Sloppy Seconds: The Tucker Max Leftovers (47 page)

I wrote a story in Assholes Finish First called “The Tucker Max SeX-ray” about going on “Loveline” and shocking Dr. Drew with video of me getting a blowjob in a running x-ray machine. [You can see it at
www.tuckermax.com/sexray
]. I went back on “Loveline” in January 2010 to promote that book, actually, and the show went great as always, because Dr. Drew is awesome. During one of the breaks, we talked again about the SeX-ray video, and he asked me if I had gotten a check-up like he recommended during my previous appearance.

Tucker “What do you mean? Like seen a doctor? No.”

Dr. Drew “You really should.”

Tucker “I have felt a little, I don’t know—less like myself recently.”

Nils “You sound like a fucking anti-depressant ad.”

Dr. Drew “You really should get checked out. Shooting that much radiation across your balls can affect testosterone, which would explain that.”

I ignore the vast majority of what people say to me, both good and bad, and I can’t remember the last time I took advice from someone. But I respect the hell out of Dr. Drew, even more so now that I kinda know him in real life. When he tells me to do something, especially something medical, I pay attention.

I don’t really trust most doctors though, so when I got back to Austin, I found a blood testing facility and got my own lab tests done. They came back and confirmed what Dr. Drew had suspected: I had really low testosterone. It was right at the lower bound of normal, which put it about half of what I was at the last time I got full blood work done. This is not good. I immediately found a highly recommended endocrinologist (a doctor that specializes in hormones), and made an appointment. She was supposed to be “the best” in central Texas.

It’s funny—when doctors are considered “the best” it usually means one of two things: They really are awesome, or they are all hype and really fucking suck. It became immediately clear which one this was.

The doctor came into the exam room an hour late. She was about mid-forties, definitely pretty, but in a severe way. She carried herself with an air that immediately said, “I am such a delicate genius, you’re lucky to be in my presence.” That was the first bad sign. She started off by recapping what I’d told her receptionist when I made the appointment.

DoctorUppity “So, it says here you
think
you have low testosterone?”

Tucker “Yeah, well I have been feeling kinda sluggish and tired and, it’s hard to describe, but just not myself recently. Like I am a step behind who I normally am. I’m pretty sure my low testosterone is the cause.”

DoctorUppity “Well, we don’t actually know if you have low testosterone, we’ll have to run some tests, and then—”

Tucker “Oh no, I do. I already did them.”

I handed her my blood test results, as well as some from two years ago that showed a baseline for me. I thought she’d be excited about this, that a patient had taken an interest in his health and done some of her work for her.

DoctorUppity “You ALREADY did blood tests? How? Where?”

She wasn’t asking me because she was confused. She was asking me, incredulous, like she was mad at me.

Tucker “At a place called Any Lab Test Now. They draw your blood and send it off for tests to the same labs the doctors do. Here are the results.” She snatched the papers from my hand and started rifling through them, as if they were scientific poison. Now I know what Galileo felt like. She started lecturing me about patients thinking they know better than doctors, and about how I wasn’t qualified to read and interpret the results—even though these are the exact same results that get sent to doctors. She had a “I am the sole expert here because I gave the University of Texas $130k and 4 years of my life” attitude was a REALLY bad sign. Experts who think they hold a monopoly on knowledge within their subject or field are not only usually bad at their jobs, they can be dangerous (e.g., the cause of the 2008 financial crash). I could talk for hours about why this is the case, but you probably don’t care, because it’s not funny (if you do care, go read
The Black Swan
by Nassim Taleb, or Seth Roberts’ blog).

DoctorUppity “Why did you do this?”

Tucker “Do what?”

DoctorUppity “Get your own blood tests done?”

Tucker “How else am I going to see if there’s a problem?”

DoctorUppity “Well, you can come to the doctor first, like everyone else.”

I probably should have just walked out at that point. This woman was obviously a fucking disaster. But I didn’t. I was desperate to fix my balls.

Tucker “I kinda did. I’m here because Dr. Drew told me to come.”

DoctorUppity “Dr. Drew?”

Tucker “You know, from ‘Loveline’ and ‘Celebrity Rehab,’ and—”

DoctorUppity “Oh, I KNOW who Dr. Drew is. What does he have to do with why you’re here?”

Tucker “Well, when I was on his show—”

DoctorUppity “You called into
’Loveline’
for
medical
advice?”

Her tone was about as condescending and rude as it could get for a service provider speaking to a paying client. She may have been questioning my intelligence for calling in to a radio show for medical advice, which I guess I can understand. But in the moment, I took it like she was questioning Dr. Drew’s credibility as a doctor. That was basically the tipping point for me. I turned combative and sarcastic.

Tucker “No, I did not. I was a guest on the show.”

DoctorUppity “You were a guest on ‘Loveline’?”

Tucker “Yes, and when I told Dr. Drew what happened to me, he told me to get checked out.”

DoctorUppity “What happened?”

Tucker “Well, I got a blowjob in front of an X-ray machine.”

DoctorUppity “You’re kidding right?”

Tucker “I think if you saw the video, it would clear everything up.”

DoctorUppity “The video?”

There wasn’t a computer in the exam room, so I walked out to the reception area. This office had multiple doctors in it, so there was not just a solo receptionist sitting at the front desk. There was also a handful of nurses and techs milling around. Before the doctor could really figure out what was going on, I got in front of the computer, typed “Tucker Max SeX-ray” into Google, and clicked on the video.

I hadn’t watched this video in a long time, and I’d forgotten that it had music to it. In fact, if you are at a computer, go bring up the video and make sure the sound is on. Well, that computer had the sound on too. Loud. Which made everything even more awesome.

DoctorUppity “Is that…are you…oh my God…”

Now it’s time for the tables to turn on this doctor. The sound to the video, combined with her reaction, pretty much ensured everyone in the office came over to see what was going on. And of course, I am never one to not play to a crowd.

Tucker “The video is exactly what I told you it was—me getting a blowjob in front of an X-ray machine.”

DoctorUppity “WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW DANGEROUS THAT IS??”

Tucker “Well, I wanted to invent a new genre of porn.”

DoctorUppity “You wanted to invent a new genre of porn???”

At this point, the whole thing turned into a fucking Abbott and Costello “Who’s on First?” routine.

DoctorUppity “WHO ARE YOU??”

Tucker “Tucker Max.”

Tech “You’re Tucker Max? Really?”

Nurse “Hey, I read your book. You’re that buttsex guy! You’re so funny!”

DoctorUppity “You know who he is?”

Receptionist “Of course, he’s like, famous or something. Right?”

Tucker “Are you asking me if I’m famous?”

DoctorUppity “You’re famous? For blowjob videos?”

Tech “I’ve seen that. I remember when that video came out!”

Tucker “Hi, nice to meet you.”

DoctorUppity “I still don’t understand how you even did this. Using a fluoroscope like this is highly illegal.”

Tucker “Well, it was the X-ray tech who was the one giving me the blowjob.”

Tech “Yeah, I read that in your book. That was hilarious.”

DoctorUppity “This is in a book? You wrote a book?”

Nurse “Yeah, I read it. It was funny. This wasn’t in the book though, was it?”

Tech “Yeah, it was in his second book.”

Nurse “You have two books?!? How did I miss that? What’s it called?”

Tucker “
Assholes Finish First
.”

Receptionist “They sure do.”

Nurse “Oh my God, I have to go get a copy!”

Tech “Yo, can I get a picture with you? My friend is never going to believe this. You’re his hero.”

Tucker “Of course.”

It took like ten minutes to get back on track after that. I had to backtrack and explain everything again to the doctor, who was in such shock she almost couldn’t process it. I mean, in her defense—this video shocked Dr. Drew, so her being really fucked up over it is understandable.

There isn’t much else to talk about for this story, at least anything else that’s funny. Her medical advice was for me to go on hormone therapy. What a fucking quack—I’m a healthy 35-year-old; I’m not taking synthetic hormones for the rest of my life. I never went back to her.

I can happily report that my testosterone is now better than ever, because with the help of a few very smart people (not doctors), I figured out a way to fix it naturally using mega-dosing of certain vitamins and certain specific dietary and lifestyle changes. But that is a long, long story, and definitely not one that is entertaining enough to tell in this book.

THE BLOWJOB INTERLUDES

PART 1

Occurred, May 2007

So this girl I’ve been fucking for a while is at my place right now, and really wants to be in my next book. I explained to her that, at this point in my life, the bar is pretty high to do something noteworthy enough to get a story written about you, and not only that, but you probably don’t want to be in a story—they tend to be about shitty things that happen, either to me or to the girl.

But she is a nice, fun girl, and not only very hot, but very persuasive. Since there is nothing noteworthy to write about her…

I had her fellate me while I typed this.

So there you go honey, now you’re in my book. Congrats.

[Updated after she left: The fact that I could type that without making any mistakes should tell you the quality of the fellatio. Hot girls are almost never good at head; they don’t have to be. But still, a nice girl, and I promised her I’d keep it in, so here it is.]

PART 2

Occurred, August 2007

Same thing as before, just a different girl. I’m going to make this my default response from now on when a girl asks to be in one of my books. Such a beautifully elegant and orgasmic solution to an annoyingly persistent problem.

This girl’s pretty good, I’m cutting this short to focus.

PART 3

Occurred, January 2008

Again. I wonder what they are all going to do when they read this? Probably bitch and complain and send me long emails that I will ignore about how unique and special they are. None of them so far have asked if they are the only one, and the first one was the only one who actually wanted to see what I wrote.

I’m starting to think they may care less about what I say about them, and more about bragging to their friends that they’re in a book.

PART 4

Occurred, July 2008

I posted this on Twitter when it happened. All from the same girl:

Post #1:

Post #2:

Post #3: