A tipster forwarded us the following text, which they say is an entry that was deleted from Tucker Max's ex-girlfriend's blog. We don't follow the man's love life closely enough to know whether this is true, but the blog does have Tucker Max listed as its contact person. Portions of this post have been floating around the internet for some time now. That's our disclaimer. Now here's the alleged Tucker Max love experience:

Humiliating
Last night Tucker blew me off. Again.

I went insane. I cut off all my hair with kitchen scissors like Frida Khalo.
Today I examined the fallout (actually quite cute and flippy. I am good at
everything). I also thought, "Bunny... there is something terribly awry. Why
are you so angry? Why have you become a bitter and horrible person since you
met Tucker?"

Today, while I'm working, Tucker is hovering over me asking me the same
question.

I have decided to make an itemized list of reasons why I might want to cut
off all my hair like a rape victim.

[Note: This is truly humiliating. If anyone were to make a medicine to cure
low self-esteem, I'd take it in spades; I'd do the 10k walk for closet
self-loathers, and wear the empty wine bottle lapel pin. I wish to God these
FACTS were fabricated or embellished, but the awful truth is that they are
not. I only hope this helps the other girls who don't like themselves].

What it is like to date Tucker Max.

-You will get fried chicken for your birthday. Later that night when you
both go to a bar, you will want a diet coke, but won't get one because that
is one less beer that he can drink.

-He will hang up on your favorite aunt, and be stunned when you get upset
that he referred to your mother as "that fucking bitch" because she called
you at a late hour.

-He will scream at you because you don't like the instant coffee he bought
you.

-He will never kiss you, and barely fuck you, even if you beg him to for
months. You are now the Virgin Mary. He will still try to coerce crazy
whores into coming to Chicago to fuck him. He will kiss them because they
are whores, and don't you know that you're only supposed to give good
passionate sex to women that you don't know or give a shit about? I didn't
know that either.

-You will beg him to take a shower, which he will not do. But he will shave
his face to have long make-out sessions with any random girl.

-You will read every piece of writing he has ever done and be supportive of
all his creative outlets. When you then ask him to read your own novel he
will drop it after chapter one because it's a waste of his time. He's not
good at editing.

-You will give him the greatest head of his life on a regular basis. He will
still suck in bed.

-He will make sure you know that you aren't very hot, only sort of cute, and
that your head is too big for the rest of your body. You also have
unattractive dark circles under your eyes and your tits are too small. He
will never compliment you.

-You will be bi-sexual and okay with him sleeping with other women, but this
will not be enough. He needs freedom.

-If he is an insensitive asshole to you, it is only because you are selfish.
You should understand that his parents sucked and now you have to pay for
this. How this is logical, I'm not really sure.

-When he has major surgery you will not leave his side. You will spend day
night waiting on him hand and foot, making sure he is comfortable and well
cared for. You will even wipe his ass when he takes a shit. Later he will
tell you that it was all unnecessary. He didn't need or want you to be
there.

-When he is supposed to pick you up and take you to a party, he will get
black-out drunk and fuck some girl instead of showing up.

-He will tell you he loves you and wants to have children with you. When you
then get pregnant, he will say that he has about two to four more years of
drinking and whoring left to do, so a baby isn't in the cards. He will
coerce you into an abortion by threatening to give away your dog if you try
to have the child. Then he will be evasive so that you will be forced to
dump him and he can get off scot-free.

-When you get upset about this, he will tell you that you are
over-emotional. When you try to explain how this hurts, he will ignore you
till you find yourself screaming and breaking things. He will explain these
outbursts to his drinking buddies as so: "Yeah she's fucking crazy. She
flips out on me like every third day."

-When you go to stay with your parents (read: bawl day and night) for two
weeks, he will fuck other women in your bed. The night you return he will
try to go out with a whore he's just met and wonder why you're upset about
that. He needs his freedom.

-When you are at your parents, he won't take your calls. Instead he will
spend his time e-mailing some whore. Later, he will not stop e-mailing this
same whore, because all whores come before your feelings even if the whores
are half as attractive and barely capable of forming cogent sentences.

-When his ex-girlfriend dies and then comes back to life, you will nurse him
through the depression. You will even be fine with her coming to stay at
your own fucking apartment so that he can decide which of you he wants. This
is so that you can be fair to both of them because you are a good person.
unlike them.

-Later on you will catch him telling this covert bitch who pretended to be
nice to you that he is only keeping you around because you are willing to
support him financially. They will laugh at you behind your back for being
"over-emotional." Oh how silly you are!

-When Tucker bounces back from his depression you will not be needed
anymore. You will just hand over the keys to his car and not say a word when
he drives it all over Chicagoland while black-out drunk.

-When girls come to the apartment, he will become "Cooooool Tucker Max." He
will dress and act differently. He will be an asshole to you. Why are you
upset? Don't you know "this is the Tucker Max show?" This pathetic statement
is his actual quote.

-And finally (though I could write pages and pages of this horrible shit):
When you've been stood up by the very first date you've planned in a year,
you will call Tucker and ask to hang out with him. He will not come pick you
up in YOUR OWN FUCKING CAR, because HE lost your license the night before
and you won't be able to get into the club he's going to. When you ask if it
's possible to go anywhere else he will refuse because there are free drinks
and whores in said club. Whores are very special. Much more special than the
woman that did all the above things out of unconditional love FOR A FUCKING
YEAR!

posted by The Bunny at 4:22 PM

[via OhNoTheyDidn't]

In general, gay men don't want to fuck trannies.

In general, gay men don't want to get fucked by doms wearing strap ons.

In general, gay guys... like to fuck other gay guys.

In general, women, gay or straight, don't want to fuck trannies.

In general, women, gay or straight, don't want to get fucked in the ass by doms wearing strap ons. (Obviously lesbians have a slightly higher proclivity of course but that's mainly in their pussies, not in their asses.)

In general, bi sexual guys like real cocks when they fuck guys and therefore don't go in for doms, some for trannies but less so than good ole regular gay guys.

So that leaves one kind of people who are the NUMBER ONE GROUP INTERESTED in FUCKING OR GETTING FUCKED BY TRANNIES AND GETTING FUCKED IN THE ASS BY DOMS... wait for it... STRAIGHT MEN. [Eric's dumb blog]

It was hard finding the appropriate candidates to feature, seeing as how the site is flooded with fake people, entering as a joke. But we think we found some attractive candidates—there's still time to sign up and meet them yourself!

Ladies, meet Aaron McCann! He works at Ackman-Ziff, makes between $200,000 and $299,000 a year was featured in Gotham magazine's "Guide to Gold Digging" in 2007.

Gentlemen, here's Gracey! As you can see, she's cute, blonde, and is a creative coordinator at the Wall Group fashion agency. She only makes under $50K a year though—she could really use your equity!

And finally, here's Bill. He's VP of "Compliance" for Citigroup—maybe he'll find a fashion lady to comply with him tonight.

He's waiting.

"For the record I wasn't speaking euphemistically as far as the 'calamari' quote is concerned. I was referring to an earlier post of mine, where I was talking a bit about dating expectations as you can see from the quote below":

"I guess the main thrust of it all, is people shouldn't really go into a date with too many expectations. Even if things APPEAR to be going smoothly, you really can never know what's going on in the noggin of the person staring back at you over a delicious plate of fried calamari. My advice?

Just enjoy the fried calamari."

Dagen McDowell

Are you a spender or a saver? Recovering spender. Emerging saver

Alexis Glick

What was the one thing you regret buying? No regrets! Every choice good or bad teaches you something about yourself. Mistakes are worth taking. Life without risk is not an option for me. Follow your passion, do what you think is right and trust your gut. Dream with your eyes open!

Jenna Lee

What was your first job? My first job was working in an apple orchard. My brothers and I were paid based on the number of bags we could fill.

Sandra Smith

She was a trader at Hermitage Capital, where she executed U.S. equities and options orders, conducted portfolio analysis, prepared commission reports and serviced clients.

Shibani Joshi

Joshi has also served as the host of ImaginAsian TV's The Pulse variety show, contributed to ABCNews.com and ABC News Now covering technology and business stories, and was a co-host of American Desi's Point of View talk show.

[Women shown may or may not be single.]

Q I was dating a guy for a long time and we both kept blogs. I used my blog to talk about the things that I did or that I was feeling, and although I talked about our relationship, I never talked about our sex life. I was just trying to be emotionally naked and self-revealing and let the world learn a little bit about me. My boyfriend talked mostly about the Bears and his work, but then he crossed the line and alluded to the difficulties of giving me an orgasm in a few of his posts. Even though it is mostly just our friends who read the site, some of their friends read it, too. Now they know that I have a hard time having an orgasm. That is my personal issue and I did not want it broadcast to our friends. We had other problems, too, and as a result of everything we broke up. I am hurt that he did this to me and even more hurt now that he is seeing someone else and has posted pictures of her and posts about dates that they have gone on. I feel like he is using his blog against me, which only makes me use my blog against him. I am frustrated by this whole thing and that other guys may not want to date me now because they can find out from the blog that it was "so much work" to try and make me come.

A STOP IT SHUT UP JESUS CHRIST.

Update: Ms. Allison asserts, convincingly, that this is "retarded," and adds, "if I wanted to talk about my issues, I would put my name on them. THAT, at least, is more than clear." So this is probably Lodwick's doing.

In & Out [TO Chicago]

Call Julia! [TONY]

Hi there Gawker,
I am Kelly Kreth, the new sex/relationship writer for the NY Press (and also, President of my own PR firm.)
Anyway, just for the record I am no longer dating Eric Schaeffer.
How about doing a Gawker's 50 most eligible NYC bachelorettes and including me?
Thanks,
Kelly Kreth

"I just ... I went for my wallet, and he didn't stop me. I didn't mind! I like paying for myself," I told the gossip columnist and the publicist.

"That's so rude. That's like not letting a girl get out of the elevator first," a Maxim staffer not exactly known for his chivalry chimed in.

"If a guy doesn't pay on the first date, you are establishing a dangerous precedent, " the gossipeuse continued. "If a guy tries that move on me, I just tell him, 'You know what? I've got this. I can write you off.'" She paused to smirk at her own joke. "I've used that line so many times."

On my way home, I had to wonder. Ha, sorry, but I DID HAVE TO WONDER. What time capsule are these women living in? Why on earth would you want to feel beholden to a dude for any reason? Sure, free things are nice, but not when they come wrapped in cultural assumptions that men are the wage earners and women are their cosseted pets. What the fuck makes women feel like being asked to pay their own way is an insult?

Today, still wondering, I asked a dating expert if she'd ever been asked to go Dutch. "In the entire history of my life, there was one guy who demanded we go dutch. I was so fucking mad, I wanted to cut off his balls. I'm STILL angry about it. And it was three years ago. I'm not even kidding, I thought about it two or three days ago when I got an invite to his book party, and I thought "THAT FUCKING MOTHERFUCKER MADE ME PUT DOWN A TWENTY WHEN HE WAS THE ONE WHO GOT AN ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE!"

Okay, so we know what side she's on. But, um, why? Why are men supposed to pay for us again? "Um, because we have to wear high heels and push up bras and control top panty hose and makeup and belts/jeans/dresses which cut off our circulation and we have to change the ways in which we're uncomfortable every season and ON TOP OF THAT we get to pay a fuckload of money for the privilege???"

Ah, the old 'reparations' theory. And the counterargument, of course, is: we don't actually have to do any of that stuff. I mean, no one's telling us to. Except, you know, prevailing cultural norms that, in spite of a lot of people's best efforts, don't really seem to be going anywhere.

But we can still try to fix the system, one not-free entree at a time! Or, you know, we can go to the bathroom right before the check comes next time and see if that enables us to dodge the issue.

Yes, it seems that Kelly and Eric actually had a lot in common!

His particular fascination with excretions spoke to me. Being a woman who is no stranger to poop stories, having published a few of my own on Poopreport.com, I imagined Eric and I someday falling love, showing each other our bowel movements—the most intimate of acts in my estimation. I got butterflies just thinking about it.

While we went out a few more times after that, he was busy and then left on his nationwide book tour for nearly a month and while out of town began filming his documentary. I was busy, too, working, and still into someone else I had dated whom I just couldn't quite forget...Eric and my relationship morphed into more of a friendship and professional one. We settled into infrequent communications referencing less piss and more prose. I know the details may seem murky, but modern relationships seem to be more and more that way these days—watercolors that bleed into each other with no distinct end.

I have gone out with a man who brought his pit bull on a date and proceeded to drink a beer he stole from the Korean deli on the street. I dated a man who told me I had a pole so far up my ass that it was coming out of my throat. I dated a man who tried to pick up a 15-year-old and proudly told me he had fucked his Trinidadian, herpes-ridden bisexual secretary over the copy machine.

This is the place right now to brag about how hard it is to get a table. When you call, they're always fully booked. So hot! But at least half the tables were empty and we were still seated in a small awkward table in what felt like a hallway. The only advantage is that we could see the parade of attractive, skinny women walk by with their striped-shirt clean-shaven consorts. One of these men was almost literally juggling two Blackberries and a iPhone. Another, less clean-shaven one was Randy Quaid, who was there with two older ladies. That man is at least a nine-footer.

The menu at Wakiya isn't for the faint of financial heart. The waiter, it must be said, did little to steer us to the more affordable options, consistently recommending the most expensive dishes. The lobster is great, he said. Also it's 34 dollars. $30 bite-size portions made up the rest of the menu. We started with the Taste of Wakiya, nine confusing little portions and then went on to soup dumplings, which looked like little floury breasts in their bamboo container.

Somewhere between our penultimate and ultimate courses (a Vietnamese coffee affogato), perpetual aged socialite Lady Cavendish walked in with beblazered gentlemen. One of these was the frog-like and fabulous Hunt Slonem who owns a couple of plantations in the south and some ridiculously huge studio in Manhattan. You know, the one with 86 rooms. I said all these things to my date but I feared little I did could make up for the fact I had broken hundreds of dollars of china in the first few moments of our meeting and also had chosen to dine at what was basically a really, really expensive noodle joint.

We paid the bill and left. So did Anna Wintour. On the way out, the crickets chirping in the hot night of Gramercy Park, we passed some guy yelling into his phone about Bryan Ferry.

"See that guy with the striped shirt? He has it together—you can tell just looking at him." The guy, it turns out, is a 33-year-old hedge fund manager who dropped $3000 for a full course from Malov.

We cannot believe that we are still living in the age of "the stripey," but this whole article has made us immeasurably more sympathetic to the plight of our single female friends. If we were subjected to a constant barrage of overconfident schmucks in striped shirts whose friends "want to buy a wallaby" we'd probably bag it all and get a couple of cats ourselves. —balk

Wingmen in the Wings [NYT]

"It's all about being breezy," said 25-year-old authoress J. Courtney Sullivan, as she teetered on high-heeled open-toed sandals (she was wearing panty hose) at the book party for her new tome, Dating Up: Dump the Schlump and Find a Quality Man. Her theory is that the way to snag, and keep, a "quality man" is to perform extreme breeziness. Breeziness is a quality J. Courtney ascribes to herself, and to how she managed to have been proposed to twice (at such a tender age, already! She said no to both) and be living with a large fella named Colin eight years her senior, in an apartment in Soho.

Breeziness implies a certain amount of game-playing: not returning phone calls immediately, not accepting dates willy-nilly, and not putting out right away. But. "It's not Rules-y to the point of Stepford dating," J.-Co said, referring to the infamous dating guidebook. "But there are certain games-y things you have to do. These aren't the secrets of the sphinx, but it's important to have a strategy."

So, strategy. After she changed her feminist mind, one man at a time—as told to her employers at the New York Times!—she decided the strategy is to educate yourself on guy things. Her live-in lover is a fantasy sports man, and so women might, say, study fantasy sports. You see? Make a man happy. Her book is filled with everything from recipes (make his mom a white chocolate raspberry swirl cheesecake!) and quotes from Sex and the City to where to meet guys (department stores! On an airplane! Jazz bars!), and the overall effect is something like feeling like you've spent way too much time inside Charlotte's head.

Also there are some CliffsNotes to serious literature in case you meet a man who is literary.

The party was filled with family and friends who rushed over to congratulate her, in a manner that seemed similar to making the honor roll. "I'm so proud of you!" girl after girl squealed. "I know, it's so exciting!" J. Courtney squealed back. Lots of hugs, all around.

The party was held in the basement of the West Village restaurant Paris Commune; it was a cash bar. The setting also seemed appropriate; one could imagine that the restaurant, with its fair-to-middling bistro cuisine and trendy W. Vill. locale, would be just the type of place J. Courtney would suggest going on a date. Around her, young women milled and discussed their own upcoming nuptials.

You see, the program works! No longer need any young woman date a man without at least some cash.

"We're not engaged, but we will be soon," said one young woman, to another couple. "We can't afford June." The other couple was already engaged.

The three of them discussed wedding locations. "I can't bring my family to DUMBO!" the nearly engaged woman said, with certainty. "My grandmother grew up on the Lower East Side. I can't get married in DUMBO. She thinks it's just sweatshops over there." She said she was considering something upstate. "My mom says the food is more important than the band, but I feel the opposite. I don't want, like, Burger King, but ..."

The already-engaged woman said, "We're doing sliders, and onion rings." The other woman paused. "Oh, you're so funny. Wait, seriously? That's so... cute!"

Now, via Fleshbot, comes news that a New York woman had taken it upon herself to offer $75 evaluations of men—we're talking personal style, teeth whiteness, hair thickness, penis size, and general attractiveness. At first, we thought, yes. Finally, someone who'll do the heavy lifting before they get to us! And then we came to our senses and realized that, like everything else, the people who really, truly need this service probably won't avail themselves of it, thereby keeping the local dating pool well-stocked with total douchebags for years to come.

The Evaluatress: What You Don't Know Can Hurt You [Fleshbot]
The Evaluatress

A "series of exercises"? Deeper dating? Let's just say we see where this is going, and it's not to synagogue.

Deeper Dating at the 92nd Street Y [92Y Blog]
Deeper Dating

Ah.

An online nightmare: Becoming 'undateable' [WSJ, via azcentral.com