Dept. Of Last Laffs: In Reality, Tucker Max Is A Much, Much Bigger Douche Than Anthony DiMeo
Oh jeez, remember this? We first met über-bro Tucker Max (pictured, um, with “you”) back in The Great Blueberry Wars of 2006, when local promoter/publicist/blueberry heir/Rittenhouse ubiquitron Anthony DiMeo III seemingly went on a rampage and threatened to sue anyone who ever said anything kind of dicky about him on the Internet. (There was a lot of us.) At the time, we were unfamilar with Max’s ouvre, and when he contacted us to co-conspire/commiserate about DiMeo, it was one of those situations where saying you don’t like one person immediately puts you in the company and high esteem of people you like even less. After a judge ultimately dismissed DiMeo’s case, citing it as “frivolous” to take people who talk shit about you on a messageboard to court, we pretty much forgot about Tucker Max altogether. That was until Gawker started running excerpts from the script to Max’s forthcoming film adaptation of his book of the same name, I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell. And with the benefit of two years’ worth of perspective, it began to hit us: Maybe we owe yon Ant-ny an apology. Before you roll your eyes so hard and so fast that they begin to make hollow wooden sounds in your head, grant us the benefit of some comparisons.
Whereas DiMeo seemed to merely suffer from an outsize ego that comes with privelege, the bulk of Max’s humor seems to suffer from an outsize egotism that stems from his great pride in being white and male, which would be gross enough even if it weren’t completely out of date. While DiMeo certainly seemed to build himself up for the ladies, Max uses women primarily to make himself feel better by debasing them for yuks from from his “bros,” which is usually the first big sign that someone really, really likes cock but for whatever reasons, cannot be man enough to admit that to themselves. And whereas DiMeo got press in these pages and others just for being kind of cheesy, Max is actually borderline sociopathic, a kind of Patrick Bateman from American Psycho without the taste or, truth be told, balls.
Tucker Max is everything we were born to hate. We’re sorry, Anthony. Can you ever forgive us?
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