Man, I am torn about this book. Of the books I have read recently, this is the one that made me laugh out loud the most. It is blunt, crude, and often absurd. This book claims to be the autobiographical short stories of a real prick. As a person who teaches culture, womanizers are core to male identity. However, those who are classy, James Bond immediately come to mind, seem to get off scot-free. However, the unapologetic Mr. Max has all of the skill, but none of the polish of a Bond. He is wicked and dirty. He and his friends are drunks and womanizers. Frankly, he is a much more identifiable person than a Bond. He picks up and sleeps with more women than he remembers and describes in detail many of his more absurd encounters. However, like a racist joke you laugh at, you feel dirty for enjoying it. Tucker Max is without a doubt funny; think Andrew Dice Clay, but it is not a book I could read again.
Note: The cover I posted is the movie tie-in version, with the actors face instead of Tucker’s. This is the version I read, but the original is out there.