Ben Roethlisberger. He's a quarterback for the Pittsburgh Steelers! He's the youngest Super Bowl-winning quarterback in NFL history! He's one of the NFL's highest-paid players, with a $102 million dollar five-year contract! He's a rapist! And he's not just an All-Star on the field, folks, he's also our second Douchebag Decree All-Star! (Applause.)
Roethlisberger, right, with a fan in Milledgeville, Georgia. Someone please submit this photo to this blog.
Whether it's his offhand-way of dropping misogyny, his female-rating system that puts how-many-beers-til-she's-hot-Yalies to shame, or his website that requires only the most minimal of minimal perusals to incite any feminist, it's not difficult to dislike Tucker Max. He's been utterly dissed by the Hater, called a "gender traitor" by Glamour's Ryan Dodge, and this is most definitely not the first time he's been called douchebag. But as a self-professed asshole, Tucker Max would no doubt affectionately embrace this week's Douchebag Decree title. Therein lies the problem: a compelte willingness to embody--and market--being a D-bag.
And with a movie based on his best-selling (yep!) book I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell coming out Sept. 25 and a second book Assholes Finish First coming down the pipeline (customers who bought this item also bought The Complete A**hole's Guide to Handling Chicks!), Tucker Max isn't going off the radar any time soon. But why care?