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Mother Tucker, Max


What do you call a bar with 5 deaf girls, a drunk midget, and a 6’2 giantess?
… a typical night out with Tucker Max.

That is not a joke.
That is real life … my life. I am the tour manager for Tucker Max’s book tour for his second book Assholes Finish First. And that pretty much sums up our night out in DC following his signing.

Before I even met Tucker, when he announced that his second book was coming out on Sept. 28 I sent a tweet to my Charlotte following announcing that Christmas had been moved, to Sept. 28. And not only did I get what I wanted for Christmas, which was to meet my favorite writer and garner his feedback on my writings, I got hired to assist him on his book tour. I must have been a good girl last year – or really bad depending on how you look at it. But if Sept. 28 was Christmas, then Tucker is Santa, and I am his elf … fit to scale.

And before you put the ASS in assume, I’ll go ahead and clarify that Tucker and I are NOT banging. The closest we’ve come to banging of any sort is when I give him bad directions while driving and I’m pretty sure he wants to bang my head against the car window. I am an aspiring author, not a plot line. Our relationship is strictly professional … well, minus going out and getting drunk with a midget, giantess, and deaf girls. Speaking of which, back to the story that sounds more like a joke. And just to preface, anyone who may think Tucker’s stories are bullshit, clearly has never hung out with him.

My to-do list for the DC signing:
1. Assist Tucker on a visit to Walter Reed Army Medical Center (and have a life altering experience).
2. Get bags of dum-dums for the midget to pass out to people in line at the signing (the midget from Tucker’s story within his new book made a special appearance at the signing … and on the bar later that night).

And between my work as a journalist, TV host and NFL cheerleader I’ve been around a lot of athletes and other celebs, but I have never seen a guy with more groupies than Tucker Max. Trying to keep all the girls vying for Tucker’s dick in order is a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it. And that someone is me. I am like the skank whisperer. But that night in DC I took it upon myself to add to my list of duties …

We invited some of the wounded soldiers from Walter Reed out with us. One of them, a rather cute one might I add, had a skin graft surgery the next morning and couldn’t drink anything after midnight. So, at 11:50 we got him a shot a Patrone, and as his chaser I gave him a kiss on the lips. I felt it my patriotic duty.
I also had to midget-sit the little nugget, who between raiding my mini-bar and having so many douche bags hounding her I literally almost had to fight one of them off, she was a rather large responsibility for being so damn little. She ended up passing out in my bed, which excited me because I could curl up with her and snuggle with her like a cuddly little stuffed animal.

Just another day at work.

I am actually currently on hiatus from my column and blog in Creative Loafing, but I will be back in Charlotte on Oct. 26 … for like 5 minutes, which is just enough time to host a party with Tucker following his signing at Joseph-Beth Booksellers: