Horrible piece of garbage Tucker Max has issued a challenge to Gawker. He bets ten grand that we will underestimate how much the film version of his silly book for teenagers who like to watch each other jerk off will earn at the box office. And accuses us of being elitists who presume to be arbiters of taste. Surely, we are elitist, in that none of us consider a ham-fisted frat shit like him who has never committed an honest emotion to paper in any effectual way to be, in fact, a writer. At least that is my stand. I think he is merely a frightened little wuss who has to treat people badly because he thinks his mommy stole his penis. But let's get into his challenge, and my-not Gawker's-response after the jump.

Here is this fool's accusation against Gawker as a whole (read the rest here):

As you may be aware, the media blog Gawker has, for the last three weeks, been posting about me and this movie. Gawker's schtick is to be hateful and snarky about everything other than themselves, so of course they are comically negative and attacking in their posts about me. For example:

They seem to think it's controversial that I'm an asshole, they don't like that I have hot girls in my movie, they apparently hate the FBI, they accuse me of plagiarizing myself, they think my stories are fake and in the SAME post say everyone has similar stories, they believe clearly made up emails (even when my REAL assistant writes to say it's fake), and they even criticize me for being professional to actresses and loving my dog. And of course, they think my movie sucks, even though their "source" on set tells them that it's good.

First, we haven't been arbitrarily hateful in quite some time, you fucking twerp. We are hateful against you because... Oh, wait. I am only writing for myself. Let me begin again.

I don't hate you, Tucker. I think you're a sad piece of nothing that floated along and got caught on some corner of the net when it was still impressed by college boy antics beyond giving them two minutes of Youtube time. I say your stories are fake at THE SAME TIME (wow, Tuck, caps are an effective rhetorical device!) as I say every frat boy tells those stories, because every frat boy's stories are mostly bullshit. Most frat boys only try to sell their crap to their friends, and not for money. Even Opie and Anthony called bullshit on you. How often do they call bullshit on anyone? You know most of your stories aren't true, and that's part of what makes you behave like a caged-in fucking maniac.

The other reason I would hate you if you were worth the passion: You soooo clearly fucking hate and fear women, brah! My God, can you write one word about them where you're not demeaning-literally-the shit out of them? It's not okay with most people that a guy who sells 400,000 copies of a bad book he mostly invented should fucking hate women, should keep telling story after story about how he tricked some girl with not enough self-esteem into a place of lesser self-esteem. Why don't you at least get creative about it?

Because you cannot. You haven't got the mind. You are, frankly, quite stupid and dark and a misery to contemplate. If you've had all the sex you claim to have had-though I don't think all the shitting and vomiting you describe actually describes any kind of actual sex-why not be philosophical about it? Why not be Henry Miller?

Why not? Because you, Tucker Max, are a thug, an unimaginative punk, and, at heart, a tiny little vapor.

As for your bet. Nick will deal with that.

As for me, before you bother googling me: I have written two novels and they did not sell much at all. If you think that's the measure of me as writer, James Frey has sold roughly five or six times more copies than you, not including his bad novel.

In the end. We hate you because you suck. Hating you is the least cynical thing any Gawker writer ever did.

Now die.

Ian Spiegelman, 8/29/2008