Hilarity Ensues - Hilarity Ensues Part 4
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Hilarity Ensues Part 4

If I happen to respond to a girl's attempt at sexting with me, most of the time it's because I'm bored. In those cases more than any other, my responses are engineered solely to entertain myself. Her sexual gratification is so far down my list of priorities, that just typing those words out makes me laugh. At all times, my first, second, and third goal is to see how long I can get a girl to play along with the most ridiculous shit I can think up.

ABSURD #1: EVERYTHING IS BETTER WITH BACON.

ABSURD #2: MARK OF THE BEAST.

ABSURD #3: RACIST FUCKER.

ABSURD #4: IMAGINE ALL THE POTTY MOUTH.

ABSURD #5: OMG I HAVE TO PEE.

ABSURD #6: METASEXT.

WHY HALLOWEEN IS AWESOME.

People always ask me what I think is the best night of the year to party. The usual suspects can be easily dismissed. New Year's Eve is amateur hour at its worst. St. Patty's Day can be fun, but any day that celebrates a bunch of drunken, wife-beating bog-people has a built in ceiling (for a fun St. Patty's day trick, go up to hammered people dressed in green and say, "Thank you for your service." Have fun watching them try to explain that they aren't in the military, they're just drunk idiots).

There are other nights that have their pros and cons, but if you're like me and go out to have fun-with getting laid and emotional escapism as a secondary goal subordinated to the primary goal of entertaining yourself-then you know there is only one real choice: Halloween.

Halloween revolves around delicious candy, excessive alcohol, and horny women dressed as sluts. This also describes my vision of Heaven.

That being said, I have a special place in my heart for Halloween for one reason: I get to make fun of people's costumes. The great thing about Halloween costumes is that they're a window into the hearts and souls of the people who wear them. Well guess what-most people are delusional idiots. There is no greater canvas on which to paint a masterpiece of caustic, Tucker Max-type humor than the immense plaid ass of a fatty who thinks she can pull off a Naughty Schoolgirl outfit.

Over the years, I've had some great Halloweens. The absolute very best is told in the "The DC Halloween Party and the Worst Girl I Ever Fucked" story in my last book, Assholes Finish First. These are the rest:

HALLOWEEN 2002, PART 1.

In 2002, TheRoommate and I went on a Halloween pub crawl. For my costume, I wrapped a red ribbon around my shirt, topped it off with a red bow on my shoulder, and put a card on the ribbon that said, "From: God, To: Women."

Get it? God's gift to women (this was 2002, when that was still a fairly original idea).

TheRoommate wouldn't tell me what his costume was going to be until about an hour before we left. He walked out of his room sporting a Carmen Miranda/Chiquita Banana Lady costume and in a pathetic Hispanic accent asked, "Do you want a banana?" I was laughing so hard, I almost had a seizure.

TheRoommate "Help me zip up the back, I can't reach it."

Instantly, I stopped laughing. There is nothing funny about touching another man's back hair.

The pub crawl was a typically awesome Chicago bar event: tons of girls, everyone drunk, everyone having fun, no bullshit or assholes. Except, of course, for me.

One girl came as Punky Brewster (for teenage readers: she was a television character from a creepy 80's sitcom premised upon an old man living with a very young girl; lots of clips on YouTube).

Tucker "How good is your costume? Have you had breast reduction surgery?"

Punky "Can't you tell? Look at them."

Tucker "I said 'breast reduction,' not 'breast elimination.'"

Punky "Come on."

Tucker "That's all the Punky Brewster jokes I have. Unless you want me to put you in an abandoned refrigerator."

Punky "You need more game to get me."

Tucker "Well, when you get bigger tits, I'll break out the bigger game."

She was not pleased. Whatever-what kind of Punky fan doesn't remember the "hide-and-go-seek gone wrong" episode, anyway? Apparently the flat-chested kind.

I eventually came across a girl in a princess costume who looked way too uppity for my taste. You know that saying, "no matter how hot she is, someone somewhere is sick of her shit?" Yeah, well this was the type of girl that had a lot of someones in a lot of somewheres. I decided to try my most sophisticated, suave approach: I walked up to her, pressed my hand on my ass, then put it up to her face.

Tucker "What's that smell like to you?"

Her face crinkled into complete shock.

Tucker "I think it smells like pineapple, but my friend says it smells like wet dog."

Her expression morphed into disgust and contempt.

Tucker "What? You don't like dogs?"

She walked off.

Tucker "Oh, so I guess you're not [air quotes] 'into farts'?"

At some point, I went to the bathroom, and the guy next to me at the urinals was dressed as Julius Caesar. When he was done, he shook off for what seemed like forever.

Tucker "Better get that checked."

Julius "No man, I'm just afraid of dribbling on my toga."

Tucker "I don't know ... I bet you have prostate cancer."

Julius "DUDE-WHAT THE FUCK?!?"

I thought for a second I was going to have to fight a guy in a bed sheet, when, right at that moment, another guy-who didn't seem to have a costume on-stumbled into the bathroom, drunk as hell. He saw us standing there, facing each other with our dicks in our hands, and stared at us with the kind of confused look I've only ever seen on a dog and a guido. He quickly snapped out of it, and his face lit up in a smile as he turned around to show us his back. A piece of bread was taped to his ass.

Guy "HEY LOOK-I'M ON A ROLL! GET IT!?!"

My outfit was not much more creative. It was basically just a device to get women to come up and ask me, "What makes you God's gift to women?" Which is pretty much the perfect costume for me since it's a great set-up for jokes. Some of my responses: "I love romantic comedies and listening to rambling, disjointed rationalizations."

"I'm a convicted sex offender."

"I don't know. What do you think? Tell me your thoughts, feelings, and opinions. I love to listen."

"I have 20 million dollars and terminal cancer."

"I won't judge you for the things you are going to do later and not tell your girlfriends about."

"Bend over and I'll show you. Though some girls think 13 inches is too big."

"I'm a plastic surgeon and I can fix everything that's wrong with you."

Sadly, most of the girls that approached me weren't cute. That's OK though, I devised the perfect solution: After I made myself laugh with my response, I just stopped talking to them.

Happily, I was able to meet a few cute girls who also thought my responses were funny and were into me. This is good. The problem is, this is Halloween: THE prime hookup night of the year. There are willing targets everywhere, but unless I know for sure that my penis is going to be inside a girl's vagina THAT night, I'm not going to waste even two seconds listening to how she wants to cure pediatric cancer or help rescue cats from blenders or whatever specific whore prattle she's spouting to avoid facing her obvious and crippling emotional issues.

I quickly figured an easy way to feel girls out. Each one I talked to, I would ask her what her costume was, even if it was patently obvious. Then, no matter what she said, I gave my interpretation: Tucker "What are you?"

Girl "I'm an angel."

Tucker "I think you're a slutty angel."

Tucker "What are you?"

Girl "I'm a sexy nurse."

Tucker "I think you're a slutty nurse."

Tucker "What are you?"

Girl "I'm a tree."

Tucker "I think you're a slutty tree."

Not very subtle, but very effective. I'm sure there were some girls that would have been more than willing to hook up, but seemed a bit ambivalent, so I moved on. Rolling the dice is for craps, not Halloween night.

Tucker "What are you?"

Bee "I'm a bumblebee, obviously."

Tucker "Yes, but are you a slutty bumblebee?"

Bee "I'm not a slutty one ... at least not yet."

Tucker "Well how much sugar and vodka will it take to transform you into a slutty bumblebee?"

Bee "Good question. How about we get some and see?"

We talked and hung out for a while. She was definitely very cute and she seemed nice enough. Okay, maybe "nice" isn't exactly right. Perhaps "willing" is the proper adjective to use here, but whatever-point is, she was down to fuck. After an hour or so of aggressive drinking, she did a shot of something and staggered a bit.

Bee "Well, I think we found how much alcohol it takes to turn me into a slut."

Tucker "Sweet! It's time for you to see my penis."

We stumbled back to my place and sloppily hooked up. I immediately understood why this girl was dressed in a costume that allowed her to hide her midsection. Her face, arms and legs were totally normal, the same as any girl-but her torso was huge. It was ridiculous and made no sense, like someone had glued four broomsticks on a keg. How does that even work, physiologically? Mr. Potato Head is more proportional than this girl.

Whatever, we're both naked and horny, and I've fucked way worse. No turning back now. When you try to jump a lake of fire you don't take your foot off the gas once you've hit the ramp. Plus, I was so drunk, I figured I would either pass out halfway or not remember it the next day. Win-win.

For some reason I woke up early the next morning, still drunk and groggy, and noticed the girl wasn't next to me. There was some noise or something in the living room, but I just assumed she was going to piss or was leaving, so I went back to sleep. My head was killing me, and I wasn't excited by the prospect of fully waking up and dealing with the worst hangover since Jesus woke up on Easter.

When I did finally rise from the dead, KegTorso was gone. I went to breakfast with my roommate and the girl he hooked up with. When it came time to pay, I realized I had no cash in my wallet, even though there should have been $40. What the fuck?

I was desperately poor at this point in my life, and like all poor people, I was acutely aware of precisely how much money I had at any given moment, down to the penny. The event last night was open bar, so I know exactly what I spent on drinks. Plus, I walked home and we didn't stop for food-there was no way for me to have spent that $40. I checked everything at my place-it was gone.

Then I remembered the girl rifling around my apartment that morning.

Holy shit! KegTorso stole $40 out of my wallet!!!

I was kinda in shock. I'm not sure what happened. Maybe she thought I underperformed, and this was her way of paying me back. Maybe she wanted to buy 40 things on the McDonald's dollar menu. Who knows, maybe she just needed the cash. But couldn't she have gotten that much by just taking her torso to the Liquor Barn and getting her deposit back?

HALLOWEEN 2002, PART 2.

After the previous night, I was dragging ass all day, which was fine because it was a Sunday and not much was happening. By late afternoon I'd decided to just nurse some beers and call it a night. That was when I got a call from my friend "Jerry."

Tucker "Yo."

Jerry "RRRRRAAAWWWWWWFFFFFMMMMMMGGGGGGAAAAA!!!!

Dude!"

Tucker "What the fuck?"

Jerry "HAHAHAHAA RRRRAAAAWMMMGMGGAAAAGGGG!!! Sluts!"

It took me a second to translate from Drunken Retard into English, but finally I got the gist: he was telling me to come to his place because there were hot girls and a full keg. I was reticent, but I decided to go-technically, this was still Halloween weekend, which meant there were still drunk girls in slutty outfits looking to fuck. What man in his twenties says no to that? Not Tucker Max.

I arrived at his apartment, which was this really cool 4-bedroom in Wrigleyville. He was technically right; there were a ton of girls there. They outnumbered the guys like 3 to 1. But he neglected to mention anything ABOUT the girls, like for instance, what species they belonged to.