Free Assholes Finish First by Tucker Max, Maddox Page A

baby’s neck just like with a dog, but then you fill it to the top with some sort of liquid—water or apple juice or pretty much anything drinkable—and then he has to drink it as fast as he can. It’s called: Baby Drink or Die.”
    Girl1 “Baby Drink OR DIE?!?”
    Girl2 “WHAT?!?”
    Tucker “You think Baby Drink or Drown is a better name? The investors thought it was more marketable. Should I have listened? Fuck, I should have.”
    They didn’t think that was funny, for some reason.
    I eventually quit trying to cheer up SlingBlade and started talking to a group of Georgetown undergrads, because one of them was hot and into me. SlingBlade could not have been more disgusted with them. They were self-absorbed, spoiled sorority girls who thought that because their daddies were rich and powerful they could do whatever they wanted. To SlingBlade, these girls represented everything that was wrong with the world, and he wanted nothing to do with them. To me, they represented fish in a barrel. Though their daddies may have spoiled them with material things, they also ignored them emotionally. These girls were going to find male attention somewhere, and I was more than willing to vigorously and enthusiastically hump it into them.
    After an hour of “validate then withdraw,” plus a lot of vodka, I had missile lock on the one I wanted to fuck. Well on the way to rubbing our genitals together, she decided to be playful and call me out.
    Girl “I think I can outdrink you.”
    Tucker “Please. I woke up this morning drunker than you’ve ever been in your life.”
    Girl “You’re a big talker, but are you a big drinker?”
    Tucker “Line’em up.”
    She returned quickly with two brown shots. I smelled them.
    Tucker “What is this?”
    Girl “Three Wise Men.”
    FUCK. This is not good. I’m allergic to whiskey. I think maybe I should explain this to her, and request a different alcohol. Then I remember that I am awesome. Even fighting through anaphylactic shock, I can STILL bury this emotionally unstable, bulimic undergrad.
    We do the first shot, and for the second, I think I’m going to be OK. Then it’s like I took a hit of acid: I get dizzy, everything slows down, people’s words begin to slur, and I just know I’m going to puke. I am about to makea quick trip to the bathroom, but before I can do it, she hands me the next shot.
    Girl “We’re not done yet, Mr. Big Drinker.”
    Just smelling the shot, my knees buckle. If I was smart, I’d throw the shot in her face, run out of the bar, and punch a drifter. But I want to get laid, so I stupidly dump it down my throat and hope for the best.
    My body went into involuntary convulsions and immediately rejected the shot. I had one of those small reaction vomits where just the top layer of your stomach comes out. I was holding a cup of beer, and about 8 ounces of brownish, watery vomit sloshed into the cup and on my hand. For a second I tried to play it off casually, like it was a totally normal thing for me to vomit back into my cup—you know, to save my drink for later.
    It didn’t work. The girl and her friends looked at me like I was a Mexican busboy who’d just propositioned them. I don’t think they could believe a grown man just puked into his own cup, after only two shots. Before anyone could say anything, SlingBlade tied a nice bow on the incident:
    SlingBlade “You make me ashamed to be a man.”
    We left immediately after that. Alone, obviously.
    In the middle of the ride home, I abruptly commanded SlingBlade to pull the car over, and proceeded to vomit all over the street. Literally all over the street—I ran across the road as I was throwing up, puking the whole time. And for some strange reason, I was waving my arms above my head, like one of those women on Maury Povich who sprint backstage after finding out that none of the three men is the father.
    SlingBlade “Why were you flailing your arms like that?”
    Tucker “I needed to alert the