Starting on February 1st of 2006, I went on a book tour to promote my first book, "I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell." It was a 23 stop, 32 day book tour across the east, southest, and midwest. This was the schedule:

Wed, Feb 1st: Philadelphia (Penn)
Thu, Feb 2nd: Richmond (Downtown)
Fri, Feb 3rd: Durham/Chapel Hill (Southpoint Mall)
Sat, Feb 4th: Athens (UGA)
Sun, Feb 5th: Atlanta (GT)
Mon, Feb 6th: Gainesville (UF)
Tues, Feb 7th: Tallahassee (FSU)
Wed, Feb 8th: OFF
Thu, Feb 9th: Charlottesville (UVA)
Fri, Feb 10th: College Park (Maryland)
Sat, Feb 11th: Annapolis (Navy)
Sun, Feb 12th: Washington DC (GW)
Mon, Feb 13th: OFF
Tues, Feb 14th: OFF
Wed, Feb 15th: OFF
Thu, Feb 16th: Albany, NY (SUNY Albany)
Fri, Feb 17th: OFF
Sat, Feb 18th: Boston (BU)
Sun, Feb 19th: OFF
Mon, Feb 20th: OFF
Tues, Feb 21th: Pittsburgh, PA (Pitt)
Wed, Feb 22nd: Ann Arbor (Michigan)
Thu, Feb 23rd: East Lansing (MSU)
Fri, Feb 24th: Chicago (Downtown and the UC)
Sat, Feb 25th: Madison (Wisconsin)
Sun, Feb 26th: OFF
Mon, Feb 27th: OFF
Tues, Feb 28th: Champaign (Illinois)
Wed, Mar 1st: Bloomington (Indiana)
Thu, Mar 2nd: West Lafayette (Purdue)
Fri, Mar 3rd: Columbus (Ohio State)
Sat, Mar 4th: Athens, OH (Ohio U)
Sun, Mar 5th: Back to NYC

The tour nearly broke me, both emotionally and physically. This is the compilation of entries and pictures from the tour. Each stops has it's own entry where I catalog the number of books sold and signed, the number of alcoholic drinks consumed and the number of girls I had sex with. Just like all my stories, these stories are real and verifiable. Only the names are changed.

As you read these entries, remember that they are written the day after the event occurred, and the "EDIT" sections are added later as I think of things or people email me stuff. I have kept this story in it's original format so as to preserve the feeling of contemporaneous chaos that the tour was like.

ORIGINAL INTRO TO THE BOOK TOUR UPDATE PAGE

I have Verizon WWAN Broadband on my Thinkpad so I should have internet access pretty much the whole time, and I intend to keep a running update of the book tour as it proceeds. I will track everything from the number of books sold to the number of beers I drink. As far as I know, this is the first book tour of it's kind (ie, organized by the author and his fans, with most of the books sold by the author and very few signings at actual bookstores), so I want to record as much as possible.

I am also going to try to take a rough estimate of the toll this tour takes on my body, by comparing my current weight and physical shape to what I am like at the end of the tour [starting numbers are at the bottom]. I am guessing that I'll be physically and mentally wasted by the time this is over.

Starting the tour (2/1):
Height: 6'0"
Weight: 189.6
# push-ups in two minutes: 72
# sit-ups in two minutes: 66

Wed, Feb 1st: Philly
# of books sold: 77
# of books signed: 101
# of alcoholic drinks consumed: 20+
# of pictures taken with fans: 45+
# of girls I hooked up with: 1
Thanks: Howard and all the brothers of SAM, you guys were awesome to me, and did a great job fending off the haters. Seriously, thank you guys, and I owe you one, feel free to call in a favor anytime. Thanks to Amy, Cathi, Anna...and that sleepy girl who left early whose name I can't remember. If you can't get a great story out of all the material I gave you, give up at life. And to Jessica, for relaxing and getting into rhythm. I told you that if you just listened to me, it would be good. And of course, I have to thank LarryGunz and the South Philly Italian crew for coming out, you guys are awesome, even though I don't understand 30% of what you say. And beyond that, thanks to everyone who came out to get a book and to meet me, you people were awesome, it was genuinely cool to meet all of you. Well, most of you.

Highlights of the stop:
Where to start?

-Supposedly, there were supposed to be "protesters" at the signing. The administration was so worried about this that they sent cops there. No bullshit. I was seriously excited about this; I've never had anyone protest me before, at least publicly. Of course they didn't show. Fucking cowards.

-I don't even know how to begin to explain this hilarity, and being that it is 3am and I am drunk as I write this I doubt I will do it justice: About 30 minutes into the signing, four women (two ancient and two my age, one of them hot) came into the frat house. OK, whatever, I figured someone's mom wanted to meet me, no big deal. But they just sat on the couches and talked to some of the brothers for quite awhile. Then I thought that maybe they were reporters or something. Nope.

I later came to find out that they were the people in charge of student life or whatever, and they came to bitch at the SAM brothers for hosting me. I did not really hear the conversation, I was busy talking to my fans and signing books, but apparently they thought that I was not an appropriate person to have on campus. I can only tell you their arguments second-hand, because they never deigned to say one word to my face, which is usually the way these people operate. Seriously, they sat there, not even ten feet away from me, talking about me but never to me. You have to love that; these women think that they are so sophisticated, yet they aren't confident or courageous enough to speak their words to the person they are talking about when he is in front of them, they have to go through a proxy. No wonder they work in academia.

Anyway, they were mad because they thought I was a misogynist. They said that I was disrespectful to women and encouraged rape (seriously--this is what I was told they said). This is funny, because at least 40% of the people who came to the signing were women. And they refused to acknowledge this, even as the line in front of their eyes was half girls. You have to love someone who thinks they know what is better for you than you do. Ladies of Penn, you can feel safe because some old crow is speaking for you and deciding what you should and should not read, regardless of what you actually want and despite the fact that a lot of you came out to meet me...hmmm. But what do I know, I'm only a success at life. How can I compare to someone who spends their day scheduling student government meetings and raising awareness about sweatshops?

-I dropped one of the funniest lines of the week at the bar. This one girl was a DEAD RINGER for the Oopma Loompas from the old Gene Wilder Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, so at one point I leaned into this one girl and said, "Seriously, if I fell into the chocolate river, do you think she'd help me out, or just let me go up the drain?" It took her a second, but she damn near spit beer out of her nose she was laughing so hard.

-At the signing, these four high school girls came out to meet me. It was kinda spooky, because they did NOT look like high school girls at all. One girl seriously had me sign her early dismissal slip...yes, it did kinda make me feel dirty. They told me they were coming to the bar later that night. I prayed that they wouldn't--not because they weren't hot, but because even I have a line, and that was going to test it. Thankfully for me, they didn't show...well, they didn't get in the bar. This is the real email I just got from one of the girls. I swear on my life it is real, printed here verbatim, spelling errors intact:

"TMax- We hate you, this seriously might be the end of our relationship. I think i'm going to have to break things off....

But on a seriuos note, this is a death threat. If you had any idea what we went through to see you tonight, you would promptly arrive at Susans house (Susan is the hot redhead who was waiting for me for an hour at your booksigning today. In case you didn't remember, you signed her chest) and makeout with both of us.

9:00- Susan arrives at my house to pick me up. I commend her on her demonstration of responsibility seeing as she has never been on time for anything in her life, AND has directions to BLARNEYS SOUTH (Note the name, it will be important later).

9:02- After deciding we really did want to spend our Wednesday night stalking Tucker Max, we depart from my house.

9:15- We arrive at, BLARNEYS SOUTH, parking like 15 blocks away assuming that parking will be impossible seeing as TMax is "in the house."

9:27- Still Walking.....observing the myriad of open parking spaces. Susan now feels like a douchebag(this feeling will increase as the night proceeds)

9:32- Arrive at Blarneys South. Decide to sit and get some drinks before TMax arrives. Promptly notice the LACK of people in the bar, but decide this is probably just 'cause Tucker is an asshole and has no friends. Yay, we are your only fans, we will get some tonight.

9:45- Order mozzarella sticks, a vodka and coke, and amaretto sour. Delicious combination. Nothing like cheesy fried grease and hard alcohol.

10:15- Begin to get anxious as we are still the only people under the age of 45 in the bar, minus the really hot Swedish bartender. Contemplate staying for the hot Swede.

10:16- Quickly dismiss this notion, Tucker Max awaits.

10:25- Quickly realize what fucking morons we are, ask Bartender if there happens to be another Blarneys in the city.

10:30- Bartender finally recovers from laughing fits....we leave.

10:45-Finally make it back to Susan's car.

11:00- Go on search for Blarneys STONE which we've been told is "somewhere else"

11:07- Roll down windows for shady black taxi driver, and ask where Blarneys stone is....he grins and winks...we immediately regret this decision.

11:09-Arrive at Penns campus, seeing as that makes the most sense to us at this point.

11:11-Ask more silly civilians where the hell this bar is. Get a response of..."between 24th and 57th somewhere on Chestnut or Walnut" Realize Philadelphians really are as stupid as you claim.

11:13- After following the advice of another retarded bystander drive towards Sansom and 40th.

11:17- Decide Sansom and 40th is a figment of stupid peoples imaginations. It's not there....it's just not.

11:19- Ask another person.

11:20- And Another..

11:22- And another...

11:24- Begin to doubt that this bar really exists. Oh Tucker, where are you? All we want is to make out with Tucker Max, it's really all we want.

11:30- Finally arrive at this "so called Bar." Apparently 40th and Sansom is real. Once again, we are assholes.

11:32- Go to Bar, I whip out the ol' passport to validate my age. Yes, my passport, I'm a pimp. You got nothing on me Tmax.

11:32:30- Bouncer asks to see Susan's ID

11:33- Never having had a problem in the past, Susan calmly takes out her ID. Perhaps this is not a real ID, but hey, inconsequential.

11:34- Bouncer asks to see another form of ID, which Susan does not have, because apparently her name is not Melissa Jo Massey, and even if it was, Melissa's license seems to have expired 2 years ago. Tali considers murdering Susan. Bouncer denies access to bar. Bouncer leaves.

11:36- Susan and Tali loiter outside of Bar, trying to find a way in. Usually this works, however, tonight is an exception.

11:37- We stop old man, ask him to help out. We tell him we're 18 and 23, that susan just hasn't gotten a valid license because she (we contemplate saying she has a chauffeur but realize that would piss people off) now lives in the city and doesn't need a license. Made sense at the time, A for effort.

11:38- Susan pinky swears she will make out with bouncer if he lets us in. Tali is ashamed, but also offers sexual favors in exchange for entrance. We decide never to speak of this again. All for you Tucker Max, all for you.

11:40- Bouncer returns stating that we are not allowed in citing that we already blatantly admitted to the old man that one of us was only 18. (Side note- we assumed you only had to be 18 to get in, but 21 to drink. Apparently, not the case. One must realize though, that the bouncer is probably retarded, because he didn't get that I was 18 the first time when he looked at my passport with my BIRTHDATE. But he was annoying enough to actually check the expiration dates on Susans ID. Bravo bouncer, Bravo. You my friend, are a complete tool, who has not yet mastered basic mathematics.)

11:43- Not so happy bouncer tells us to evacuate the premises, we are no longer welcome, I don't think we ever were though. "Ladies, you HAVE to leave, right now." Apparently Bouncer is just playing hard to get. We realize that we are once again assholes, and it would be best to leave.

We drove home, and made it to the suburbs of Philadelphia which normally takes about 20 minutes in 4. We timed it. We were that pissed off. It is now 1:08, we have to get up in approximately 5 hours to go to school. I still have not done my homework, and have not made out with Tucker Max, my life is sadly incomplete. We have nothing else to say. Farewell Tucker Max, you have once again eluded us. Tucker Max is beautiful and fleeting, like...something thats beautiful and fleeting, maybe lightning. It's been a long day.......goodnight.

Kill Yourself
Tali & Susan"

-One last thing: I think I was kinda set up tonight:

One of the first girls to come into the signing was this really cute girl with amazingly huge tits who gave me "fuck me" eyes that could have been on the cover of a porn DVD. I flirted with her for a minute, asked her if she was coming to the afterparty, and then moved on to the next person. But as the signing progressed, at least eight dudes asked me if I was going to fuck her. One guy offered to pay me to do it. There was even a girl in on this; she went so far as to cock-block another girl I was talking to so I would fuck Jessica. I eventually stopped fighting it and went home with Jessica. I was suspicious though; I checked the closets and every hiding place I could, looking for a camera or something, but found nothing. I don't know; I mean, the sex was good, but anti-climatic. I expected 40 people to run in the room snapping pics or something. If a sex tape of me furiously humping a short, big-titted blond girl from UPenn surfaces, don't say I didn't warn you.

-And with that, I am done with Philly. I had a great time, I will definitely be back soon, and again, thanks to everyone who came out to meet me.

EDIT#1: This is hilarious: At UPenn there is now a Facebook group called "Tucker did more than sign books." It was set up by the girls on Jessica's floor literally as we were in her dorm room fucking. The "sexiled" roommate, the girls next door listening, and even the girl I accidentally ran into in the bathroom naked when I was trying to take a post-coital piss are all in the group. They even took a picture of my signature from when I had to sign into the dorm. I can't make this up--go search the UPenn Facebook groups, it's up there.

EDIT#2: This is a pretty good article written about my visit to Penn. The girls I hung out with that I thanked above are the ones who wrote it (but they made a mistake--I did not woo Jessica, she came out to fuck me. I don't hit on 18 year old freshman, I will only hook up with them if they initiate contact. Even I have my limits).

Word on the street: Tucker Comes to Penn and Hilarity Ensues
What Tucker Max Taught us about life
By cathi burns and amy starosta
February 9, 2006

At the staggeringly old age of 30, Tucker Max is a wise man with
lessons to share aplenty. He's instructed us in many of them through
his entertaining writing, from the foul dangers of butt sex to the fun
to be had with a half-time competition at a hockey game. Tucker
recounts these and other stories of unparalleled absurdity in his
latest New York Times Best-Selling book, I Hope They Serve Beer in
Hell. Anyone can learn from his hilarious missteps by picking up the
book or checking out his horrifyingly funny website
(www.tuckermax.com), but we had the privilege of experiencing Tucker
firsthand when we spent the evening with him last Wednesday.

Over dinner, Tucker was friendly and a great conversationalist whose
intelligence was obvious, but it was just a typical interview until he
deflected a question by putting us on the phone with his mother (who
maintains that she "did not raise him to be this way"). Once the
drinks were flowing, Tucker began to expose a more contemplative side.
He cited Aristotle's Apology, claiming he didn't really know anything
until he realized that he didn't know anything. Of course, now that he
knows he doesn't know anything, Tucker is the self-proclaimed epitome
of wisdom. He relayed a good amount of this hard-earned insight to us
throughout our conversation. "Everyone has a destiny," he asserted.
"Some people grab the reins and do it." As for his own destiny, Tucker
realizes that he has not made things easy for himself. "I threw myself
in the deep end... the way I acted," he said. "I had to learn how to
sink or swim fast... There were times I didn't think I would make it
-- professionally or as a human." But obviously Tucker has persevered,
and he claims, "I always knew I wanted to be an empire builder."
Dinner with The Man left us reassessing some profound questions, but
once we headed to the bar, we met Tucker Max the Legend.

At the Blarney after-party, Tucker was everything you would expect
from a man who built his fame on "disregarding social norms"; he
exposed girls' breasts in pictures, bought drinks and shots for large
groups of people and flirted shamelessly with just about every female
within arm's reach. And while it became obvious early on that neither
of us would be making a night of it with Mr. Max, that didn't prevent
him from hanging out/liquoring us up. What a decent guy. Throughout
the night, Tucker was followed by a harem of adoring college chicks,
but more interestingly, his 30-something South Philly friends. Usually
short 30-year-old men in bars are creepy, but these guys were only
there to hang out and have a good time. We even got an invite to South
Philly to hang out with Larry, who owns a gun shop and a bar: winning
combo. At the bar, we didn't contemplate questions about the meaning
of life or destiny, but rather "how do you like your pussy?" which was
found emblazoned on a t-shirt. Tucker's response: "Easy." While Tucker
didn't live up to his reputation as an asshole, he did display his
charms as he wooed a freshman and made a quick departure to the Quad.
Wednesday was a night of firsts: our first time hanging out with a
cult celebrity, Cathi's first time taking her laptop to a bar, Amy's
first Jager bomb (which quickly turned into her second and third) and
Tucker's first time driving an RV sober. But if The Legend is good for
some cheap thrills and low-brow humor, Tucker Max the Man might
actually be as wise as he claims, and we've never had as much fun
being edified as we did with him.

Thu, Feb 2nd: Richmond
# of books sold: 25
# of books signed: 35
# of alcoholic drinks consumed: 20+
# of pictures taken with fans: 20+
# of girls I hooked up with: 1
Thanks: To JR and his buddy for helping set us up, and to the bookstore for hosting us.

Highlights of the stop: One of the main aspects of this book tour is that it is a learning experience for me, so I can better plan/organize future tours. I've already figured out that I should have done at least 15 things differently; I should have done Atlanta on Monday instead of Super Bowl Sunday, I should have started planning this thing at least two months in advance instead of only one, etc, etc. Richmond taught me another important lesson: Instead of having signings at geographically central locations, I need to have them in a location that is the most convenient to my fans, and at a time that makes sense for them. The bookstore I had the signing in was very central for the city of Richmond, but kinda far from the University of Richmond, where most of my fans here are. And the signing was at 3, right in the middle of classes. As a result, I would estimate that several dozen kids who wanted to show didn't make it, at least judging by the email I got and the number of people who showed up at the after party asking for books. Oh well, lesson learned.

In more entertaining news, I no longer have to stress about keeping the RV nice. In the course of three hours I ended my fanciful ideas of returning it intact and getting back my $300 deposit. While driving down Main Street in Richmond, I was so concerned about not side-swiping cars that the RV was a tad into the on-coming traffic lane. This isn't an issue with normal cars...but it is with buses. You may think you have been shocked in your life, but until an oncoming Richmond Municipal bus clips a side-view mirror on your RV and explodes glass through the open window, covering your face and body and getting into your mouth, you haven't seen anything. I don't know how a piece didn't get lodged in my jugular. Tucker Luck strikes again.

I probably could have replaced the glass at any Pep Boys and still been OK with my deposit. But two hours later, as I was pulling the RV out of a lot I didn't really account for the effect that no drivers side mirror would have on my navigational skills...and proceeded to scrape the side of the RV up against a telephone poll. Not major damage, but still enough that the neurotic guy who works at the RV place is going to freak. Thank god for "walk away" insurance.

EDIT#1: I forgot to mention this: PWJ was supposed to come to the signing but he couldn't make it. Why? He had to be rushed to the ER like two hours beforehand because HE HAD AN OBSTRUCTED COLON! It's not as funny as it sounds though. He has Crohn's Disease and sometimes has issues with getting his shit out. Anyway, PWJ, Hate and SlingBlade are all going to be in Durham. Good times are ahead.

EDIT#2: I forgot to mention this also: I got pulled over by a cop yesterday on the way to Richmond. It was a total profile stop--some white college-looking kid driving an RV poorly? Yeah, I wonder if he has drugs. I knew what he was doing so I was totally cool with the cop, explained I was on a book tour, open a few cases of books and showed him one. He read the back and started cracking up laughing:

Cop "You went to Duke? This is pretty funny. Alright man, have fun, just be safe. You've never driven one of these things before have you?"
Tucker "No sir. Well...not while sober."

EDIT#3: I have to mention this too: At the signing this one Asian kid came in and was unbelievably excited to meet me. This is basically the whole conversation:

Asian [to me] "I am meeting god."
Tucker "Not really dude. Relax, I am cool and all, but I'm not a deity."
Asian "No dude, you are my hero...you, you're...you just amazing. I'd do anything for you. I'll slap a bitch. I'll fucking cut her tits off! I'll stab her!"
Tucker [kinda stunned] "Hey man--relax. Do not cut the tits off of anyone, there are no women that need to be stabbed. Calm down."

EDIT#4: I just got an email from the Asian dudes friend, and he sent me the IM conversation they had after the signing. This is it:

asian friend (5:10:22 PM) : tucker max
asian friend (5:10:25 PM): i met him
me (5:10:28 PM) : hahah badass
asian friend (5:10:30 PM): i shook his hand
asian friend (5:10:35 PM): i talked to him
me (5:10:40 PM): what was the smalltalk
asian friend (5:10:45 PM): it was strange
me (5:10:47 PM): haha
me (5:10:52 PM): i bet it would be
asian friend (5:11:02 PM): i couldn't even comprehend meeting this man
me (5:11:09 PM): yeah, celebrity status
asian friend (5:11:17 PM): i said some ridiculous things
me (5:11:21 PM): haha
asian friend (5:11:38 PM): i am embarrassed that i could not give my idol a proper conversation
me (5:11:42 PM): what'd you say
asian friend (5:11:50 PM): something about killing people for him
me (5:11:58 PM): hahah, did you pregame for it?
asian friend (5:12:02 PM): and ripping the tits off of some bitches
asian friend (5:12:03 PM): no
asian friend (5:12:09 PM): and i regret not doing so

Fri, Feb 3rd: Durham/Chapel Hill
# of books sold: 142
# of books signed: 165
# of alcoholic drinks consumed: 15+
# of pictures taken with fans: 50+
# of girls I hooked up with: 1
Thanks: Thanks to Debbie and the Barnes and Noble people for setting up the signing, everything went really smooth.

Highlights of the stop: The signing went really well. I signed 165 books and a ton of people came out. The best part was that for the first time, SlingBlade and Hate got to meet my fans. I made them and PWJ sit next to me and sign books. SB wrote things like "Fuck Tucker," "I think you're different," "This book is plagerized lies," "Tucker masturbates to Sesame Street," and my favorite, "Tucker thinks you're fat, but I think you're a special unique flower." Hate also signed books, but he was more to the point with things like "You are wasting your youth on a false idol," "Why did you buy this crap?", "I weep for the world" and my favorite, "The only person dumber than you is the guy who bought two books."

Then we went to the bar. I was a little excited to go out, I have many fond memories of Chapel Hill and the ladies of UNC. Sadly, I was not really able to re-live them. I instead discovered a new talent that I did not know I have: I am a cock magnet. No, seriously, I spent three years going out in Chapel Hill and never once saw a bar on Franklin so packed with guys as East End last night. I know that most of my fans are male (though the signings are like 30-40% female) and that's cool, but last night was out of control. I literally could not walk through the bar without a group of dudes wanting to talk to me and do shots and get pictures.

In a desperate attempt to shift the blame for this, I asked the manager if it was normally like that, "No man. I've never seen it like this. You can really draw the fellas." Absolutely no bullshit, I don't think that I had more than two uninterrupted minutes of talking to a girl before some new set of guys would come up and want to tell me I was their hero or that I inspired them or ask me to do shots with them or whatever. I am more than happy to talk to my fans, but it quickly got annoying. The thing is, most of the guys were very cool about it and not annoying per se, it was just that the line never ended. I understand now why real celebrities are so into VIP sections; you can't even function in a normal bar if you have a lot of fans there. It's unreal.

Of course, this was incredibly hilarious to my friends. SlingBlade, Hate, PWJ and Doug (from The Midland Story in IHTSBIH) all made it to the signing, and just whooped it up at my misery. My new cock-magnet talent has an added benefit for my friends; they were having no problem meeting girls, because all the males were talking to me. You want proof? SlingBlade talked to a girl! By himself! He's all growed up! But sadly, this story does not have a happy ending. When I got back to the RV this morning, there he was, curled up into a little ball of hangover pain, mumbling about whores misleading him.

Tucker "Dude, what happened? You had that one in the bag. And she was hot."
SB "I don't know. Hate and PWJ left to get a hotel room and she promised to take care of me, but when we were getting ready to leave she started in with the 'I won't have sex with you,' and 'We can't go back to my place, my roommates are home,' and then 'I won't get a hotel room with you, that is classless.' What the fuck do you want to do, hold hands in the alley? Whatever, she's a whore."
Tucker "She had nice tits. Did you at least get to play with them?"
SB "Yes, I kept slapping them over the course of the evening, to remind myself of why I was talking to her."

The night had another big highlight: A girl dumped beer on my head. This girl was a fat, sloppy mess, her hair looked like she had done it with her knees, and she had one of those voices that can pierce eardrums. She came up to me and immediately belts out "I AM THE FEMALE YOU!" This is never a good indication of things to come. My response, "I would be a much hotter woman." I turned around and more dudes came up to talk to me, so I ignored her.

Sadly, she was not put off so easily. Nope, she accosted me at least three more times, telling me all about how funny and drunk and witty she was. This was fun for approximately zero seconds. This girl was the very definition of annoying; picture Courtney Love hopped up on bathtub meth and dressed like a dirty bag of awful. Three fucking times I told her to go away, and each time I walked to a different part of the bar, and every time she would find me and start bothering me again. Finally, I'd had enough:

"LISTEN: I AM NOT GOING TO FUCK YOU. YOU ARE FAT AND ANNOYING AND DISGUSTING, AND I'D RATHER FUCK THAT DUDE WITH THE BEARD THAN YOU. GO AWAY."

As you might imagine, this little call out did not go over well. If by "not well" I mean "she lost her mind." Normally I know what a huge tactical error it is to enrage a woman who is so obviously insane, but I was past the point of caring...and that was when she threw her beer on me. But the beer was basically empty, so only a little splashed on me. I laughed at her, "Seriously, can you do anything right? Go find a homeless guy to stalk, maybe he'll be more your speed."

She stormed off, and I thought that was the end of it. I was wrong. She went to the bar, bought a full beer, and without even taking a sip of it, came back and threw it on me. At that point, I had to laugh, "Baby, I can wash beer out of my clothes, but the scar on your soul will never heal." Then she slapped me. Whatever, she's never recovering from last night. Maybe next time she'll take the first FOUR hints and leave me alone.

This is getting ridiculous. It is 8am on Day Four as I write this, and I am already physically and socially wasted. This tour is taking years off my life. I don't know how I am going to make it to the end of this thing. I cannot keep pouring alcohol down my throat for days on end, getting no sleep, throwing my penis into wet holes and talking to hundreds of people a day and expect it to finish well. PWJ took one look at me and said, "You look like Morgan Spurlock at the end of Super Size Me." I guess that's part of the fun...for everyone but me.

EDIT#1: I just got this email and it made me think of something:

"I was one of the hordes of guys at East End that came out to see you last night, and I got to talk to you right before the girl dumped beer on you the first time. Your description of her is accurate: the bitch looked like she had enough food stored in her cheeks to last her the rest of the winter. I'm not so sure it was the "fat and annoying" comment that pushed her over the line. I think it was when you put your arm around her and politely asked her to walk out of the bar and introduce herself to the front end of a car on Franklin St. I don't think she appreciated me referring to her as "your problem bitch" either, because I got to share in a little bit of the first beer she threw at you. It caught you in the shoulder, but it caught me in the eyes, since I'm about 3/4ths of a foot shorter than you are. I'm only glad I got away from you before the crazy bitch reloaded.

In any event, it was cool getting the chance to meet you last night. If you were annoyed by the hordes of guys that kept coming up to you all night, you didn't show it at all. Good luck with the rest of the tour."

I just want to emphasize this: I don't want to make it seem like I am bitching about my fans. 99% of the people who have come out to meet are cool people and don't sweat me at all. It's just that I am not used to this constant crush of humanity; it is a bit over-whelming at first.

EDIT#2: This is a piece that appeared in the Raleigh News & Observer:

"He's just a dude, hanging out in a crowded college bar filled with them, when the two young women approach. One whispers into his ear.

He doesn't whisper back. Instead, he twists around and points to a reporter. "Tell him what you just told me," he says.

She asks why. He says because I told you to.

So she says this: I'm a sorority pledge and I've been issued a challenge to make out with him.

The dude offers his cheek, the pledge gives him a kiss and her girlfriend snaps a picture.

Tucker Max, drunken story collector, didn't get this far without learning to work his image.

He may have graduated from Duke University Law School, but Max makes his living writing stories like "This'll Just Hurt a Little," and "She Won't Take No For an Answer," winning crazed fans along the way. He gets drunk and says mean things to people, gets drunk and fights hockey mascots and gets drunk and has anonymous sex. Then he writes it down.

College kids worship him, reverently invoking him as an adjective: "I'm going to get Tucker Max drunk tonight." His latest story collection, "I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell," appeared on the New York Times best-seller list for paperback nonfiction. It's not the kind of stuff that Oprah picks for her book club, but with a boost from the Internet, Max has carved out his own piece of fame.

His present status, he says, is like living in a "weird netherworld between being a nobody and an actual celebrity."

Max's writing career began when he posted an online dating application for potential female suitors. It got him some attention, and then he started posting stories. He says each one is true -- only some names and a few details have been changed to keep him out of trouble with the authorities. His buddies get pseudonyms.

That online project grew into a couple of self-published books and then "Beer in Hell," his first for a big-time publisher. He's on the road this month promoting it. Some signings are at frat houses. He stopped last Friday at Barnes & Noble at the Streets at Southpoint in Durham.

He dismisses readings as "old school." So he just signs books -- sometimes it's "I'm awesome. T. Max" -- and poses for pictures with his fans, some of whom are crazier than others. In Richmond, Va., a young man referred to Max as "God" and said he would mutilate and kill a woman for him.

Afterward, Max heads straight to a local bar to drink and hook up with girls.

"I totally fell assbackwards into this thing," says Max, who is 30. He's only taking advantage of the opportunity.

Right now it's what he does for a living: his Web site, www.tuckermax.com, is filled with ads that boast "Kegerators 4 sale" and "Rate my nude photo."

He says it brings in $10,000 a month.

There are plenty who hate his shtick. A reader once wrote to him: "Because of you, I don't believe in God anymore. No just God would allow someone like you to exist."

We know this because he included it as a blurb on the back of "Beer in Hell."

"I actually like having critics," he says. "No one hates on the anonymous and unimportant."

He revels in the fact that many of his stories portray him in a bad light. He shares things that many men would forever hide -- like the fact that he may have had sex with a post-operative transsexual -- but it's that honesty, he believes, that has won him so many fans.

"I pretty much don't have any secrets," he says. "It makes life much easier to live."

Dad is OK with his career path, says Max, who grew up in Kentucky and lives in New York City. Mom is another story.

"My mom doesn't get it, dude. She just cries and asks why I can't be a nicer person."

It's in the attitude

They started lining up inside the bookstore an hour or so before he was to begin signing.

Nearly everyone is 18 to 22, and probably 60 percent or more are men, even though most of those at the front of the line are women.

Some came from Charlotte. His looks have something to do with the attraction.

"He's not 'Oh my God, he's so hot!' but he's not ugly either. He's more on the attractive side," says Brittany Davis, 20, who traveled from Greensboro.

It's not just the looks, the women in line agree, but it's his attitude: Max's confidence is a turn-on.

He shows up exactly on time, and soon a pattern begins: Max, wearing a gray T-shirt, jeans and a two-day beard, signs quickly and poses politely for pictures. When an attractive female fan steps up, Max puts his arm around her waist and says in a low voice, "You comin' out tonight?"

Each one smiles.

They all know that he's headed to the East End Martini Bar in Chapel Hill after the signing. He posted it on his Web site.

He can be obnoxious. Girls in a group approach, and one hands him a cell phone. She asks him to speak with her friend in Spain.

"Seriously," Max says. "You need to come back to America. Spain sucks." And then he clicks the phone shut.

One woman arrives with her boyfriend. She passed him a note along with her book: "Tucker - Love to meet you. Jenny," and includes her phone number. Max reciprocates by writing his cell number in her book.

Friends from the stories are joining him at some of the signings. Buddies PWJ, SlingBlade and Hate sign books in Durham, and fans are happy to meet them, too. PWJ, a lawyer in Virginia, smiles after his first-ever autograph. "It's not even my real name."

A group of five women approaches the author. They've come all the way from Virginia Tech University to meet the infamous Tucker Max. They all want pictures. He poses for some.

"Come to the bar. You can get all the pictures you want," he says, before turning to one of them: "But I want you to take your shirt off."

After 90 minutes, when everyone has gone through the line, Max has signed more than 165 books.

Max and his disciples

It's early when they arrive, so Max and his entourage sip beers in relative peace. But as the crowd grows, so does the group of male admirers.

They want pictures. They want to shake his hand. It seems that everywhere he goes, a half-circle of college-age men is following him, waiting to see what he might do next.

Max figures his work appeals to college guys for a simple reason: They haven't quite lived enough years to tally up the experiences that he has.

Only one gives him any attitude. "Are you him?" asks Dave Cowan, 22, as he approaches Max near the bar. "What, are you like 35 now?"

Things are tense for a moment. Cowan presses him about hanging around college students. "Dude! You're sweating a dude right now," says Max, obviously irritated.

After a minute or two, things calm down and Cowan heads to the bar for a refill. "Why should we be impressed? He's a 30-year-old who hits on 20-year-olds."

All the other guys have comments more like this one:

"He's my hero," says Alan Bevier, 23, who was drinking nearby with friends. "He's a professional partyer."

The female admirers are lining up, too. He poses for pictures and makes sure to chat with the prettiest ones. But he doesn't seem to be making a connection with anyone in particular. He might get in touch with Jenny.

"At the end of the night, if I have no better options, I'll call her."

One of those options approached him several times, and in each instance he blew her off. By the fourth time, he tells her, in essence, that he would only sleep with her if she lost 40 pounds and got rid of the rat's-nest hair.

She tosses her drink on his chest.

Max excuses himself and cleans up best he can with paper towels. Then he pulls out the scrap of paper Jenny passed to him in the bookstore and gives her a call.

"Come save me," he says. "I'm surrounded by dudes."

He hangs up and says that she'll be here in 20 minutes.

But it doesn't happen.

It's more like 25 minutes before she arrives.

Thin and pretty and probably in her early 20s, Jenny, whose last name isn't on the paper, arrives with a couple of friends. A round of drinks is produced. A few minutes later, she leans over and asks if he wants to leave.

He turns to a reporter to make sure he's catching it all. Then Max -- still wet from the spurned girl's drink -- accompanies Jenny and her friends out the door, across Franklin Street and toward his next story."

Sat, Feb 4th: Athens, GA
# of books sold: 32
# of books signed: 63
# of alcoholic drinks consumed: 20+
# of pictures taken with fans: 25+
# of girls I hooked up with: 2 (together)
Thanks: To myself, for being stupid.

Highlights of the stop: I don't think I could be more upset with myself right now. By all accounts, Athens should have been one of the best stops on the tour because I have a ton of fans here, but I fucked up the planning and consequently shit the bed. Great job Tucker.

But one good thing did come out of this logistical fuck-up: I had a sexual first. At this point in my life, I have done so many things that it's hard for me to find something new, but last night I did. These two girls, "Rachel" and "Siena" came back to the RV with me. They both wanted to fuck, but weren't into doing anything lesbian, so the standard positions were out. OK, whatever, one can watch while I fuck the other one, no big deal, I do that all the time. Then I had a brilliant idea. Right before I had sex with Rachel I turned to Siena:

Tucker "Eat out my ass as I fuck her."
Siena "Uh...OK."

Talk about making the night. I don't know why I haven't done this before. I mean, I like sex and I like having girls toss my salad, but I had never really thought to combine them. I don't know why; lack of vision on my part, I guess.

Siena did a great job too; I have seen people try this in porn and it never seems to go well for them. The girl usually has too hard of a time keeping her mouth on the guys ass as it moves back and forth, but Siena got it done. I guess UGA college girls who are actually into sex are more motivated than your typical Valley Girl whore who only does porn for meth money. It was quite the intense orgasm; Rachel can attest to that, I blew a HUGE load on her face. I highly recommend it.

EDIT#1: Rachel just told me that I was not the first "celebrity" she's had sex with. Who did I follow? Jordan Knight. Excuse me while I go set myself on fire.

EDIT#2: OK, this just went from disgusting to vomitous. Rachel met Jordan because he sung at some sorority formal of hers, and he "chose her." Those were her exact words. But she did not actually fuck Jordan. When they were hooking up, he flipped her over and tried to have anal sex with her. She wasn't into this, and he didn't want to have vaginal sex, so he started pouting, and she just gave him head and that was it. The next day she found out that he had given his number to at least two GUYS at the formal.

And here I was thinking that Joey was the gay one.

EDIT#3: I CANNOT BELIEVE I FORGOT TO WRITE ABOUT THIS. At one point there was a paraplegic in a wheelchair AND a double amputee at my signing. Sadly, the amputee was a guy, and a disgusting homeless guy at that, but man was he entertaining. One arm was just gone at the shoulder with nothing there to replace it, while the other was amputated at the elbow and he had a old school metal hook prosthetic. A recap of the coversation:

Tucker "How do you wipe?"
Amputee "Lotsa toilet paper. I wrap it around lots and just move it around. I gots to be careful not to hook myself though."
Tucker "What about jacking off? How do you do that?"
Amputee "Lotsa wet dreams. And den I gets hookers sometimes."

And he drew this picture with his mouth, it was unreal. Sadly, none of us bought it.

EDIT #4: SPECIAL GUEST UPDATE: SLINGBLADE'S TRIP HOME
As you know if you have read the other updates, SlingBlade was at the Durham and Athens signings. He just wrote us this email about the drive back to Washington DC from Athens, GA. I don't know if I have ever laughed as hard as I just did reading it [note: Hate is a huge Pittsburgh fan]:

From: SlingBlade
To: Tucker, Hate, PWJ, GoldenBoy, Jojo, Credit, El Bingeroso
Date: Feb 6, 2006
Subject: SuperBowl XL and Tucker's book signing

Hate, I think next time the referees should just come out in Steelers
jerseys, to at least not insult us with the pretense that they are somehow
neutral. I was less offended by the officiating in Wrestlemania XII when
Rowdy Roddy Piper hit the Ultimate Warrior with a baseball bat while the
referee pretended to be telling the British Bulldogs to stay off the apron.

Also I really have no idea whatsoever how I survived that drive home from
Georgia. I woke up hypothermic and still drunk in a frat house at 5:30 a.m.
and decided that would be a good time to hit the road. At this point, of
the last 72 hours of my life, I had been asleep for about 3 of them. At no
pint during those three hours did I remotely approach anything resembling a
REM cycle. So they pretty much don't count as sleep. I had also drank
enough alcohol to kill a rhinoceros, had eaten one Chik-Fil-A value meal and
a pita, and had taken in 1/2 liter of water while urinating out about 15
metric tons of water as my body attempted to dilute the poison I had forced
into it.

6:00 a.m. - I hit the highway and decide I should put the cruise at the
speed limit. My right eye will not stop burning. It takes every ounce of
willpower I have to keep my eyes open. I might possibly have made a
mistake. A strange buzzing noise has been annoying me for the last half
hour. I wonder if it is real or imagined.

6:15 a.m. - I notice that the seatbelt light is on. I couple that with the
buzzing and come to the conclusion that I am not wearing my seatbelt. I put
it on and the buzzing stops. Satisfied with this epiphany of causal
reasoning that took 45 minutes to occur, I up the cruise control to 5 mph
over the speed limit.

6:20 a.m. - The rumble strips save my life for what I can only assume will
be the first of many times.

6:45 a.m. - I realize I have been staring into space for the last twenty
minutes muttering "Paul Wall, got a mouf like a crystal ball."

7:15 a.m. - I look up and realize that I have somehow exited the highway.
This was not my intention. I am going 70 mph and am about 20 feet from an
intersection and a stop sign. Luckily, there is no traffic and I have had
tactical driving training. With the aid of that training, the median, ten
yards of gravel and an open field I manage to stop my vehicle. I quickly
get back on the road when I realize that the adrenaline will probably keep
me awake for at least 45 minutes.

7:30 a.m. - I contemplate getting a hotel and sleeping. Then I remember
that if I have the rental car back to DC by 3 o'clock I will save twenty two
dollars and thirty four cents. I note to myself that I would stand on my
dick for eight hours for twenty two dollars and thirty four cents should the
opportunity ever present itself. I up the cruise control to 75 mph.

8:15 a.m - The adrenaline wears off. I stop and purchase three mountain dew
code reds and chug them. Since I never drink caffeine I figure this will
help

8:30 a.m. - The light refracting on my windshield creates a vision of the
Virgin Mary of Guadalupe. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

9:00 a.m. - My body dumps all three mountain dews directly into my bladder
at once. My left kidney explodes and my bladder attempts to annex the space
my prostate is currently occupying by forcing it out of my body out through
my rectum. I have found a new personal definition for the word pain. I
stop to urinate for what feels like forty five minutes. My bladder had been
so expanded that it has lost all elasticity and can no longer evacuate
itself near the end. I stand there while a steady minute stream of urine
dribbles from my penis for five minutes. I then realize there is a 24 hour
porn store truck stop at this exit. I go in. The owner look up, does a
double take and says "Damn boy" while he shakes his head. Apparently I look
a mess. I check this in the mirror. Picture an extra from Schindler's List
with conjunctivitis. Keep in mind that it is an epidemiological fact that
truck stops are pretty much the nexus point of every country-wide
communicable disease outbreak in the history of the United States. This guy
services TRUCK STOP PROSTITUTES and yet finds me pathetic. I find this
funny and start giggling. I can't stop giggling and decide I should leave
the store.

9:25 a.m. - I sneeze and my left Eustachian tube blows out. For the next
twenty minutes I feel like I am leaning to me left. I absently tap my left
pupil with my finger to make the itching stop. I wonder if the things they
used to keep that guy's eyes open in "A Clockwork Orange" are a)
commercially available and b) sold at gas stations.

10:00 a.m. - I realize that the caffeine is actually working. I call Tucker
to tell him that I hate him and that he will, in all likelihood, be the
death of me. He laughs at me. My back has begun to hurt. I keep awake by
reminiscing about things I wrote in people's books at the signings. My
favorites include "Tucker in no way, shape or form knows how to please a
woman, call me instead (after Tucker had left his phone number in a book)"
"Your hero here Tucker, whimpers in his sleep. Think about that." "Your
vagina is the only thing that ever made you special." and "Tucker couldn't
find your clitoris with a map, two hands, and an industrial strength
spotlight."

10:30 a.m. - I wonder if masturbating will help keep me awake. I pull out
my penis and find it unresponsive. I stretch it out and flick it with my
middle finger, angered by its betrayal. No effect. I visualize all my
normal go-toes - Jessica Alba, that freaky girl I hooked up with last year,
a midget juggling on a tricycle. Nothing. The good news is I no longer
fear death.

11:00 a.m. - I stop for Chik-Fil-A. I forget to take off the pickles.
Pickles usually make me violently ill but I cannot taste them. I wonder if
sleep deprivation has given me super-powers. I slap myself as hard as I can
in the face to test this theory. It is, in fact, quite painful. I do not
have super-powers. At this point I have the cognitive abilities of a six
year old, am functionally illiterate and am quite possibly a danger to
myself and others on the road. Undaunted, I press on.

11:15 a.m. - I realize my penis is still hanging out of my pants. I wonder
why no one at Chik-Fil-A pointed this out to me and hope they don't have
security cameras.

12:00 - I reach Durham. I have driven from Durham to DC a hundred times and
could probably drive it in my sleep. I decide to test this theory.

12:00 and two seconds - The rumble strips save me again. Apparently I have
to stay awake for the next three and a half hours.

12:20 p.m. - My face starts to tingle. I realize this is a symptom of
muscular sclerosis and make a mental note to check the website I used last
year to convince myself I had a brain tumor for additional symptoms I can
manifest. I hear voices and wonder what talk radio station I'm listening
to. The radio is not on. The concrete pylons on the underpasses have begun
smart-eyeing me. I briefly consider driving the car into them to teach them
a little respect.

1:10 p.m. - I reach the body of water and bridge signaling the Virginia
border. I contemplate driving the car into Lake Gaston to celebrate.

1:20 p.m. - I consider asking PWJ if I can crash at his place when I reach
Richmond. I decide I'm too close to DC to pack it in. I increase the
cruise control to 80 mph.

2:00 p.m. - I realize I might survive this. I being laughing and screaming
"I'M GOING TO MAKE IT!!" I hold down my horn until it goes out. I start
fantasizing about what I will do with my twenty two dollars and thirty four
cents.

2:20 p.m. - I hit DC traffic. I start to cry. I am an emotional and
physical wreck. My body has begun portholing in a desperate attempt to save
itself by shutting down non-essential systems. I have run out of ATP and my
muscles no longer function. I lose peripheral vision. My body realizes my
left leg isn't needed to brake or accelerate and it goes numb below the
knee.

2:45 p.m. - I consider continuing on to NY just to see if I can make it.
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.

2:50 pm. - I exit the highway and begin driving in what I can only describe
as a haphazard fashion in an attempt to make it to the car rental check-in
area. I almost cause five accidents. I have never seen so many angry
people honking in my life. I have never laughed harder.

3:02 p.m.- I check in. This is the worst moment of my life. I am too
tired to argue for my twenty two dollars and thirty four cents. The
attendant smells my car and begins dry-heaving. If my nostrils are to be
trusted I smell like I have spent the day rubbing curry on my body, sweating
pure alcohol and defecating on myself. I give him the thumbs up and move
on.

3:18 p.m.- I get on the Metro at National Airport. And promise myself I
won't fall asleep. I just need to make it to Rosslyn.

3:40 pm. - I am woken up in Largo Town Center at the metro termination point
by a conductor who forces me off the train. I have never been more confused
in my entire life. I have no idea who I am or where I am. My stomach is
filled with butterflies and I start arguing out loud with the train about
who I am. I stumble around the station for twenty solid minutes before my
brain kick starts itself. I get on a train the other way and find someone
who promises to wake me up.

4:05 p.m. - I am woken up, quite rudely, in Rosslyn. Were I not borderline
retarded with fatigue, the guy shaking me awake would have gotten a reflex
punch right in his throat and then had his knee shattered. All I can muster
is a half-hearted wave of my arm that he takes as a thank you. He says "no
problem." I say "go to Hell."

4:12 pm. - I make it to my apartment and slip into a coma.

7:15 a.m. (next day) - I wake up on my couch in the fetal position. It
appears I have been sucking my thumb and crying in my sleep.

Go to The Tucker Max Book Tour Running Update, Part 2

Posted by Tucker Max at 2:23 AM

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