Assholes Finish First by Tucker Max, Maddox

attitude!”
    As she said this, she actually faced Mr. Peepers and addressed him directly, pointing at him and gesticulating in his face. I couldn’t help myself:
    Tucker “Are you actually talking to a plastic parrot?”
    Jolene “Yes! NO! I DON’T KNOW! Come on Mr. Peepers, let’s go outside!”
    She took SlingBlade by the hand and led him to the backyard. Later on that night, I went outside to get more beer, and on the swing set in the backyard, Jolene and SlingBlade were kissing. Mr. Peepers was still taped to SlingBlade’s shoulder, and because of the way they were sitting, Mr. Peepers was essentially a third party to the kiss. Possibly the weirdest threesome I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying a lot.
    It was getting late and time to find some pussy. Well, unbeknownst to me, Hate had gone around the party and told EVERY SINGLE GIRL that I was a player. Two girls I had made inroads with earlier told me in subsequent conversations that they weren’t into me anymore because of this.
    Girl “I was told you’re a player. You are. You’re too confident. I don’t want to talk to you, because I’ve been played many times.”
    Tucker “No, no. I don’t want to play you. I just want to have sex with you and then not talk to you anymore after that. That’s not playing you; that’s being honest.”
    For some inexplicable reason, this just made her madder.
    Normally when people play the “stay away from him he’s bad news” game, that actually helps me—girls love the asshole, after all. But not the girls at this party. PWJ’s sister had indeed invited many females who were recent graduates of Southern schools. But here’s what she didn’t tell PWJ: They went to smaller Southern schools with evangelical leanings, like Furman. These aren’t the fun Southern Baptist “sinner on Saturday, saint on Sunday” types. These are the no-sex-before-marriage types. One girl told me that she couldn’t stay at the party because she had to go to church in the morning. I told her to go to the night service. She told me she goes to both.
    How was everyone else doing? Let’s see.
    Hate
    Hate was his usual charming self. This exchange typifies his approach. He would storm up to a group of women much too aggressively, and introduce himself in his stadium voice:
    Hate “LADIES! HAVE YOU TRIED ANY OF THE THUG PASSION??”
    Girl [
to Credit
] “Your friend is scaring me.”
    Credit “Yeah, he does that to all of us.”
    Jojo
    At some point, a young lady in an angel costume arrived at the party. About an hour and fifteen minutes after that, she disappeared into a bedroom with the Black Unabomber.
    Jojo and FallenAngel did not emerge for quite some time. After about twenty minutes of this clandestine interaction, Credit, who drank one anda half Thug Passions and was in their grip, got wind of this and walked in on them four times in the next hour. (He did this not only because he was drunk but also because he and Jojo are ridiculously co-dependent. It’s awesomely hilarious.) Sometimes he knocked, sometimes he demanded they stop what they were doing, sometimes he brought Hate or me with him. Strangely, Jojo did not seem to lose his shit over this. That’s probably because his shit was at the bottom of a cognac bottle in the backyard, but whatever.
    Anyway, Jojo found a way to lock the door, they commited their acts of miscegenation in private, and an hour later, they came downstairs. Being the good friends we are, we were cool about it:
    Hate “THE FALLEN ANGEL ARISES!!!”
    Tucker “THE SNEAKY BLACK GUY DOES IT AGAIN!”
    Credit “YOU HAD SEX WITH HER!”
    FallenAngel didn’t understand why we kept calling her that, so Jojo spent an hour on the stairs having a heart-to-heart with her about whatever it is drunk girls like to talk about. She thought he was a sweet guy who was listening intently to her but discovered otherwise when she looked over and found him leaning against the railing, asleep.
    PWJ
    PWJ was smitten