You need to sign in or sign up before continuing.
Take a photo of a barcode or cover
oneeasyreader 's review for:
I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell
by Tucker Max
A confession: We’ve had all the takes on this one. It’s been covered. Lines drawn, ammunition stacked and fired. Tucker Max has suffered no divine retribution, more a comfortable spluttering out, cursed with a house, wife and four kids.
But one must glimpse into the past to see what reflects back at us. And, so, how does the hottest material of the mid 00s stack up today?
Getting your leg over (and then immediately blacking out)
I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell was a long-awaited glimpse into the secret world of 27-year-old men who pursue 19 year old women. You don’t need to find the ‘real’ Tucker Max, I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell is fratire’s Confessions. For Tucker, sex is worth about as much effort as picking one’s nose:
I pumped real hard for ten seconds and then collapsed.
As St Augustine might say: ‘O Lord, make me at least passable at sex, but not yet!’
You might conclude from the stories in I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell that a life spent pursuing women that you don’t respect before, during, or after sex might not be that fulfilling. And I think Tucker would agree with you.
I order two more shots.
Tucker “I need some more shots”.
Not to be outdone by a small girl, I did shots with half the bar until I was as drunk as, well, Tucker Max.
I am on my eighth beer of the morning, and am already starting to look for places I can vomit.
The genius of this book is that by putting so many of his internet posts in a single book, you can really imbibe the thrill of high school level writing from a Duke Law graduate. Drinking, public defecation, drinking, defecating in a public lobby, going to a frat party in your late twenties, drinking, incredibly unsatisfying sex, pissing yourself in bed and blaming your “partner”. It’s a real roller coaster, running from drunk and angry to drunk and horny.
On the one hand, Tucker lacks a scintilla of empathy for anyone outside of his friend group. On the other hand, he has barely a scintilla of empathy for anyone inside of it. There’s plenty of hostile commentary of how often Tucker is unnecessarily awful to others in his own retellings in I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell. And look, that sucks and I do not condone it, but I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell offer the comfort that maybe that weird guy with a receding hairline who bullied you at your high school graduation party will, one day, blow a lucrative ghost-writing career over his ego .
But it’s funny, right?
There is this crazy idea that not all humour is timeless. What was brave and controversial 15 to 20 years ago might seem passé, or even déclassé, today.
Her hot face and great tits are paired with ghetto booty and elephant legs.
After enduring a few cans of this ghetto swill.
It tasted like ghetto romance.
I can’t tell you whether ghetto is a funny adjective. I can’t even tell you what it means in I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell, other than something racial. But I can tell you that Tucker’s problem isn’t that that the world has gone woke, it is that its painfully dated in style. There’s no craft with Tucker’s work. He makes a derogatory statement, like:
We’ve all accidentally fucked a fat girl.
…and leaves you to assume the painfully simplistic punch line. If the words ghetto, fat or retard are good enough to evince a chuckle from you, I won’t call the woke mob on you. But if the height of wit in this book is an incredibly intoxicated guy yelling slurs, ask yourself if you’re really that hard to satisfy.
I am not saying Tucker is never funny:
Her “I definitely believe in fate.”
Me “Do you believe that fate brought us together?”
Her “Oh yeah.”
Me “Fate must hate you.”
…which even if unoriginal, is well set up and delivered (at least in the book). However, the quality of his work mostly falls far below this, notwithstanding what the exclamation marks and capitalisations in the recollections of his conversations would suggest.
Through a glass, darkly
Obviously, I have to one star this compilation of internet shitposts, some of which, if true, would be crimes, and not the fun ones. But the main thing I see reflected back at me is a lack of effort, a dissociation from any meaningful (or sober) engagement. Karma didn’t really come for Tucker, but maybe that’s because all he had back then was a lot of drinks and a disappointing sex life.
But one must glimpse into the past to see what reflects back at us. And, so, how does the hottest material of the mid 00s stack up today?
Getting your leg over (and then immediately blacking out)
I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell was a long-awaited glimpse into the secret world of 27-year-old men who pursue 19 year old women. You don’t need to find the ‘real’ Tucker Max, I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell is fratire’s Confessions. For Tucker, sex is worth about as much effort as picking one’s nose:
I pumped real hard for ten seconds and then collapsed.
As St Augustine might say: ‘O Lord, make me at least passable at sex, but not yet!’
You might conclude from the stories in I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell that a life spent pursuing women that you don’t respect before, during, or after sex might not be that fulfilling. And I think Tucker would agree with you.
I order two more shots.
Tucker “I need some more shots”.
Not to be outdone by a small girl, I did shots with half the bar until I was as drunk as, well, Tucker Max.
I am on my eighth beer of the morning, and am already starting to look for places I can vomit.
The genius of this book is that by putting so many of his internet posts in a single book, you can really imbibe the thrill of high school level writing from a Duke Law graduate. Drinking, public defecation, drinking, defecating in a public lobby, going to a frat party in your late twenties, drinking, incredibly unsatisfying sex, pissing yourself in bed and blaming your “partner”. It’s a real roller coaster, running from drunk and angry to drunk and horny.
On the one hand, Tucker lacks a scintilla of empathy for anyone outside of his friend group. On the other hand, he has barely a scintilla of empathy for anyone inside of it. There’s plenty of hostile commentary of how often Tucker is unnecessarily awful to others in his own retellings in I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell. And look, that sucks and I do not condone it, but I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell offer the comfort that maybe that weird guy with a receding hairline who bullied you at your high school graduation party will, one day, blow a lucrative ghost-writing career over his ego .
But it’s funny, right?
There is this crazy idea that not all humour is timeless. What was brave and controversial 15 to 20 years ago might seem passé, or even déclassé, today.
Her hot face and great tits are paired with ghetto booty and elephant legs.
After enduring a few cans of this ghetto swill.
It tasted like ghetto romance.
I can’t tell you whether ghetto is a funny adjective. I can’t even tell you what it means in I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell, other than something racial. But I can tell you that Tucker’s problem isn’t that that the world has gone woke, it is that its painfully dated in style. There’s no craft with Tucker’s work. He makes a derogatory statement, like:
We’ve all accidentally fucked a fat girl.
…and leaves you to assume the painfully simplistic punch line. If the words ghetto, fat or retard are good enough to evince a chuckle from you, I won’t call the woke mob on you. But if the height of wit in this book is an incredibly intoxicated guy yelling slurs, ask yourself if you’re really that hard to satisfy.
I am not saying Tucker is never funny:
Her “I definitely believe in fate.”
Me “Do you believe that fate brought us together?”
Her “Oh yeah.”
Me “Fate must hate you.”
…which even if unoriginal, is well set up and delivered (at least in the book). However, the quality of his work mostly falls far below this, notwithstanding what the exclamation marks and capitalisations in the recollections of his conversations would suggest.
Through a glass, darkly
Obviously, I have to one star this compilation of internet shitposts, some of which, if true, would be crimes, and not the fun ones. But the main thing I see reflected back at me is a lack of effort, a dissociation from any meaningful (or sober) engagement. Karma didn’t really come for Tucker, but maybe that’s because all he had back then was a lot of drinks and a disappointing sex life.