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Kindle Notes & Highlights
“Sir, when you are an alcoholic, there is no such thing as enough.”
The poor kid looked like he had the cultural I.Q. of someone who just staggered out of a sheep orgy.
I make the unfortunate mistake of looking down, and I see his hand in her crotch. When I say “in her crotch,” I mean it. I couldn’t see anything below the elbow.
The turtle is sticking his head out, and he is coming whether I am on a toilet or not.
He’s the type of drunk that makes you wonder why alcohol is classified as a depressant.
El Bingeroso is too drunk and violent to walk around the streets, so let’s take him to a place with naked women and large angry bouncers! Sounds great! It’ll be all sunshine and kittens from there!
“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO ARRIVE DRUNK IF YOU WON’T SELL ME LIQUOR?? WHAT KIND OF BARBARISM IS THIS??”
It tasted like ghetto romance.
It’s like a clearance sale in the pussy aisle at the hook-up store: Everything Must Go! No Reasonable Offer Refused!
The night was going great until they started using all sorts of horrible four-letter words. Horrible, horrible four letter words, like “can’t”…“won’t”…“don’t”…“stop.”
What is the self-defense standard in Texas—‘He needed killin’?’”
I begin to think that maybe I am not in their league, drinking-wise. This worries me. Then I remember that I am Tucker Max. I am no longer worried.
Ladies, let me give you some advice. You can throw all your stupid fucking chick-lit, self-help, why-doesn’t-he-love-me books out, because this is all you need to know: Men will treat you the way you let them. There is no such thing as “deserving” respect; you get what you demand from people. Let a guy fuck you in the ass, cum on your back, drink all your beer and then leave, and he’ll do it. But if you demand respect, he will either respect you, or he won’t associate with you. It really is that simple.
I’d eat the hymen outta dead donkey.
He laid about 10 yards away, licking his crotch. Tucker “I wish I could do that.” Mike “I don’t think he’d let’cha.”
My bladder had been so expanded that it has lost all elasticity and can no longer evacuate itself near the end.
The lone functional neuron in my prefrontal cortex fires, and I decide not to do this. Apparently this neuron was busy when I decided it would be a good idea to go on a weekend bender with Tucker.
I almost feel bad calling her fat, but she is, so what am I supposed to call her? Healthy? That would be like if someone described my personality as “gregarious” instead of “asshole.”
