I awoke mid-flight on an airplane to the opening credits of a movie titled I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. I hadn't seen this movie before and knew very little about it, except that it was based on a book (a good start) by a popular internet blogger/writer.

Usually, a studio logo or the name of a production company scrolling across the screen brings excitement to my otherwise dull existence because soon I will be immersed in a magical realm where anything dreamed becomes reality. Movies offer me a rare chance to suspend disbelief for a brief period of time and rejoice in pure ignorant bliss (except when those Hollywood bastards try and push their bullshit propaganda about how string theory requires an 11th dimension—fuck you, Spielberg). But it was during this absolutely god awful movie when the realization dawned on me: the plane had crashed while I was sleeping, killing me, and I had awoken to some sort of torturous purgatory.

No physical pain or psychological embarrassment can compare to the discomfort and agony caused by watching this, the worst movie ever made.Fear stricken, reacting on the combination of pure impulse and muscle memory, I ran through the aisle collecting all of the crying infants. They were too young to comprehend the terrible abomination that was the in-flight movie, so their screams of pain could only be attributed to their lack of a baptism; the babies' souls seemed to be literally burning with original sin. I figured if I baptized the children, maybe it would free all the occupants of Oceanic Flight 815 from this agonizing limbo. As luck would have it, I was already an ordained minister, so all I needed to perform the rite was some liquid to bless. The urgency of the situation (and the fact that I was not going to spring $9 on a 115ml bottle of Perrier) forced me to use the scarce resources I had on hand: my own urine. The baptism ritual was completed, and that's when it all went black….

My head was still spinning as the room slowly came into focus. Disoriented with my surroundings, I struggled to get a grasp of my senses. The ringing in my ears started to give way to unrecognizable hums that eventually transformed into the repeated pronunciation of my name. I was being shaken awake.

Tucker Max with film production crew and police actors
Tucker Max attempts to build his own prison for moviegoers.
The pounding of my skull subsided just enough to let the stinging of my neck compete for lead chair in the orchestra that is my threshold of pain. I thought I had died. I would have died had my roommate not picked the lock on my bedroom door when I failed to answer the knocks. Let me explain.

Once the thrill of masturbation loses its edge, you have to pursue riskier orgasms. Auto-erotic asphyxiation is considered the last bastion of self-gratification. The only problem is that I usually use the plastic belt that comes with the Sailor Moon costume I wear while jerking off (don't judge me) to choke myself, and that usually snaps moments after I pass out and my body weight is applied to the belt. But this time I was excited to use my new "Xena: Warrior Princess Genuine Leather Replica Belt" and didn't adjust my calculations to compensate for the increased strength of the materials. Boy was my face red.

But the physical pain and psychological embarrassment cannot compare to the discomfort and overall agony caused by the watching of the worst movie ever made, in my personal pseudo-Hell.

Let me switch gears here and apologize right off the bat. I have never seen I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. I have never read the book either. And for that matter, I have never read anything Tucker Max has ever written. But don't get me wrong, I don't ever plan to. I am sure any content associated with him is far worse than I could describe. My vocabulary probably doesn't contain enough synonyms for the word "awful" to review any of his work. The truth is, I had nothing to write about and I remembered seeing the cover to his book in the "bargain/kindling" bin at the bookstore, so I spent three hours in MS Paint trying to rip it off. That spurred me to look up reviews for the movie, and, judging by the comments of people who actually managed to stomach the viewing, I was pretty accurate in my description.

Michael Winston doing a Tucker Max poster ripoff