthead, and can recite the all of the lines from American Pie backwards.

Therefore, I prepared for the Tucker Max interview with an open mind. However, I soon realized that perhaps it was naïve of me to search for some redeemable qualities in someone as two-dimensional, solipsistic and sad as Max proved to be.

Our interview started with a simple question: What was it that made tuckermax.com explode so quickly and gather so many fans? To this, Max replied simply, in his true narcissistic fashion, that “[the blog] was good.” Upon my request to elaborate further, he explained that quality makes a difference and what he wrote appealed to a lot of people.

His website received millions of hits because knowingly or unknowingly, Max tapped into an undiscovered genre of literature, which is now categorized as “dicklit,” or “fratire.” He’s just the first guy to write down every “Dude, remember that one time?” story that’s ever happened to him, and capitalize on it in a big way.

Eventually, millions of internet dwellers with nothing better to do bookmarked his blog, making him one of the biggest internet sensations of our decade, and landing him a prestigious book deal. Max jumped on that horse faster than you could say “overrated blogger” and as a result, I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell was borne unto the world in 2006.

“Was it a surprise to you as much as to anyone else?” I asked him.

“Nah…I mean, I knew it was pretty good.” Enough said, apparently.

Much to the disdain of feminists ‘round the world, his collection of misogynistic, immature short stories made the New York Times’s best-seller list for three years in a row and has now been made into a movie. Who knew there were so many bros without a hero out there?

The I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell film hit the US theaters last month, with a Canadian release on November 14. Unfortunately for Max, it looks like there’s only so much attention one douchebag can get. The movie was an embarrassing, straight-to-DVD flop. Max’s fans felt that it was missing something. Others felt that it was disturbing, pointless and utterly unfunny.

Max, however, has a different opinion. “I think it’s very good. I think it’s fantastic—I think we did a great job.”
But really, what else do you expect him to say? On quotabletuckermax.com you can find him saying more BS like “the movie will do amazing numbers and change the way comedy is made.”

Yeah, if you think that a movie about three guys drinking themselves in an alcohol-induced coma is revolutionary. After watching the film, I couldn’t believe that anyone would put money behind it. From the awful jokes to the close-ups of feces coming out of Max’s ass, the movie was an irredeemable disaster, with the hilariously-low box office returns to show for it.

But who made this mess of a movie? Perhaps Max is just the victim of a bad production company? Nope. In fact, Max rejected $2 million from Darko Entertainment in order to have complete creative control. Max told me “[he] had more say in it than anybody else.” Well, it all makes sense now, bro.

From that point, our interview really went downhill. I asked if he ever tired of being an asshole, and he rudely interrupted with, “Sweetie, it’s not a role—it’s just who I am. I don’t ever do anything to be who I am.”

Ok, big guy, if you would have let me finish my question, I was inquiring as to whether being an asshole got tiring when you have to deal with people in a professional, business situation…like for interviews?

Our conversation ended when I asked Max about his future projects. “Well my next book is coming out next year: Assholes Finish First. That’s the next big thing on the horizon.”

And after that? He laughed at my question. “Uh…I don’t know, do you know what you’re doing in 12 months?”
“Yes, actually, I do.”

“Pfft…” said Max. “Well, that’s ‘cause you’re going to school, probably.”

Tucker Max is a one-trick pony. There is something very dark and miserable about his personality. If anyone ever needed therapy, it’s this guy. He’s angry, afraid of women and so devoid of any personal growth that he’s practically a borderline sociopath.

After talking to Max, I felt like I had to reread all of Dostoevsky, listen to three hours of Pink Floyd and stare at a Michelangelo painting just to reverse the lingering, bad aftertaste of emptiness that our conversation left in my mouth. And ultimately, I’ve wound up asking myself why we give this guy even a smidgen of our attention, let alone publish an article about him.

The excuse that I always hear Tucker Max’s supporters give for liking him is that “his shit is real.” But what I want to know is, what kind of post-modern cynicism have we arrived at, when the only form of sincerity we’re willing to accept is this guy’s terrible, repetitive stories.

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