Fratire: This is Not a Joke


The reason we’re here is because of Tucker Max. Kind of. If you’re getting excited right now because your bro feelings are heightened by the sound of this name then I’m sorry for you.

A few weeks ago we had some people come to our Eastside mansion and that’s where I met, –what should I call him?– let’s say Phil. Phil is a really nice guy. Really, he is. My criteria for whether a guy is nice often consists of whether or not he talks to me when he finds out I have a boyfriend. In this case, Phil passed. Go, Phil. And then comes Phil’s wow moment, the moment he looks forward to more than anything when he is out brocializing, the moment Phil gets to tell me what he DOES.

“Have you heard of Tucker Max?” His eyes are hopeful, like he can’t see my brain transmitting emergency abort signals to my gag reflex.
I had not discussed this man since my best friend in high school brought his book to read by my pool, promptly eliciting my shut the fuck up and get that book away from me dance in front of the shabana (shed + cabana). Something about stories that celebrate a frat guy who forces a poor overweight naked woman out the door or through a window out of embarrassment just never sat right with me.

“Wait, you’re serious.” I mean what could he expect? I am A). of the female gender B). a human being C). a person with intellect D). Not gonna sleep with you. My new friend Phil tried explaining to me the invention of fratire– apparently one of Tucker Max’s many successes. I’m sorry, what? Fratire? You mean being an asshole and calling it smart? Or? Am I missing something? Anyone? I had to steer the conversation somewhere else and this is kind of just when it becomes personally offensive. In this moment, I am thankful for the topless woman spinning her hula hoop THAT IS ON FIRE behind us because how much cooler is she than Tucker Max? And also because no one is focused on this awful conversation I am having with Phil. I ask Phil about what he wants to do in life, like really do.

“I tried the acting thing but I didn’t want it enough,” he says, “and you’re a writer?” Of course! An actor! How did I not know! This guy was full of surprises and he was just about to force me into “go hide in my room and pretend to be sleeping for the rest of the night” territory.

His tone was a painful mix of James Spader in Pretty in Pink and Robert Downey Jr. in Avengers as he asked, “Are you one of those people who likes to write or you know, has to write.”

And at the moment I took my top off and joined the amazing godess dancing with fire in the corner of our shit and glass covered backyard, both of us oozing cool and sex appeal, while Tucker Max’s assistant watched confused and turned on by the display of powerful and talented females, contemplating the impact that “fratire” would never have on the world. Actually, that last part didn’t happen. I could never spin fire topless or spin fire for that matter, but I’m writing without a bra right now and man, I really have no choice, I just HAVE to do it.

(Do you all remember when Tucker Max tried to get a Planned Parenthood named after him for a crazy lot of money and they turned him down? I did not. Check it out. )

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