If you ever wondered where these white-trash rhyming fuckers come from, you will be happy to know that we are offering a plausible explanation. 

What a week it has been. More cabinet appointments have been announced from the Obama Administration, Penny Arcade spurned Left 4 Dead and I have finally, despite every possible effort one could expect from an ordinary man, learned of the existence of Tucker Max.

If you are not familiar with the name Tucker Max, then you are excused. Seriously. Go read some of our past comics, chuckle warmly to yourself and continue on in your happy, Tucker-free life.

Mr. Max is what the world might call a "controversial media figure." By many accounts, including his own, he is an narcissistic asshole that is good at getting women. All women. Any women. Even women you personally know and think, "I bet he couldn't get her." He probably could. Or at least he would be willing to tell a story about her.

Tucker is also a successful person. He wrote a best-seller book. He gets all kinds of laid. He was involved in a rather public incident involving Miss Vermont, a defamation lawsuit and a restraining order. He is in the process of creating a film adaption of his book, "I Hope They Server Beer In Hell," proving once and for all that being a bastard works.

After recovering from the immediate septic shock of reading his Letters to Penthouse Forum-ish blog, I came to realize that Mr. Max is actually quite dangerous. Not to the women who find him irresistible or to Michael Ian Black or to whomever will inevitably kick his fucking ass for being a drunk dickhead.

No, the danger from a man like this comes from the untold scores of men who read his blog and decide that they, too, can get all the casual and consequence-free sex they want. Guys who decide that they will imitate Tucker and all will be well in their world, without realizing the true cost of their actions.

And that's what today's comic is about: Imitation and acting like a total fuck-stick.