QGL Forum :: New Tucker Max story

Tucker goes to Vegas

Occurred--October 1999
Written--April 2005

There are certain defining events in every man's life: the first time he has sex, the first time he gets drunk, the first time he gets in a fight....and his first trip to Vegas.

During my 2nd year of law school I had to fly to LA for call back interviews, and I planned to stay with my good friend "Junior" while there. Junior is 5'9", well built, half-Italian half-Arabic, with light green eyes and olive skin. He's got that "dark with light eyes" look that that women lose their s*** over. I knew Junior from Florida, where we he used to work for my father. We became friends because he is one of the few people I've ever met in my life who not only does better with women that I do--WAY better, actually--but simply put, he can not only keep up with me, he can exceed me at times. Not many people can.

He lived in Santa Monica and was attending UCLA at the time. I arrived in LAX around 8pm on a Thursday, intending to party all weekend and go to my interviews on Monday. Junior was there to pick me up.

Junior "Hey, what�s up man?"
Tucker "Not much, what�s up with you?"
Junior "Nothing. Let�s go to Vegas."
Tucker "Well�OK."

By about 8:15, Junior and I were on our way. I didn�t even drop my bags off at his place.

Halfway there, in some s***-bag cow town called Barstow, Junior tells me to exit the highway and pull into a place called "In-N-Out." I was not impressed:

"Dude, where are we going? This place looks like s***."

Junior glared at me like I had turned down sex with Penelope Cruz and said nothing. He insisted that we go inside, as he said that one couldn�t properly drive and give these burgers the attention necessary at the same time. He ordered me the Double-Double, and looking at it, I was still unimpressed. It's just a f***ing hamburger.

I have only fallen in love three times in my life, and the first bite of that Double-Double was one of those. The crispy bun complimenting the cool lettuce, the special sauce accentuating the fresh tomato, the sweet meat mixing with the salty cheese, all of it coming together in a harmonious medley of flavor thus far unseen on the American landscape--I was smitten. It was the single greatest fast food meal in the history of civilization. Even though I was full, I immediately ate another Double-Double. I was nearly in tears at this meal it was so transcendently excellent.

Junior insisted that he drive for the second half of the trip. I didn�t understand why until we pulled onto the strip; had I been behind the wheel, I would have wrecked. I am not a big fan of the movie "Swingers," but I have to give it to Favreau, he really nailed the scene where they come over the mountain and see the lights of Vegas. I was like a child, I was so completely fixated by the flashing bright lights and shiny things everywhere. Times Square has nothing on driving into Vegas.

We pull into the Bellagio around 1am and immediately sit at the $25 blackjack tables and start playing. And drinking. And winning. Before I realize it, I am drunk, Junior and I are screaming, and we have collected quite the crowd around our table. We were "that table."

Everyone who has been to Vegas, or really any casino, knows the table I�m talking about: The one with the guys standing up, cheering at every winning hand, cursing at every losing hand, making ludicrous bets that pay off, yelling at everyone within earshot, ordering drinks for the entire floor, telling random onlookers to bring us food, grabbing the asses of cocktail waitresses, demanding the pit boss comp a room and some whores--that was us. There were many aspects to The Tucker and Junior Gambling Show:

We called every dealer, no matter what his or her name, "Slappy." We would routinely threaten every Slappy with bodily injury:

"If you beat my 20, I�m gonna kick you right in the crotch."

"I swear on my grandmothers dried up decomposing corpse, if you draw a five card 21, I�ll punt your tits across this casino floor."

One dealer nearly cleaned us out, so we threatened and cursed her and called her "The Angel of Death," to the point where she left the table nearly in tears. This didn't stop us:

Junior "You better not leave this casino alone! I'll find you!"
Tucker "I hope your children get lupus!"

One of the Slappys was quite the Puritan:

Tucker "Look at that card. f*** ME IN THE EAR."
Dealer "Quiet. You can�t say "f***" here."
Junior "We can�t say f*** in this casino, but prostitute�s can run around selling themselves all over Vegas."
Dealer "Prostitution is legal in Vegas. Saying 'f***' isn�t."
Tucker "THAT�S HORSEs***."
Junior "Can he say �horses***?� Is it legal for horses to s*** in Vegas?"

I honestly have no idea how we didn�t get kicked out.

As much fun as messing with Slappy was, you can only have so much fun with a dealer. What was more fun was the people who either gambled at our table or watched us. These two women sat down, one very young, and the other old and obviously her mother. Junior has the sex drive of a bull elephant in musk, so he immediately perked up.

Junior "I�m going to go hit on her."
Tucker "Dude, what are you talking about? She�s not even old enough to have seen all the episodes of Seinfeld."
Junior "I have to compliment you, because you obviously did a great job raising your daughter" [As he says this, he is facing the mother but ogling the daughter.]
Mother "My daughter is 15."
Junior "Well�I�m rich. I�ll give you a large dowry."
Tucker "HOW MUCH FOR THE LITTLE GIRL! HOW MUCH FOR THE WOMAN!!"
Mother "Goodbye."

We got so carried away with the gambling and attention, the next time I took notice of my watch, it was 9am Friday morning, and I was feeling a bit tipsy. I casually ask the cocktail waitress how many beers I�ve had:

"I don�t know sweetie. I work the 2am to 10am shift, and you were rolling along when I got here. I�d guess you�ve had at least 20 or 25 since I�ve been working."

Like when a young child doesn�t know he's hurt until he actually sees the blood oozing out of the cut, I didn�t realize how drunk I was until I learned how much I�d had to drink. I grabbed Junior,

Junior "You OK man?"
Tucker "Get me a f***ing bed�I am about to hit a wall."

Junior laughed at me, told the pit boss and dealer to watch me, gave me about twenty $5 chips, and ran off. I went from 'Fun Tucker' to 'Comatose Tucker' in only about 5 minutes. I am not sure what happened over the next half hour, but when Junior came back I was passed out with my head was on the table, randomly pushing chips forward, the dealer playing my hand for me. People were gawking and laughing like I was some sort of street performer. The best part: I was up like $20.

Junior "We can�t get a room, they are completely booked up, but I just met this girl, you can stay in her room. Tucker, meet [Charlene]."

Junior is amazing with women, but even for him this was something special. He not only picked a girl up in twenty minutes in Vegas--a hot girl no less--he got her to agree to let a complete stranger, me, pass out in her room while he gambled with her. Golf clap for Junior.

To drunk at that exact moment to recognize this feat, I grunted a response, took her room key, and headed upstairs. I don�t remember the trip to her room, or taking off my pants, or pissing on the bathroom floor instead of the toilet, or knocking over a side table, or laying on a bed or anything else that I did. I still deny responsibility for those incidents. That's the beauty of alcohol: if you don�t remember it, it didn�t happen.

My next clear memory is waking up to the sound of skin slapping against skin. I was so dehydrated I couldn't even blink my eyes. Rubbing them, I saw Junior on the other bed humping that girl so hard that through my fogged vision, I thought he was trying to hump his way to China. A real pleasant scene. I passed back out.

When I woke up they had showered and cleaned the stench of stranger sex off themselves. Junior and I left her room to go gamble some more, but not before Junior gave her a fake cell number, because he is a bad person. About two hours later, I realized that I had left my glasses in her room:

Junior "How could you leave your glasses? Are you so drunk you forgot that you couldn't see?"

I went back up to her room and knocked on the door. I think she thought that Junior was coming back for more sex, because she answered the door only in her towel with this seductive smile. When she saw me, her expression shifted to confused, then quickly moved to sly.

Charlene "What can I do for you?"
Tucker [confused by the palpable sexual tension] "Uhh�I, uhhh�I left my glasses here. Really."
Charlene "Come in."

I looked around and found my glasses under the bed. Then it just got weird. She was leaning up against the wall between me and the door with this look on her face I had never seen before. Well, I had seen it before, but only in porn movies where the lonely wife f***s the muscular plumber in the cut off shirt, and that just couldn't be happening here, could it? I mean, this is real life, and real life is never like porn�is it? Women don't randomly f*** strange men they just met�do they?

You have to understand, I was only twenty-three at the time, and didn't quite understand what I do now: While there are many wonderful women in the world who should be treated with respect, some are just filthy whores. Even though I was inexperienced I relied on my sixth sense about this and decided to roll the dice. Besides, what's the worst thing that could happen? She kicks me out? I'm leaving anyway:

Tucker "You aren't dry yet? Why are you still in a towel?"
Great line Tucker, real smooth. Apparently, it didn't matter:
Charlene "Why don't you finish drying me off?"

Twenty-three and naive, even I couldn't miss that one.

Now that I think about what I actually did, I am kinda disgusted. I followed one of my best friends not even two hours after he was done. She did shower though, so I guess that's good. Whatever; nothing counts in Vegas, right? The best part: I've never even told him about that. He's going to learn when he reads this story.

Afterwards, back down at the tables:

Junior "What took you so long?"
Tucker "I got stuck in something. That girl is pretty hot."
Junior "No s***. She's incredible in bed."
Tucker "I bet."

By this time it was around 5pm on Friday. We had an awesome roll the night before, but this day luck was not with us, and I ended up losing like $500. Whatever, I had at least 12 drinks, so I clearly came out on top. Stupid Vegas, they don't know anything.

The hemorrhaging stopped at 8pm, because my buddy SlingBlade was coming in on a flight. At the airport, I see him come out of baggage claim:

Tucker "SLINGBLADE--THIS PLACE IS GREAT! WE DON�T EVEN HAVE A HOTEL ROOM! JUNIOR f***ED SOME WHORE AND I WON LOTS OF MONEY! WOOOOOOO-HOOOOO!!!"
SlingBlade "I am getting back on the plane."

We ate dinner at the In-N-Out right off the Strip (yes, I am obsessive-compulsive), gambled and drank for awhile, and then went to the big club inside of The Venetian. Junior and I rounded up two women, and of course because they had vaginas SlingBlade hated them and spent the whole time grousing about "whores" and "wanton filth." At some point, the five of us noticed this hilarious scene on the dance floor:

A stunningly hot girl was casually dancing with one of her female friends, when this disgusting bald old man came up and started grinding her. Not just dancing next to her mind you; he was freaking her 6th grade negro style. It was ridiculous. She kept turning away, and he kept following, and we kept laughing at him. All of the sudden SlingBlade walked over to the old man as he was trying to wheedle his way between the girls, pulled him aside, pointed to the exit and said:

"You sir are a failure in dancing and in life. Please move away from the hot girl."

The expression on the hot girls face was amazing; it was the personification of true love. She was almost in tears laughing, and immediately draped herself all over SlingBlade and gave him a big kiss on his cheek. In fact, so many people were laughing that the old man actually did leave the club.

The night progresses, and things start going really well with my girl. Her hands are down my pants, her tongue is in my ear at the bar and she whispers to me:

Girl "Is it true nothing counts in Vegas?"
Tucker "It only counts if you live here."
Girl "I am from Cincinnati."
Tucker "It counts even less if it's not in a bed."
Girl "That is so hot. I've never done that."

I immediately pull her into the bathroom hallway, where we start making out so intensely we could have been giving each other CPR. This club, instead of two separate men's and women's bathrooms, has four unisex bathrooms. And the bathrooms have those really cool type of doors that are totally clear glass when unlocked, but frost up when you lock the door.

Cool bathroom doors aside, I have to find a solution to my dilemma: I am drunk and horny with a drunk and horny girl who wants to f***, but there are 20 people in front of me waiting to use the bathrooms. I decide that since I am clearly a more important person and have greater immediate need, I can cut the line. I just have to give everyone something in return.

A door opens and a I rush towards it, pulling the girl with me. A douchebag guido tries to say something, but I stop him, "TRUST ME--I'll make it worth your while." Before he can protest I push her in and lock the door, and the clear glass immediately frosts up. She grabs me and plants a sloppy drunken kiss on me:

"f*** me so hard I forget my name."

You don't have to tell me twice. I spin her around and bend her over the sink, rip her Victoria's Secret panties as I pull them down her legs, and slam my penis into her like Dale Earnhardt into the wall at Daytona. But as I thrust back and forth, my subconscious takes me out of the moment:

"Tucker, you have a promise to a guido to fulfill." Stupid f***ing subconscious. I look around and try to think of something.

The way the bathroom is set up, the toilet is on the back wall directly across from the door, and the sink is on the wall to the left, so as she is bent over the sink and I f*** her from behind, I am positioned between the toilet and the frosted glass door. Then it hits me: Right there, in front of my face, is the lock for the door. Hello, payback.

I turn it open and the door immediately goes from frosted to clear. A few of the people in line turn to look at the door expecting it to open�but instead see me hammering away at this girl. I smile and lock it back.

No way. Did I just give all those people a shot of me having sex?

A few more thrusts, and I click it open again. The glass clears, but this time there are four people standing there. They all stare in shock. I give them a smile and a pump and lock it back again.

Unlock the door.

Eight people standing there. I start spanking her. They cheer loudly. HOLY s***! HOW COOL IS THIS!

Lock it back.

Unlock the door.

A dozen people standing there. I do the 'look ma, no hands.' They cheer rowdily. WHO'S THE MAN NOW?

Lock it back.

Unlock the door.

More than a dozen people standing there. I grab her hair and spank her like a rented mule. They cheer wildly. I AM A SUPERSTAR! THIS IS AWESOME!

Lock it back.

I start to wonder: what do I like more, the sex or audience? I don't care. I should go into porn. After all, its not the size of the dick that�s important, it�s the size of the crowd that the dick attracts.

I unlock it and lock it back over and over, giving them some different variation of the show each time; pulling her hair, putting my finger in her ass, pushing her clothes off, throwing toilet paper on her. Everything I do gets me more cheers from more people there each time. God I love being on stage. The best part is that the girl doesn't even notice; the only part that unfrosts is the door, and except for her ass she wasn't in front of the door. She could have been an ass sticking out of the wall and nothing else for all the crowd could tell.

By the tenth time I unlocked the door, there were at least 30 people crowded around watching me fire my cock into this girl. I'm getting close to cumming and I decide that for my big finish, I am going to shoot my load on the glass right as I unlock the door. I start pumping harder and harder, and right before I cum I pinch the bottom of my cock (to stop the cum from shooting before I am ready), turn towards the door and simultaneously splooge on it as I unlock the door. WHAT A FINISH!

I didn't see him at first because I was caught up in the effect of my orgasm, but he came into my vision pretty quickly.

Instead of 30 people shocked to see me shooting a five-roper on the door�there was a huge 6'5" black bouncer, arms crossed on his chest, with a 12-inch Mag-Lite in his hand.

His eyes met mine, then he glanced down at the load shooting onto the door, and his eyes came back to mine. We shared a moment. A moment of complete and utter shock.

That shared moment ended quickly. I think the precise second it ended can be pinpointed to when he slammed his shoulder into the door, flinging it open and smashing it right into my face. Dick in my hand and pants still at my ankles, seeing stars, I stumble backwards�and land right in the toilet.

In case you were wondering, toilet water feels exceptionally cold against a bare ass.

The bouncer storms in, "WHAT THE f*** ARE YOU DOING?"

He had the Mag-Lite half raised and I am convinced that had the girl not been there, he would have introduced it to my head in a violent and ferocious collision. Thankfully, she came to my rescue:

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

I guess he hadn't seen her in his rush to hurt me, because the bouncer jumped in shock. I took this opportunity to pull myself out of the toilet, and ass still wet, put my pants back on.

I tried to run, but I doubt Barry Sanders in his prime could have shook this guy. He was not only big and athletic, but his tackle showed perfect form, even despite the fact that he nearly slipped on the girls torn panties laying on the floor. I would have complimented his flawless technique, but I had problems breathing through what felt like broken ribs and a collapsed lung.

He grabbed me by the shirt and basically dragged me across the dance floor. All I could do was muster a weak, "Help!" but thankfully SlingBlade and Junior saw me and came to my rescue. Well, they didn't stop the bouncer from dragging me out of the bar, so it wasn't really a rescue. It was more of a "We'll just watch and hope they don't beat Tucker any worse" type of rescue. I get kicked out of bars all the time, but this was the first time that I was actually thrown--physically thrown through the air--out of a place. And people say old school Vegas is dead.

Even though the seat of my pants was still soaked, we went to another casino and drank at the center bar for an hour or so, just to decompress and digest the events that just happened. SlingBlade has the intestinal fortitude of a premature newborn, and he was not handling the combination of alcohol, In-N-Out and stress very well, so we decided to go to a diner-type place in the casino to get him some coffee.

It was about 4am Saturday at this point, and this place already had its breakfast buffet out. Junior and I immediately got plates and sat down. Greasy eggs and pork fat spilling over the edges of the plates. When the smell caught SlingBlade, he winced and turned grey. I thought I was being funny at the time:

"That�s not a good smell if you�re feeling queasy. Well, whatever you do, don�t think about greasy, fatty barbecue sandwiches with gobs of melting butter on top. And a full ashtray dumped on it."

SlingBlade immediately leaned over and vomited all over the booth he was sitting on.

Tucker "OH s***!"
Junior "WHY DID YOU SAY THAT!"
Tucker "I DON'T KNOW!"

Still reeling from falling in a toilet and getting my ass kicked by a bouncer, I just sat there. It was Junior who saved this day. He immediately jumped into action:

"Get up SlingBlade, get up. Alright, Tucker, hold him up. Just stay here, I�ll be right back."

He ran off to the front of the restaurant and got the manager. She was a well-dressed woman, probably in her late thirties, who looked unhappy that, at her age, she was still pulling late shifts in a Vegas restaurant.

Manager "Hi. What can I do for you?"
Junior "Yeah, we were just seated, and, well, I don�t want to get anyone in trouble for this, it�s not a big deal at all, but it appears that someone left something in our booth, and nobody cleaned it up before we were seated."

He pointed to the booth SlingBlade had been sitting in.

Manager "What is that�Oh my lord! I am SO sorry. Oh my! Is that vomit? Please, oh, I am so sorry. I can�t believe this. Please go to the front, we�ll get you a new table and take care of everything right away. I am so sorry. JULIO, GET OVER HERE!"

SlingBlade and I went to the front of the restaurant, SlingBlade still holding his stomach in agony. They quickly seated us at another booth in a separate part of the restaurant. SlingBlade wasn�t looking much better.

Tucker "Can you hold it together? Are you going to be alright?"

SlingBlade nodded. I was ordering him some coffee as the manager and Junior came over to our new table.

Manager "Please let me apologize again for that. I am really sorry, that has never happened before. Let me buy your meal, whatever you want. Again, I am really sorry."
Junior "That�s really nice, but honestly, it�s not necessary. Really. It�s not a big deal."
Manager "No, please, I want too, I feel so bad about�"

I heard it before I saw it, but the noise was enough. By the time I actually looked at him, SlingBlade only had a small dribble of vomit coming out of his mouth, but there was chunky liquid was all over the carpet�right next to the managers shoes.

She stood completely still, in total shock, except for her head which tilted downwards to see the damage. When SlingBlade started retching again, she jumped out of the way of his second wave of vomit. She waited for him to stop regurgitating before she spoke:

"I think all of you should leave now."

Junior and I were still wired from all the Red Bull we drank at the club, so we decided to gamble. SlingBlade was done, but the casino we were at didn't have any rooms either, so we had to travel all the way down the strip to Circus-Circus to find a room. Once we had the key we sent him up to the room, and started in on more blackjack. This was about 5am on Saturday morning.

Junior left the table at 10am. I kept playing and drinking Vodka Red Bulls until I looked up and it was 3pm (still Saturday). SlingBlade and Junior had come back down to the table:

SlingBlade "Jesus Christ. How are you still awake? Are you on coke?"
Tucker "NoDude,RedBullisAmazingStuff, PlusIThinkTheyReallyDo PumpOxygenIntoThese Casinos. VegasIsGreatILoveItHere! DoYouThinkIShouldSplitTheseTensAgainstAn8? BookSaysNo,ButImOnARoll! HITME! HITME! COMEONPICTURE!"
SlingBlade "Should I just call Gamblers Anonymous now, or wait till you pass out?"
Junior "What's wrong with your eyes? They are shaking."
Tucker "ImHungry, LetsGoToInNOutandThenGoToAStripClub! Double DoublesOnMe!!"

We left the casino in Juniors car, and as soon as I sat down in the back seat I hit a wall. I passed out in the car and they just left met there. I woke up at 8pm, still in the car, in some parking lot I didn't recognize. Whatever; this is Vegas, its time to rally.

I look around see Bellagio signs. I know why we are here. Yesterday--at least I think it was yesterday--we had been playing blackjack at the Bellagio in the early evening while we waited for SlingBlade to fly in. Junior, who has an amazing radar for big-titted girls with low self-esteem was drawn like a tractor beam to the center casino bar. It was crawling with his exact type of women. Seriously, it looked like a Playboy shoot or something. He tried to pick up some of the girls but was continually and unceremoniously shot down. I found him and SlingBlade at the bar. Both were sipping drinks but not talking to any of the women.

Tucker "So what's up Junior? I've never seen you give up on pussy before, especially not pussy that looks like this."

Junior just shook his head as SlingBlade broke out laughing, "I can't believe you two idiots didn't recognize this yesterday. THEY ARE ALL PROSTITUTES! You don't hit on them, you negotiate price!"

That was the bad news. The good news was that Junior and SlingBlade had not wasted their time. Even though Junior may not be able to pick up working prostitutes, he did get a Bellagio cocktail waitress to agree to come to dinner with us, and to bring two of her friends who went to UNLV with her. They met us at the bar and took us to this amazing local Thai place. Making small talk, the girls asked us what we do. I considered telling them the truth, but hey, this is Vegas. You can be anything you want here:

Tucker "We are in a band."
Girl 1 "No way really? Anything I've ever heard of?"
Tucker "I don't know--do you listen to Christian Rap?"
Girl 2 "I love Christian Rap!"
Tucker "Well, I am Big Baby Jesus, and [pointing to Junior] this is The Beat Boxin Prophet, and he [pointing to SlingBlade] is DJ Orthodoxy. Together, we call ourselves Tha Last Suppa."

I wish I could have recorded the look on SlingBlade's face. There isn't a word strong enough for the look he gave me; "contempt" doesn't cut it, and "hatred" isn't rich enough. I fully expected the girls to laugh and ask us what we really did�and that is what I get for underestimating the stupidity of UNLV students.

Girl 2 "OH MY GOD! I totally think I have heard of you guys!"
Girl 1 "Were you on the radio today? I think I heard you!"

Now, I want to pause here and point something out. People always email me asking how it is I get into the ridiculous situations I seem to constantly find myself in. Well people, this is a how I do it: Where most anyone else would stop the joke here, I just dropped it into 5th gear and zoomed past the speed limit.

Tucker "Yeah! I can't believe you heard us. We aren't that big yet, but we're getting there. I'm glad that you two are fans."
Girl 3 "I'm a fan too!"
Tucker "Of course you are."

Junior played along great, but SlingBlade was not happy. Not only did he not like being "DJ Orthodoxy," but he could not stand the idiot girl he was talking to.

Girl 3 "So where are you from?"
SlingBlade "I don't care."
Girl 3 "Did you say 'here?' Like Vegas? Me too!"
SlingBlade "Yeah here. I'm from right here."
Girl 3 "This neighborhood?"
SlingBlade "No, this Thai restaurant. I was lost in a rather high stakes game of Omaha Hold'em by my degenerate gambler father, but luckily escaped from the glue factory and lived as a street urchin until this nice Thai family adopted me. I lived out the rest of my childhood scampering amongst the chair legs, bussing tables for a cot and eating floor scraps for subsistence. This is like a home coming party for me."
Girl 3 "You don't have to be a jerk."
SlingBlade "Quite the contrary, my sloppy penile scholar. Order me another drink and be quick about it."

SlingBlade got up and went to the bathroom. Girl 3 turns to the table:

Girl 3 "You guys are really nice, but�DJ Orthodoxy is a jerk."
Tucker "Sometimes he has problems with the 'love they neighbor' part."

To really solidify the Christian rapper shtick, at one point I took my beer, held it up and motioned to Junior and SlingBlade:

Tucker "Beat Boxin' Prophet, DJ Orthodoxy�I think it's time we tipped one out to our fallen lord. Hmm? Some beer for Jesus?"

I poured a little drop on the ground. Junior laughed hysterically and followed me, then the girls actually did the same thing. SlingBlade just glared at me.

This Thai place was f***ing awesome. We couldn't finish a drink before they had another one in front of us. We got so drunk even SlingBlade started being nice. At one point, the topic of anal sex came up. As we were talking about the finer points of ass sex, Junior, who was very drunk by this point, stood up at his seat and yelled out,

"No girls butt can take this dick."

As he said this, Junior takes his cock out and slams it on the table with a thud. And it does make an audible thud--the dude is hung like Tommy Lee. I think a few glasses even clinked. I distinctly heard one of the girls gasp. The table gets completely silent for what seems like a minute, but was probably closer to a second. He then belts out:

Junior "I�ve never had buttsex because no girl�s ass can take this dick. Look at this thing; I have a black man�s penis. Show me an ass that can handle this! Look at this dick! It�s huge!"
Tucker "Now, now Beat Boxing Prophet; you are being prideful."

As soon as my words were out of my mouth, all the women were immediately jarred out of a trance. They readjusted themselves and turned away from Junior as he put his cock back in, and some normalcy returned to the table. Well, as much normalcy as is possible after a f***ing elephant cock was slammed in the middle of a dinner table.

After dinner we decide to go back a the house that two of the girls share. SlingBlade claims that he is tired and wants to leave. We know the truth: He freaks out at the prospect of having to sleep with a girl that he isn�t in love with. The kid has problems. He gets in a cab back to Circus-Circus.

When we get to their house, the girls all go to the bathroom, and Junior asks me:

Junior "I can't believe they think we are Christian rappers. Do you think what we�re doing is wrong?"
Tucker "Junior, I don�t think anything I�ve ever done is wrong."

We all go into the basement, which has the TV and all the couches and what not. I pick one couch and Junior takes the other, but the three girls head upstairs, "we'll be right back."

I had to piss really bad, so I start wandering around the basement looking for a bathroom. I couldn't find one, and didn't feel like going upstairs to deal with whatever it was those three were planning, so I took the next best option, and started pissing in a cat box I found on the floor.

Junior "Dude, what are you doing?"
Tucker "Meow�meow."

All we could hear from upstairs was muffled arguing. Then a loud crash. Girl 2 came downstairs and told Junior that Girl 1 was waiting for him upstairs. She then explains to me:

"Yeah, I wish DJ Orthodoxy had stayed. We just had a big fight about who was going to f*** who. I don't actually live here, it�s the other two girls place, so even though I get to f*** you, we have to do it on the sofa down here."

We f*** and f*** and pass out and the next morning, I am awakened to a scratching noise and a cat bawling incessantly. I look over the sofa and see why: The f***ing cat box is CEMENT. Totally hardened over. Wow--that was quite the piss I took. I threw the remote at the cat and it screeched and ran off, and I rolled the girl over and f***ed her again.

Junior and I left a few hours later to go back to LA, having never changed our clothes or even showered, the girls wishing our band luck and saying they'd come see our next concert.

We ended up having to pull over on the drive back to LA to sleep. The weekend wasted us. We started at 1am Thursday night, and went almost straight through until Sunday morning.

The bad part about that story is that it ruined me on Vegas. Every trip back since then has been incredibly anti-climatic and s***ty. I guess it is pretty hard to top something like that. Plus, the way that weekend worked out, we really didn�t run into or have to deal with the legions of douche bags and tools that now seem to infect every aspect of Vegas. Maybe we were just lucky, maybe it was a different time, but the city just doesn't seem the same place that it was during that trip.

And yes, I made it to all my interviews on Monday.

NOTE: Feel free to send me comments at tuckermax@gmail.com, or go to this thread on my messageboard and comment on the story. BUT DO NOT SEND ME GRAMMAR OR SPELLING CORRECTIONS. The story has not gone to the copy editor yet, so I don't need 3,000 emails telling me I misspelled "to."