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If you’ve been anywhere near an airport bookstore in the last five years, you’ve probably seen the face of Tucker Max leering out at you from one of his two uber-bestselling books. across his face, on the cover of his this time in a staged mug-shot, pointing proudly to the mug-shot sign with his name under the words “Austin Police.” The books recount Tucker’s endlessly repetitive nights throughout his twenties (he’s 35 now), drinking extreme amounts of alcohol, having utterly drunken, meaningless, uninspired (and uninspiring) sex with a parade of random strangers, acting in a cocky, testosterone-fueled, belligerent way to those who come across his drunken glare, and saying the most insulting, vile, vicious, mean, sexually-degrading things you could possibly imagine to everyone around him, both men and women. “That’s why I’m retiring from writing more of these stories at the end of . I want to be free to move on with my life, and I think the way I have to do that is to set a public end to this.” His many fans across the nation will cry, his many critics will rejoice, and publishing executives and booksellers will lament the passing of one of their most predictable cash cows.
On the cover of the he displays the perfect embodiment of what is often called a “shit-eating grin,” champagne bottle in one hand, pointing proudly, his arm around a seemingly-attractive blonde with a cropped-out face (“Your Face Here.”) Or you’ve seen him beaming the same S. The narrator seems to be doing everything possible to ensure that his photo appears not only in mugshots, but under the dictionary definition of the word “prick.” But, love Tucker Max or hate him---it is very likely someone you know has paid money for his writing. I’m not in the Bible tier.” (I can hear the religious among readers thinking: thank goodness! But still, on the power curve, I’m all the way at the tip. So why would the lifestyle I led in my twenties be forever? Perhaps more interesting, Tucker is not just retiring from about his hard-drinking, hard-partying, and hard-womanizing, whose recounting made him famous and earned him millions.
His books have sold a staggering 2 million copies combined---around 1.6 million for the first one, and around 400,000 for the second. Rowling and Stephen King, Stephanie Meyer, James Patterson, and Paulo Coelho. I’m on the same tier as Tim Ferriss or Chelsea Handler or Jeanette Walls—we’re in the 2, 3, 4 million range.” From a man with a reputation for braggadocio, what he says here is completely true. And now, the man who can sell all those books shares in an exclusive with Forbes, he is retiring. He is also retiring entirely from that lifestyle of his twenties. Unbeknownst to his legions of fans, his legions of critics, or the legions of publishing professionals who want a piece of him, this most public of “I-don’t-wanna-grow-up” males is in fact now in the midst of a serious, intentional and devoted period of cleaning up and growing up. —becoming a mature adult male, one is who seeking a committed, long-term relationship, leading to marriage, with an intelligent, substantive, accomplished woman.
“I’m so far up the power law curve of book sales, dude,” Tucker told me. People who sell tens or hundreds of millions of books. In a rapidly transitioning industry, which is starving for something—anything—that will move copies of physical books, Tucker Max is one of the few authors out there who can predictably move truckloads of physical, printed books. Not from writing—but from the “fratire” genre that made him famous in his first two books. What you are about to read is the most in-depth and personal profile of this bestselling and infamous author ever written, based on the most access he has ever given a fellow writer.
She was a much better mom to me than her mom was to her, but…” At this point I’ll leave off the rest of the quote.
Tucker Max’s parents are not public figures and surely did not intend to have a son famous for writing about his adventures with drunken anal sex, self-vomiting, and his (usually nasty) opinions of various people who cross his path.
“And beyond that, my mother, God bless her, she tried but she’s got her own issues to work with. There’s consequences to that, and my mom suffered them.
“So I had to kind of take a step back and realize, ‘I have everything I thought I’d ever wanted and I’m not happy, so that means, maybe I need to look at myself.' Maybe I need to figure some of this stuff out. If everything external is great, and there’s still internal problems, then you have to think then there must be an internal cause.” If there is an absolute zero freezing for immaturity, beyond which it is not possible for a grown human being to be more immature, then Tucker Max as self-described in his books surely reached that point in his twenties: an ego the size of Everest, matched with responsibility, self-insight, and empathy the size of pebbles, a drunken jackass, mean, nasty, and rude to nearly everyone around him, particularly the very many women who chose to fling themselves at him (and they did choose—which is its own statement about beginning to bud from the vomity, semen- and shit-strewn bog of Tucker’s twenties. But I mean, I’m flawed just like everyone else, dude.“ I asked Tucker: “If you were to put words to them, how would you describe your flaws? It would easier to list the things about me in my twenties, because there’s less of them! It’s not even that I didn’t care about other people. I just didn’t even understand that other people even or mattered.I do not believe I was a true NPD [narcissistic personality disorder] in the clinical sense. “I ended up hurting a lot of people and not even realizing it.So I don’t feel it’s my place to print mean things about them.Let’s just say, Tucker is not beyond sharing opinions of his parents roughly in line with his opinion of a lot of the other people whom he writes about.