An email last year from cinematic and literary savant Tucker Max to NYC blogger-about-town Cajun Boy: "Your writing reminds me of that girl at the bar that at 8pm, you think is OK but don't look twice at, and then only think about again right before closing time if you don't have anything better. It's better than most, but not something you'd go after. But keep working at it dude, it takes time to develop a strong voice." Yes, you'll get there one day, dude. [Cajun Boy]

You may be surprised to discover that people are still remarking upon the existence of Tucker Max, the prototypical ex-frat boy who likes to drink beer and bang hot girls and then write a crazy blog about the aforementioned banging that will make you lose your shit, bro. I would have guessed that Tucker would have settled down into a quiet job selling insurance by now after either being disabled in a bar fight or having his genitals bitten off by an undercover feminist. Instead, somebody foolish is paying him actual money to make a movie called I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell, scheduled for release next year. More importantly, a blogger who read the film's script is calling it one of the most unfunny productions in years, and has nailed Tucker Max to the wall so deftly we just know he's home right now trying out comeback lines in the mirror while flexing his biceps and getting progressively drunker: The personality summary:

We don't know Keith Gessen and haven't read his book (and never will!), and obviously we're biased because Gawker turned us evil and we like Choire (and Emily!) but he has a very important essay (THE MOST IMPORTANT TUMBLR RANT OF OUR TIME) that he tumble logged about how people need to stop being mean to him because THEY ARE WHORES INFECTED BY THE STAIN OF WRITING GOSSIP and HE WRITES ABOUT CANCER, CANCER GODDAMMIT. Also stop calling him a blinkered, privileged asshole because that is EXACTLY WHAT REPUBLICANS DO and also, and we quote: "Everyone went to the same six schools. Everyone has dated everyone." It's funny because it is insanely incorrect! Oh my god we haven't even gotten to the worst part.

The US government would maybe like to spruce up the network of existing interstates that runs from Texas to our Canadian border. The state of Texas, meanwhile, is looking into constructing a multi-lane freeway that would stretch from Laredo, on the Mexican border, to Arkansas. Naturally, this means that the American government has sold us out to foreign interests, dissolved our sovereignty, and allowed the shadowy "North American Union" to begin work on a vast "NAFTA Superhighway"—several football fields wide!—that would destroy our borders, and our rights, for good. This conspiracy theory, quite popular among the more extreme cranks of the far-right and libertarian movements, was brought to our attention by the tireless work promoting it done by respected economic commentator Lou Dobbs, of CNN.

In the middle of a political riot in Belgrade, two young Serbian women went looting, looking just like a couple of Mardi Gras sorority girls except for all the stealing of food, shoes and coats from stores. It's so much more aggravating to see them carting off all this stuff than just some regular poor, acting like they're on a perfectly acceptable shopping spree. As alarms go off, the girls (the one in the sweatsuit shows off her tramp stamp!) stuff clothing into their stolen Adidas bags and yell at the cameraman to stop shooting. Watch it and let the hate seethe in you.

When last we heard about Michelle Obama, she was merely (and repeatedly) "sarcastic." Now, though, she rapidly transforming, before our very eyes, into anti-American. Or at least uppity. The problem? She's too proud of her husband and not very proud of her country.

Anal annal-er and New York Press sex columnist Kelly Kreth was fired Friday after just three months by editor David Blum, who hasn't been satisfied by any of the four three sex columnists he's fired in the last year. Neither Rachel Kramer-Bussel nor Kreth's Press-predecessor Stephanie Sellars did it for the ex-Voice editor. The co-authors of his short-lived "Married Not Dead" sex column at the Voice (kicked to the curb a couple of days after Blum was replaced) didn't do it for anyone. "My feeling is, when you hire a columnist, you let them express themselves in their own way," Blum told us. "Ultimately you have to decide whether it works or not." Kreth was fired for "taste," which admittedly, came in short supply in her columns. In large supply? Gems like this: "I write about my tight starfish because I know, even while disgusted, people will be compelled to read. It doesn't matter if it is out of titillation or horror, want or need, we just want their eyes on the page and on us." Kelly, honey, we hate to break it to you, but the Press is no stranger to a tight asshole.

In recent Harvard graduates Greg Atwan and Evan Lushing's The Facebook Book, a chronicle of "the Facebook Generation" which sold last week to Abrams for around $50K, there should be an entire chapter about Harvard couple Daniel Hass and his lucky girlfriend Aleksandra Kuczmarska. Except there shouldn't be, because that book should not exist. Anyway, Daniel, like Modern Bride of the Year Heather Warnken before him, thinks the Internet should pay for his romantic fantasies.

This ad has already been deemed too douchey for Craigslist, but it is still apparently making the rounds at Harvard, from whence it (supposedly) emanated. "My final club has a reunion this fall, and my relationship of two years ended disastrously earlier this summer. I have an invitation for myself plus one, and am willing to show you a great time. It is a private party, in an extremely classy setting. There is no real way to describe how ornate the club is, but I guarantee that it will be the most upscale experience of your life." Oh, sign us up! But not so fast. This gentleman has some pretty stringent requirements.

We won't belong to any club that will have us as a member. (Hi, Soho House!) And we definitely won't shop in any store for which one would need to make an appointment first, or one that requires us to submit to inspection by a "stylist" who makes sure we are "right for the store." So there's very little chance that we will ever darken the door of Caravan, whose newly-opened third location (one of the others is a converted Winnebago—class !) has that stringent policy, which helps it keep out the undesirables. Unexpectedly, thought, that category doesn't include 'Survivor' survivor Jeff Probst. "He liked that he could try on a million things and have the store to himself," Caravan co-founder Claudine Gumbel told the Post. Don't all start clamoring for appointments at once, now!

Snoots Only [NYP]