“My name is Tucker Max, and I am an asshole." With these words Tucker Max launched a classic humor bestseller that has sold more than two million copies in the US and hundreds of thousands more throughout the world. I HOPE THEY SERVE BEER IN HELL was on The New York Times bestseller list for five years including the #1 position.
The new edition, released in September 2015, includes a new 6-page Afterword that will delight Tucker's fans. In it he describes his life in the 10 years since the book was first published, including his marriage and becoming a dad. His anecdotes are, as always, funny and revealing, told in the unique voice that millions of readers have come to love.
Actual reader feedback:
"I am completely baffled as to how you can congratulate yourself for being a womanizer and a raging drunk, or think anyone cares about an idiot like you. Do you really think that exploiting the insecurities of others while getting wasted is a legitimate thing to offer?"
"Thank you, thank you, thank youfor sharing with us your wonderful tales of drunken revelry, for teaching me what it means to be a man, for just existing so I know that there is another option; I too can say 'screw the system' and be myself and have fun. My life truly began when I finished reading your stories. Now, when faced with a quandary about what course of action I should take, I just ask myself, 'What Would Tucker Do?'and I do it, and I am a better man for it."
"I find it truly appalling that there are people in the world like you. You are a disgusting, vile, repulsive, repugnant, foul creature. Because of you, I don't believe in God anymore. No just God would allow someone like you to exist."
"I'll stay with God as my lord, but you are my savior. I just finished reading your brilliant stories, and I laughed so hard I almost vomited. I want to bring that kind of joy to people. You're an artist of the highest order and a true humanitarian to boot. I'm in both shock and awe at how much I want to be you."
"You are the coolest person I can even imagine existing. If you slept with my girlfriend, it'd make me love her more."
|Edition description:||Movie Tie-in Edition|
|Product dimensions:||5.50(w) x 8.20(h) x 1.10(d)|
About the Author
Tucker Max received his B.A. from the University of Chicago, where he graduated in 1998. He attended Duke Law School on an academic scholarship, where he graduated with a J.D. in 2001 (despite the fact that he neglected to buy any of his textbooks for his final two years and spent part of one semester—while still enrolled in classes—living in Cancun). Tucker is purportedly the reason Duke dropped from 7 to 11 in the USN&WR rankings during his tenure. He currently lives in Los Angeles, and when he isn't drinking or fornicating, he writes for his website, TuckerMax.com.
Read an Excerpt
I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell
By Tucker Max
Chapter OneThe Foxfeld Weekend
Occurred-April 200 Written-April 2005
I have never attended the University of Virginia, but I still feel like I have a bond with the school. I applied and got in for college, and to my mild regret chose to attend the University of Chicago instead. I got in again for law school, and choose Duke because UVa didn't give me an academic scholarship (Duke did). I have four cousins that attended UVa and I've probably visited that school more than any other. But it was one incredible event in April of 2000 that really cemented my unofficial tie to that school: Foxfeld.
Foxfeld is the name for the spring horse races they have on some farm near UVa. Everyone loads up their car or truck or RV with food and booze, parks in this massive field and tailgates all day. Allegedly there are actual horses and they race each other around the track, but no one I know has ever seen them.
I was a 2L at Duke Law School that year. GoldenBoy and his girlfriend (who would later become his wife) both went to UVa for undergrad, and she was still at UVa when we were at law school. The Friday night before Foxfeld, GoldenBoy, Hate and I were out drinking in Durham. This is the rest of the story:
11:00pm: We are eating Mexican food and drinking beer. GoldenBoy regales us with wistful tales of Foxfeld. He describes a weekend of virtually unlimited alcohol, raucous drinking,food spreads to rival great medieval halls, and girls in sun dresses with negotiable morals.
11:15: Hate and I ask him why we aren't going. He doesn't have a satisfactory answer. We demand to leave immediately. He balks. We call him out. Doubt his manhood. Inquire as to his sexual preference and conjecture that he is of bastard French origin.
11:16: GoldenBoy is on the phone with his girlfriend (GoldenWife), telling her that we are coming, and requesting that she go out and buy beer. GoldenBoy is easily manipulated.
12:00am: We are on the road to Charlottesville. I have a personal 12 pack to make the three hours go by faster.
1:12: My beer is spilling on GoldenBoy's car. I don't notice because I am passed out.
3:00: We arrive at GoldenWife's apartment. We ask her where the parties are. She doesn't know. This pleases GoldenBoy. He sees it as a sign she is true to him. Couples like that make me sick
8:00: Hate and I wake up from a comfortable night sleeping on the hardwood floor. We bang on the bedroom door until GoldenBoy wakes up. "TIME TO DRINK!" He looks at us like we are rabid wild animals trying to eat his children. He slams the door and goes back to sleep.
8:03: Hate and I crack our first beer.
8:05: Hate and I crack our second beer.
8:08: Hate and I crack our third beer. I tell Hate that I can out drink him. He laughs, "So it begins, Max."
8:30: After we shotgun our 3rd beer in a row, I can feel the beer sloshing around in my stomach. Drinking in the morning = bad decisions.
9:17: I am on my 8th beer of the morning, and am already starting to look for places I can vomit. Hate is not slowing down. I decide that Hate can indeed out drink me.
10:00: Hate doesn't care that I have stopped trying, and keeps furiously pouring alcohol down his throat. He is stomping around the apartment, calling everyone out. "COME ON MAX-WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU AT? YEEEEAAAAHHHHHH.... GoldenBoy, get your ass out here. Bloody Mary's, one-for-one, YOU AND ME. Max already tapped out. You can even get GoldenWife to help you. YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH. MAX YOU PUSSY!"
11:00: We get in the car and pick up GoldenBoy's undergrad friends who are in town for Foxfeld. Hate has moved from Aggressive Drinking to Combative Drinking. He is attacking the beer. Hate sticks his entire upper body out the back window of the car screaming at every female he sees, "WOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH.... SHOW US YOUR TITS!!!"
11:15: GoldenBoy tells me that although there are lots of hot girls at Foxfeld, on one actually hooks up there. It's more of a social drinking event, he says. I ask him if he knows who he is talking to. He rolls his eyes and condescendingly wishes me luck, "OK, Tucker ... no one hooks up at Foxfeld, they hook-up afterwards." GoldenBoy has thrown down this gauntlet. I pick it up and bitch slap him with it, "Motherfucker! How dare you besmirch my whore-attraction abilities. I'm going to hook up with a girl right in front of you, and then make you smell my finger."
12:00pm: We arrive. The field stretches beyond sight, an endless expanse of bushy-haired frat boy fuckwits in striped shirts and red pants, their cold beer and underage women ripe for the plundering. This is almost unfair.
12:01: I see my first hot girl in a sun dress and nearly break my neck staring at her. This scene will replay itself approximately 1,200 times this day.
12:13: We arrive at GoldenBoy's friends tent. He starts to introduce us, but Hate pushes everyone out of the way and dives into the friend chicken. He looks up momentarily to greet them with a barely decipherable mumble about "less talking, more eating," before turning his full attention to the potato salad, pushing it into his mouth by the handful.
12:14: GoldenBoy tells me that he is a little surprised. He had been sure I would be the one who ruined the afternoon. I remind him that it's still early in the race.
12:38: One girl, trying to be nice to Hate, points to the cooler and offers him a drink. He examines the selections, "I will not drink light beer or diet soda as both have been found to cause cancer in lab rats and have not really helped fat Americans that much anyway. Do I see Hooch in that cooler? OHHHH LORD! MAX, COME LOOK AT THIS! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?" I decide that it's time for Hate to walk around Foxfeld with me.
Excerpted from I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell by Tucker Max Excerpted by permission.
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