I Hope They Serve Meth in Hell Along with the Beer
Calling someone who knows they are a racist, homophobic, misogynistic piece of shit a racist, homophobic misogynistic piece of shit only feeds their ego. Tucker Max knows exactly what he is. He’s proud of it. He knows that the movie coming out that’s based on his book is a heaping pile of fermented excrement, too. He’s just as proud of that, because he knows at the end of the day, he’s got a big fat movie check coming to him and enough vapid, twice-tarded blonde pieces of twit flesh to go home to and fuck, which he’ll then brag about on his website to the slavering, meatsack troglodytes who read it.
Insulting Tucker Max is counterproductive. It’s self-defeating. For example, last month, when the green band trailer for his movie, I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell debuted, Dan wrote up a withering attack on the guy, stating in part: “Watching the trailer makes you realize that there are some depths to which not even Dane Cook would sink; it is that bad, that shameful, that bracing, that depressing.”
And wouldn’t you know, the next day I saw (through our referrals) that Tucker Max had posted that line, in addition to several others from other movie websites, on his own website, basically boasting that everybody thinks his movie his shit. Again, not that he cares: He’s got a significant enough fan base of date rapists and Klan members to recoup the $27 investment. His fans don’t really want entertainment — they just want validation. Someone who will validate their pathetic little existences, make them feel like something more than the onerous little peons they are before they go home and masturbate themselves to sleep.
The truth, however, is that — based on the newly released red-band trailer — I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell looks worse than offensive. It looks boring. If you’ve seen more than a few minutes of the straight-to-DVD National Lampoon’s movie or the endless stream of American Pie sequels, then you’ve already seen most of They Serve Beer in Hell. It’s not shocking. Or appalling. It’s tedious. It’s trite, gross-out mundanity designed to get your dander up.
But you know what? Who cares? Tucker Max may be a vile, contemptible cum stain on the collar of humanity, but his movie just looks dull. You need a certain level of competence to offend an audience; that doesn’t exist here. It’s just tiresome — it’s hard to be shocked and appalled when you’re half asleep.
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