Missed the mark, bad sequel
The Tucker is back. Like a bad accident you can't look away from. Book one a fresh and funny, raw diary of naïve, self-destructive freshmen overindulging in shameless situations. Great unpredictable bits. Cutting repartee between the motley characters. Penned with minimalist blogger, literary skills. Tales blatantly exaggerated, that reek of snake oil. In a way, the flaws made it even better. The essence of college.
Enter the post-college sequel, written by a now mid-30s law grad Tucker. Expectations? Spontaneous tales and laughs from a narcissistic, neurotic adult, with some cash to upgrade his levels of sleaze. Intrigue and twists navigating his next phase in life. Self-discovery. Seasoned writing. Vastly improved comedic delivery. Reality? It took a week to read 20 pages. What happened? The shock value and self-deprecation is gone...replaced with weak, exaggerated penthouse letters for knuckle-dragging virgins with no life experience. He's regressed to puberty. It became a mission to find anything funny. Out of 400 pages, only Tuckerfest and the Midgets strike back brought laughs. The rest? Low rent college blogger scribblings, aggrandizing ordinary events into imaginary Demi-God legends. It reads like a Dumb and Dumber parody of a sociopathic, transparently insecure BS artist, who refers to himself in 3rd person like some Fraternity deity. No dynamics. Flat, one-dimensional characters. We're talking groundbreaking puberty comedy here; liquor, sex, and rebellion; using people as props, and then "insert clichéd insult and gross thing here" for the dreaded, yawning punch lines. I love juvenile humor done right. Farrelly Brothers movies are hilarious. This just falls flat due a lethal combination of weak content, misplaced arrogance to vomit levels, and just frankly...not funny. Think cocky z-list comedian who bombs at the Improv, and mid-set drops the mic and storms off because the crowd is "too stupid to understand the brilliance." Second half of book he pontificates about groupie sex and fame, being a revolutionary "artist"...life's view from the top. Seriously. You're killing us. One can visualize the late night burning oil sessions; those spontaneous tomes flying off the steady quill pen that would leave Hunter Thompson and Hemingway quivering with envy. "I know - I'll make up a story about screwing a fat, one legged, vomiting skank who suddenly gets her period - It will be AWESOME!! Tucker Max is a GOD!!!" The irony of the title, well... Other than the two stories, the entertainment here is the content and author are unintentionally hilarious to laugh at. (Hello, David Brent). For any chance to work, the book calls for a self-deprecating guy laughing at himself and the bizarre situations he gets into....followed by self-discovery, development of character, etc. Miss this one. Get the first book. Recommended debauchery books. The Dirt... by Neil Strauss. Addictive tale traveling on tour with Motley Crue and Ozzy. Insane binging, womanizing and pillaging. High Heels and Dirty Deals...by Brett Tate. Brilliant satirist; a twisted gifted rogue's photodocumentary of an insatiable quest for women and vice. Gritty, hilarious Russian mobsters. Screaming funny observation humor, overindulgence and debauchery to cartoonish levels, coupled with stunning erotic photography.
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