Sons Of The Internet

So, there’s some developing story nonsense to this if you want to go over to Gawker and give a shit about something that really doesn’t matter (also known as like 50% of their content {and to be fair about 80% of ours[am i using these brackets correctly? it suddenly occurs to me they might have real uses]}) but the moral of the story is that TUCKER MAX SUCKS. He was good for a cheap laugh when it was on the internet, it was good for a cheap laugh for about 10 seconds when you were stuck in Urban Outfitters with your girlfriend, it was good for a cheap laugh when I incredulously noticed a street ad for the movie. Then, I realized it was true, and my heart sank. Anyway, my own disdain for the “tucker max media empire” aside, some shit went down with gawker. Basically, gawker put the snark out on tucker and then tucker was like “oh yeah”, and that’s about where he made his most critical error.

Tucker, tucker, tucker. I don’t know if you’ve ever been there before, but gawker is a site that exists to talk some shit and relay some news while doing it. You don’t talk back. THEY WILL END YOU. But, what’s done is done, and now without further ado, I give you Ian Spiegelman destroying Tucker Max with such venom and vitriolic furor that I honestly for a second wanted to tell him to back off. Then I thought about it, laughed and kept reading.

I don’t hate you, Tucker. I think you’re a sad piece of nothing that floated along and got caught on some corner of the net when it was still impressed by college boy antics beyond giving them two minutes of Youtube time. I say your stories are fake at THE SAME TIME (wow, Tuck, caps are an effective rhetorical device!) as I say every frat boy tells those stories, because every frat boy’s stories are mostly bullshit. Most frat boys only try to sell their crap to their friends, and not for money. Even Opie and Anthony called bullshit on you. How often do they call bullshit on anyone? You know most of your stories aren’t true, and that’s part of what makes you behave like a caged-in fucking maniac.

The other reason I would hate you if you were worth the passion: You soooo clearly fucking hate and fear women, brah! My God, can you write one word about them where you’re not demeaning—literally—the shit out of them? It’s not okay with most people that a guy who sells 400,000 copies of a bad book he mostly invented should fucking hate women, should keep telling story after story about how he tricked some girl with not enough self-esteem into a place of lesser self-esteem. Why don’t you at least get creative about it?

Because you cannot. You haven’t got the mind. You are, frankly, quite stupid and dark and a misery to contemplate. If you’ve had all the sex you claim to have had—though I don’t think all the shitting and vomiting you describe actually describes any kind of actual sex—why not be philosophical about it? Why not be Henry Miller?

Why not? Because you, Tucker Max, are a thug, an unimaginative punk, and, at heart, a tiny little vapor.

As for your bet. Nick will deal with that.

As for me, before you bother googling me: I have written two novels and they did not sell much at all. If you think that’s the measure of me as writer, James Frey has sold roughly five or six times more copies than you, not including his bad novel.

In the end. We hate you because you suck. Hating you is the least cynical thing any Gawker writer ever did.

Now die.

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