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lmao.....classic shit :shoot:

I read this story a while back.. It was written by a guy named Tucker Max and it's posted on his website at www.tuckermax.com . Tons of other stories there and worth the visit... the guy is freaking hilarious.

i roar with laughter at this thread...nice one...now i know anals out the question judging this thread + i'm never turning homo....EVER

^ he wasn't gay either but obviously his cock N balls still got shitted on, ROFLMAO

OMG yooooooooo I had to show other people this shit, I'm about to post it on 2 boards I'm at cuz wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow...

man I near DIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEED reading this, LMAOOOOOOOOOOO...

I spent 3 hours or so on Tucker Max's site after someone posted the link on RB. My personal favorite....

(He just got back from drinking and partying a lot and is now at his hotel)

I hadn’t realized how supremely shit-housed I was until we stumbled into our room at the Embassy Suites. You ever been so drunk you forgot that you have to shit until the last minute? Well I was at that stage. I nearly had my pants completely off when SlingBlade snaked past me and got into the toilet first. Fine, I go get out of my bar clothes and change into a t-shirt and pink Gap boxers to sleep in. I wait patiently for about three minutes, then I start pounding on the door, screaming at him that I am going to shit on his bed if he doesn’t get out of there.

A short time later he opens the door laughing his ass off, and says, “That was perhaps the most prodigious shit ever. I just put that toilet into therapy.”

I take a gander into the bathroom. It looks like Revelations. The toilet is overflowing, brown shit water is spilling out all over the bathroom floor, and the tank is making demonic gurgling noises.

THE MOTHERFUCKER CLOGGED UP A HOTEL TOILET!

Hotel toilets are industrial size; they are designed to be able to accommodate repeated elephant-sized shits, and their ram-jet engine flushes generate enough force to suck down a human infant, yet skinny ass 170-pound SlingBlade completely killed ours.

I nearly panic. I let loose a flurry of unintelligible curse words at SlingBlade, punctuated by a “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!,” and knock over the lamp in my dash out of the room. The turtle is sticking his head out, and he is coming whether I am on a toilet or not.

I figure that there must be a bathroom somewhere in the lobby, so I shoot down the hall and hop in the elevator. Once in the lobby I can’t seem to spot a bathroom anywhere. So, I head around the corner to the front desk, which doesn’t face the lobby. It’s about 4am, and no one is at the desk. I furiously hit the bell for at least a minute--CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG --until some poor lady comes out with sleep lines all over her face and tells me that the bathroom in the corner of the lobby.

It is hard to describe, so let me give you an aerial picture of what the lobby looks like:

I turn the corner from the front desk into the lobby and realize I don't know which side of the triangular lobby she is talking about. I don't have time to go back and ask her, and I see a white door at the end of the left-hand side, so I quickly waddle towards it. Why am I waddling? Because I have to physically hold my butt cheeks together to prevent myself from crapping all over my pink Gap boxers. I am literally pressing my ass cheeks together with my hands. One of the prouder moments of my life.

I nearly bust the door off it’s hinges as I plow through it. I hear a loud, “AYYYY!!,” that almost literally scares the shit out of me. I jump back to see that this is a janitor’s closet, complete with a small Mexican lady janitor. I momentarily contemplate taking a dump in the janitors bucket, but decide against that, mainly because of the presence of said female janitor.

I try to be as diplomatic as possible, considering that I am about to crap my pants:

Tucker “WHERE IS THE BATHROOM?”
Janitor “No, no se habla Ingles.”
Tucker “WHAT?!? Huh, uh…DONDE ESTA FUCKING BANO?”
Janitor “AYA, AYA!”

She points across the lobby. About 60 yards from where I am standing, at the complete other end of the lobby, there is a set of doors that have a large “Restroom” sign over them. Right where the front desk lady said it would be, except on the opposite side of the lobby.

I have about half a second to make a crucial decision: I can either sprint and hope I make it there before I shit in my boxers, or I can stick my thumb up into my ass and shuffle the 60 yards to lavatory freedom. The decision is simple: I break into a full-on dead-ass sprint.

I am a decent athlete, I played football, baseball and basketball in high school, and I stay in good shape. I have run from cops before, I have run from guard dogs, from a legitimate drive-by shooting once while in Kentucky, but I don’t think I have ever run that fast in my life. Nothing motivates like the prospect of being covered in human excrement.

Unfortunately, I was not fast enough. It went something like this:

-20 yards into the run I feel my boxers start to sag.
-30 yards into the run, about halfway, I feel my ass crack and legs get noticeably wet.
-40 yards into the run, my boxers have slid down to mid thigh. I am struggling to keep it together.
-50 yards into the run, I can feel wetness all over me and little specs of something hitting the back of my head and ears.

By the time I get to the bathroom door, the end of the 60 yards, I have completely lost it.

I am shitting myself. Full on crapping in my pink Gap boxers.

I step out of my boxers as I crash through the door. Shit is puddled in the seat. I blindly hurl them away from me, and nearly break the door to the first stall. I plop down on the seat and immediately slide off, because my ass is covered in slimy, runny feces. All the while, my butt hole is spouting forth waste. I finally get situated on the toilet and lose perhaps 20 pounds in the next 2 minutes.

During a short respite in my nearly superhuman flow of crap, I notice that the toilet is almost completely full of shit, so I flush. Predictably, the toilet overflows. Great. I move to the next stall, and continue my little adventure, except this time I courtesy flush every few seconds.

By the time I finish, I am physically exhausted, completely dehydrated, and my eyes are tearing up from shitting so hard. I laugh at the inadequacy of toilet paper to clean my body. I take my shirt off and see that the back of it is completely covered in little specks of shit that my heels kicked up from the diarrhea that ran down my legs as I ran. I throw the shirt in the trash, and then see the mirror. My pink Gap boxers are crumpled in a ball on the sink, with a thick black streak leading from the top of the mirror down to them. This is their final resting place.

Completely naked and covered in my own poop, I chuckle, because at this point if I don’t laugh I have to cry. As I open the bathroom door to the lobby, I think to myself, “Who else on earth could be having a worse night than me?”

My question is immediately answered.

I see a trail of shit, starting very wide at my feet, getting progressively smaller until it apexes at the chunky white shoes of none other than the small Mexican lady janitor.

Her eyes met mine. We may have been separated by numerous religious, language and socioeconomic barriers, but the "What the fuck just happened?" expression on her face crossed all boundaries.

Now really--picture this scene: I am butt-ass naked, crap plastered all over my ass, legs, back and head, standing about 20 yards away from a Mexican maid, with a trail of black liquid shit leading from her directly to me. What would you do? I wasn't sure. I don't think there is any defined etiquette for this situation.

I shrug my shoulders, say, "Uhh, sorry. I mean, uh--lo siento. Good night. Buenos noche--or whatever," and calmly walk to the elevator.

From the glass window in the elevator, I can see her sobbing. The rest of the lobby tells me why: Not only had my legs kicked shit up on the back of my ears and head, they had sprayed little specs of poop all over EVERYTHING. The couches, the walls, everywhere.

Come to think of it, she wasn’t sobbing. I believe “hysterical crying” would be a better descriptive term. Oh well, someone has to clean up my messes, and it sure as shit isn’t going to be me.

When I get back to the room, SlingBlade is already in bed. He rolls over, takes one look at me and, never one for sympathy, begins laughing uncontrollably. He literally has to stop laughing because he strains his abdominal muscle. It takes him five whole minutes before he can get the words out,

SlingBlade "Where--where the fuck are your pants?”
Tucker "FUCK YOU ASSHOLE. This is all your fault, Mr. Rhino Dump. If you hadn't had that miscarriage in our toilet I wouldn't be COVERED IN SHIT!"

He couldn"t stop laughing long enough to respond. I took what remained of my dignity and got in the shower. As I was cleaning the poop off my back, I could hear him yell out:

"This is clear proof that there is a God, and he is just!"

that is sooooo sick! poor girl lol

Man this tucker max dude is a fucking legend..

Funny as fuck..

lmao, omfg @ the shit-dick..

OMG wooooooooooooow...

this dude is FUCKing hilarious hahahaaa...

that's some shit I'd die if I heard someone spit about on a track, ROFLMAOOOOOOO

Lmfaolmaorofllollmmfaolmfaolmaorofllollmmfaolmfaol maorofllol
Lmmfaolmfaolmaorofllollmmfaolmfaolmaorofllollmmfao lmfaolmaorofllollmmfaolmfaolmaorofllollmmfaolmfaol maorofllollmmfao
Lmfaolmaorofllollmmfaolmfaolmaorofllollmmfaolmfaol maorofllollmmfaolmfaolmaorofllollmmfao
Lmfaolmaorofllollmmfaolmfaolmaorofllollmmfaolmfaol maorofllollmmfaolmfaolmaorofllollmmfao
Lmfaolmaorofllollmmfaolmfaolmaorofllollmmfaolmfaol maorofllollmmfaolmfaolmaorofllollmmfao

I worked out my abs for a long time yesterday, so when I'm reading Tucker Max's stories it hurts my stomach like a bitch because I'm laughing so hard. And I'm serious, I laugh at only the most clever and hilarious shit.

best part was wen he sed she slipped on the shit and lubricant........ lmfao...... and im pretty sure it didnt even happen to the guy who really wrote this

LMAO!!! damn that shit was fucking hilarious...

WOW...... I NEVER EVER laugh at stories.... really i dont think i ever got more than a lil he he he, but these 2 stories from max tucker.... made me shit on my ceiling....

LMAO @ "shit on my celing"

Omfg...THis shit is hilarious

Quote:

Tucker goes to hockey game, causes trouble

by Tucker Max

Sometimes even I need a night off, and after an intense Thursday and Friday hanging out with JoJo, I decided to spend a relaxing Saturday hanging out with a friend of mine from high school who happened to be in town that night. We'll call him "Mark."

He shows up at my place around 4pm with a 30-pack of Old Style, which we manage to polish off rather quickly. As I am trying to decide how to steal some more beer from my neighbors, a commercial comes on for a regional professional hockey team, which coincidentally has a game in two hours. Mark wants to go see hockey. He considers it the best idea of all time. I disagree. I want a relaxing night.

Somehow he manages to convince me that drinking 15 beers and then going to a hockey game can qualify as a "relaxing night."

But not only does he want to go to the hockey game, he desperately wants to bring the CamelBak, having read about it in the UT Weekend Story. I pause and consider my options. I can:

A) refuse to go anywhere, knowing myself well enough to see that this night is obviously on course to become a catastrophic trainwreck.

B) agree to go to the hockey game, but refuse to bring along the CamelBak, because it will quite obviously result in my early demise.

C) say "fuck it," throw all caution and temperance to the wind, go to the game with the CamelBak full of Tucker Death Mix, and dare the consequences of my actions to catch up with me.

You've probably read some of my other stories, what do you think I did?

I load up the CamelBak with Tucker Death Mix [Everclear, Red Bull and Gatorade], but this time, instead of Everclear, I use real Kentucky moonshine. My mother lives in Kentucky, and one of her neighbors makes moonshine in his barn. Seriously.

We arrive at the arena fully shit-housed. We don't have tickets, and the only scalper we can find has got to be the dirtiest, poorest, shittiest looking crack addict in Chicago. He is trying to sell two ratty tickets. They look like he got them with a McDonald's Super Value meal. This does not stop me from bargaining with him. I am a master negotiator, especially when drunk:

Tucker "How much for the tickets?"
Crack fiend "40 each."
Tucker "Get the fuck outta here? Do we get a handjob too? Are you kidding? I'll give 20. Total."
Crack fiend "Awww, come'on man. Deez is good seaats, yo."
Tucker "You know...scalping is illegal."
Crack fiend "Man, don gimme dat shit. Deez is 8th row, at the co'na."
Tucker "40 is steep. After all, you're just going to spend the money on crack."
Crack fiend "Man, fuck you."

We settle on $40 total, find our seats right before the game starts, and much to my displeasure, there are about 10 women total in the entire arena. Not that we came to the game to pick up girls, but there is always that hope. I loudly say to Mark, "Jesus H Christ. What the fuck is this; Gay Hockey Night?" These two dorks on the left look at me horrified, while the old guys on the right start laughing. Fuck the idiots on the left.

We start talking to the old guys, bitching about women and whatnot. One of them starts telling us a story. "Yeah, I was with these two beautiful girls the other night. Wonderful girls. The night was going great until they started using all sorts of horrible four-letter words. Horrible, horrible four letter words, like "can't"..."won't"..."don't"..."stop." Horrible, horrible four letter words." These old guys were cracking us up. Of course, we were quickly approaching Tucker Max Drunk; a dancing Tele-Tubby would probably have had us in tears.

Because I can see the entertainment value from miles away, I start talking to the low-rent Jude Law on my left. I immediately wanted to punch him in the face. He was one of those annoying psuedo-intellectuals; horn-rimmed glasses, drinks Pinot Grigio by the glass at bars, buys poetry books but never reads them, avoids red meat, shops at the Kiehls counter, acts indignantly offended by Howard Stern, like to drop names like "Foucault" and "Sartre" in normal conversation. We all know one or two. I kept laughing to myself, because he looked exactly like Chachi from Happy Days. He thought he was better than me because I was drunk and acting like an idiot, while he was composed and polite. Yeah, I got something for him.

He condescendingly asks me what I do, and I tell him I'm a writer. Then the fun began:

Him "Really? I used to be a writer, until I went to law school." A fastball down the middle.
Me "Really? I never would have guessed. Where'd you go to law school?"
Him "The University of Texas."
Me "Well, I guess not everyone can go to a good school. So what did you write?"
Him "Mostly freelance think-pieces for magazines and newspapers."
Me "So you were an out-of-work copy editor?"
Him "Uh...no. My last piece was published in the Utne Reader."

IS THIS GUY FUCKING SERIOUS?

Me "I bet you're very proud." I laughed, but he just ignored me. "So what do you do now?"
Him "Uh...well, I'm a lawyer. That's why I went to law school."
Me "Suuuper. So, Chachi, where are you from?"
Him "I'm from Texas."
Me "I bet you were real popular there."

He didn't respond. Mark and I order a couple more beers. The game was boring, so I keep fucking with Chachi. His aggravation is growing visibly, but he's the type that signs anti-sweatshop petitions, so I'm not concerned about any forthcoming violence. I continue:

Me "I've been to Texas. I liked it. But I've heard some strange things about the laws there. You're a lawyer: Is it true that you can have open containers in the car, as long there is one less than the number of people in the car?"
Him "Uh...I'm not really sure. We didn't really study that in law school."
Me "Did you ever drink?"
Him "Uh...yeah."
Me "And you never drove afterwards?"
Him "Uh...no."
Me "You don't believe all that Mothers Against Drunk Driving propaganda do you?" He ignored me, so I continued, "Is it true that in Texas you can shoot someone if you find them sleeping with your wife?"
Him "No, that's not true. It's a myth."
Me "I don't know Chachi, I think it's true. What about if you come home, and you find a guy on your porch, nosing around, and your wife is inside, and she's naked. Can you shoot him then?"
Him "No."
Me "What about your wife, can you shoot her?" He didn't answer. "What if there's a guy in your yard, and he's naked, and he's looking at you funny. I bet you can shoot him then."
Him "No, you can't."
Me "What if some guy is on your porch, and he's dancing all funny, like a hippie, and your wife thinks he's attractive? Can you shoot either of them? What is the self-defense standard in Texas--'He needed killin'?'"
Him "What? Are you serious?"
Me "I'm just trying to figure out the law here buddy. You never know when you might have to come out blazing."

He and his friend get up and leave, but he leaves his beer in the cup holder. As soon as he was out of sight, I pour half his beer into mine, finish it off, and head to the bathroom. When I get there, I see Chachi standing at the urinal, so I bust out in song:

"THE STARS AT NIGHT, ARE BIG AND BRIGHT [CLAP] [CLAP] [CLAP] [CLAP] DEEP IN THE HEART OF TEXAS!!"

He looks over, not amused. I make a little gun with my thumb and index finger, point it at him, and go "POW!" He is even less amused. Fuck him if he can't take a joke.

The second period comes around, and Chachi doesn't return to his seat, so I finish his beer. He's not going to need it. Mark is busy sucking on the CamelBak, and appears ready to slip into a coma. Then it happens, that defining moment that I wait for every time I go out drinking:

Right before the second intermission, some guy comes up and asks our section if anyone wants to go on the ice and shoot pucks against the mascot,

"OH ME ME ME!! I WANT TO DO IT!! ME ME ME!!"

The guy kinda stares at me hesitantly, but since no one else in the 1/4 full section dares get up and challenge my drunken enthusiasm, I become the chosen one. I get down to the staging area behind the penalty box, and the other two participants are a girl who was so skinny she looked like she spent three weeks on the Miami 48-hour Miracle Diet, and a fat guy who uncannily resembled the Comic Book Guy from The Simpson's. I asked him if he owns a comic book store, and I guess this is a joke he's heard often, because he got kinda mad at me. Unsure of how to react to his visible anger, I say "Worst. Reaction. Ever." This didn't help.

The waifish usher explains the rules to us: We get a hockey stick and a puck, and are allowed to take one shot against the mascot, this big, furry, dog looking thing. Anyone who scores gets tickets to the next game. I chime in,

Tucker "I don't want to go to the next game. This place sucks."
Usher [stares at me with contempt for a minute] "You can't take your beer on the ice with you."

Once on the ice I flip off the crowd, and start my advance on the mascot. Right before I am about to shoot the puck, genius strikes me.

I hurl my stick at the mascot to confuse him, kick the puck into the goal, tackle the mascot into the net, pull his jersey over his head, and start delivering directed body shots into his ribs.

Raise your hand up if you've ever heard a professional team mascot say "What they fuck are you doing, you asshole?"

I'm not sure if I have ever laughed so hard as when this big fuzzy brown head let loose with a rapid fire barrage of curse words. I am so in tears laughing at him, that I can barely keep up giving him body shots. Of course, my laughter only makes him madder, and I eventually lose the upper hand. He gets me rolled over and ends up on top of me. He is now completely engrossed in the fight, and starts hitting me back, all while I am laughing hysterically.

The crowd went nuts. I mean honestly--picture this scene in your head.

The entire time, the announcer is standing 10 feet away, completely dumbfounded. He had no idea what to do or say, until the mascot got on top, when he finally comes over and pulls the mascot off of me. It actually took him a few minutes to get the mascot composed. The mascot had completely lost his shit; he wanted to keep fighting me, especially after I got up and threw my hands in the air, receiving boisterous cheers from the crowd.

haHAHAHahAHhaHHAHhaHAHhah.........that is the funniest shit ever...the one soc posted i nearly vomited but holy fuck that shit is funny...pun intended

ROFLMAO wtf? @ "these stories made me shit on my cieling"

is that slang specific to yuor area?...hahahahaaa, I hope not, I hope it's just something YOU use cuz WHOA, lmao...

ROFLMAO werd that Mascott shit's pretty funny, especially the end when the crowd jeers and cheers him on, LMAOOO...

^lol, yea i just thought that this wasnt just one of those, "shit in my pants" stories, this one was extra special, so i had to up the ante n throw in the ceiling part lol

LMFAO...

GAWD DAMN IT!!!

Now this is entertainment. I read the whole gawd damn thing.

HAHAHAHAHAHAA LMAO LMFAO......LOTFL...LOL..ROFL..OMG................. .........HhAHAHAHAHA

LLLLLLLLLMMMMMMMMMMMFFFFFFFFFFAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOO O
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HA
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HA
LLLLLLLLLLLLMMMMMMMMMMFFFFFFFFFFFFFFAAAAAAAAAAAAOO OOO

that "shyt" was fuckin halarious.....
A week prior, after Jaime consented to buttsex, I realized that I didn’t have any idea how to do it. How exactly do you fuck a girl in the ass? Luckily, I had the world’s best anal sex informational resource at my disposal: The gay waiter. I consulted several gay waiters who worked at one of my parents restaurants about the mechanics of buttsex, and each one recommended AstroGlide as the lubricant of choice. Much to my dismay, I learned that spitting on your dick is not enough lube for buttsex. Stupid, lying porn movies.

The other important piece of advice I remembered was from Calvin, “Make sure you use enough, because if this is her first time, she’ll be especially tight, and it might hurt her. Use enough to really loosen her up and go slow until she gets used to it. Then it’s smooth sailing from there.”

Well, since some is good, more is better, right? At 21, this seemed logical.

I opened the cap, crammed the bottle top into her asshole, and squeezed. I probably emptied half of the 4-ounces of AstroGlide into her. I have since learned from homosexuals that a 4-ounce bottle usually lasts them about 6 months. So yeah--I overdid it.

But I wasn’t done. Oh no, after depositing enough grease in her to run a Formula One racecar, I dumped half of what remained onto my cock and balls, really wanting to lube up because I didn’t want her to be uncomfortable.

Really--consider my thought process: I was going to fuck her in the butt and film it without her consent, yet I was truly concerned about her personal comfort. Sometimes the contradictions in my personality even amuse me.

LLLLLLLMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

llolololololmaorofl
Great story but why'd you post this at a rap site?

lololmao

You vomited in her arse.

lmfao......... that's so nasty god damn. but lmao was a good laugh. lmao.... i doubt you wrote it tho. but lmao... damn........

hilarious, long and hilarious

best thread ever..........upped

Mad old...I've read this months ago. Its on some guy's website.

too bad it was fake....... lol

i dont care if its fake or not....when i read it.....i laughed for like an hour

^i kno, who gives a fuck if it's old. it's soo funny. lmao

ive never read this b4,...had me in stitches, best text ive read in a long time..
.
.
my gut hurts from laughin so much...damn, that was funny...

Tucker has done better. =\

god damn ike brining back the relics lmao. I thougt "BaM!" posted again cuz this aliases posts are usually pretty god damn hillarious.

That's the best story ever, some kid on rv said he fucked a girl in the ass and she shit all ova him, I'ma be prepared for this.

ROFLMAO!!! funniest shyt i eva read, i gotta ask dude if these r true

Jaime “But…I like normal sex.”
Tucker “Everyone’s doing anal. It’s the new black.”

LMFAAOAOAFOFALMAFMLAFO

yo lmaoroflloloiwrohoinhwrg yo i was fuckin laughin my ass off on the part when fuckin everybody was throwing up and ur friend fell out da fuckin closet...i was laughin like shit.....good shit yo lol and i literaly mean shit

jesus...i love this story....my mom has me print it out like once a month so she can give it to one of her friends