The Comprehensive Guide to Becoming a Bro

This article may not actually benefit you - you are beyond help, you cunt.

Welcome, basement-dwellers, to the comprehensive guide to becoming a bro. You're obviously here as you have zero knowledge when it comes to being a Bro, so stop fapping to Hentai, playing World of Warcraft, and eating pop-tarts, and read this guide.

Partying

Theme Parties

Chicks will find any way to make a theme sexy.

It’s Tuesday morning. For the first time all semester, you’re up before one, but unlike some fucking bro-hater the reason you’re up isn’t to go to class; you want to see the carnage. Last night got a little fucking crazy. After four solid hours of taking shots and debating whether the 300 pound redneck waitress had ever seen a penis that wasn’t her father’s, one of your bros decided it would be a good idea to challenge some big ass black dude to a break dancing contest. Everything was going well until Round 3 where your bro had to compensate for his whiteness and obvious break dancing disadvantage by pulling of the impossible: sliding across the floor using ONLY the top of his head. It was a bold move – and he nearly pulled that shit off. Unfortunately, much like most shitty bars – this particular establishment had a shitload of broken glass all over the fucking floor, which lodged itself into your bro’s scalp. It was hard to tell if he didn’t want to lose the contest or if he was just too drunk to feel feelings, but god damn it if he didn’t want to finish that competition. He hopped up from the floor only to meet his opponent’s look of horror and disbelief. Your bro asked, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Did Tyler Perry die or something?” That’s when he finally felt the blood streaming down his face. After laughing maniacally and screaming “I’M HAVING A HEAD PERIOD!!!” for about 20 minutes, you and your bros turned against every bro bone in your body and sent him to the hospital. For some reason the bro-haters at the hospital kept him all night. Some bullshit about “hospital policy” and that they were “scared for his mental well-being” or something. You don’t give a fuck. Only thing you care about is seeing that fucking scar on his head. As your bro finally gets home just in time to watch some new hilarious Youtube clip you found, he stops everyone and demands to be heard. “Bros – last night was one of the craziest times of my fucking life. When you are lying in that hospital bed bleeding all over the bed because of a drunken break-dancing accident, you really learn a lot about yourself. About life. About being a hero. But honestly, if there’s one thing I can take away from this experience it’s this: dudes, nurses are fucking hot as shit”. As you and your bros all high five each other and start chanting “NUR-SES! NUR-SES!” you all immediately know what has to be done. This weekend it’s time to celebrate your bro’s release from the hospital the only way you know how: it’s time for a naughty nurses party. Bros fucking love theme parties. To be honest, a bro doesn’t need anything to party other than a cold keg, a couple bros, and some chicks to bang. Bros definitely don’t need decorations or any shit like that to have a good time. But every once in a while bros like to mix shit up. That’s where theme parties come into the picture. Now, when I say theme parties I’m not talking about some bullshit like, “everyone get dressed up as your favorite character from ‘Fern Gully’ and come reenact the movie!” And bros definitely don’t have anything to do with any science fiction type “theme parties.” As a matter of fact, if you have even been in a debate involving Star Trek and Star Wars, please leave this article and get back to saving your virginity for marriage. Bros have practical theme parties, like “Anything but Clothes,” “Golf Pros and Tennis Hos” or parties making fun of lesser life forms, like a #Guido theme. While you’ll never see a bro send out an evite with some Sex and the City quote inviting you over for a “Few Martini’s with the Girls”, you will see this shit at a bro’s theme party - girls in slutty outfits. Perhaps the only group of people in the world who love theme parties more than bros is the chicks that are invited to them. While Halloween is truly the only day that it is socially acceptable for a girl to wear next to nothing and claim to be “in costume,” Theme Parties come in a close second. Much like on Halloween, no matter what the theme of the party, girls will find a way to make that shit slutty as hell. For example, one time I went to a “Barn” party thinking everyone would be dressed up like farmers and shit, only to find out all the girls there decided they would cut up their $200 jeans to give themselves Daisy Dukes just to show off the fact that they eliminated their cellulite over the Winter. While it was nice to see those legs in high heels, it really is a shame that with all our technological advances scientists haven’t developed a treadmill for girls’ faces. If that shit’s not in the new health care plan, it fucking should be. WARNING: When making your guest list, it’s important for bros to realize that some fat ugly girls might try to sneak into your party dressed just as slutty as the hot ones. The last thing you need is some fat bitch showing up to your “Superheroes” theme party stuffed into a Catwoman suit. If she does happen to find her way into the party, make sure she knows she’s not welcome by chasing her around the house attempting to “save the pet population” by using your Superhuman powers to spray her. If she cries and yells at you asking why you’re such an asshole, just respond, “Ask Bob Barker, bitch”. For all you fucking bro-haters out there saying that bros are selfish and don’t care about anyone but themselves, I ask you to look no further to a Theme Party. Bros realize there is nothing a girl loves to do more than dress up as slutty as humanly possible. It’s in their DNA. Throw the Theme Party. Become a bro. Let them be sluts. You’re welcome, ladies.

Drinking Beers Fast

It’s Tuesday afternoon and you’re bored as shit. With nothing to do but spread bro cheer, you and your bros decide to take your weekly trip to Home Depot to take dumps in the model toilets. Unfortunately, for some reason fucking Home Depot decided to hire extra security to stop you guys this week. While you’re bro is mid-dump, they swarm him like he’s fucking George Lopez at a Diamondbacks game. Just as he’s getting kicked out with his pants around his ankles screaming, “Someone call Amnesty International!” you see it - feet upon feet of clear vinyl tubing. You instantly realize what you have to do – make a gigantic fucking beer bong. You arrive home with your supplies and attach the grey funnel to the 20 feet of tubing .Immediately, you declare, “I christen thee, ‘Long Bong Silver!’” As your bros clap politely someone smashes a fucking bottle of champagne. It’s time to celebrate - you’re throwing a fucking rager. As you see people starting to filter in and sluts deciding which bro they want to bang, it’s time to break out the entertainment. You and your bro climb up to the roof dressed in fucking pirate costumes. As your bro throws the bong over the edge, you cry out, “Shiver me timbers, bitches. Who wants to walk the fucking plank?”. Immediately someone screams out, “Aye, Aye, Cap’n!” and runs to the bottom of the tube. You fill up the funnel with a six-pack of Natty and two shots of vodka just for good measure. As the chugger waits for the foam to die down in the funnel, he raises his arms in the air calling for more cheering. You give him the word that the foam is gone. He takes a deep breath, drops to one knee, and begins one of the greatest athletic feats known to man – chugging enough alcohol to kill a small animal. As he takes his last gulp, he jumps up screaming, “It feels so good once it hits your lips!” Everyone starts chanting “Frank-The-Tank! Frank-The-Tank!”. People are giving out high fives/bro-fists and the chicks are getting visibly wet as shit. Up on the roof, you turn to your bro and say, “Tonight’s gonna be fucking awesome”. You better fucking believe it is – and it’s all thanks to that 20-foot beer bong named after a shitty seafood restaurant. After all, you're a bro and you fucking love drinking beer fast. Bros are always the best in everything they do, so why should drinking be any different? While society might call drinking fast a sign of binging, bros know what it really means – that you’re the fucking man. Why the fuck would anyone want to just sip on a beer all night? Unless you’re a fucking one-beer queer, you’re not even getting a buzz much less hammered from that drink, so what’s the fucking point? Bros realize that the only reason to drink is to get fucked up and honestly what better way to do that than by drinking fast as shit. The first way to do this is the beer bong - I don’t know who invented the Beer Bong, but honestly, whoever it was deserves a fucking Nobel Prize. It really doesn’t get much more bro than using equipment bought at the fucking hardware store to allow you to chug beer a few seconds faster than you would have using a can. Bros are busy people so you better believe they need those few precious seconds to do important shit – like pounding more brew and slaying chicks! A second way to drink beer fast is drinking games – when bros have a party they don’t send out invitations in the mail. They don’t have dinner with nametags at each seat for the guests. Fuck, they don’t even clean their house. Bros have parties to get fucking wasted. Bro parties consist of kegs, a beer pong table that everyone is huddled around, and drinking games. Drinking games allow people at the party to avoid talking to each other and focus on the real reason why they came – to get fucked up. Now I’m not talking about dumbass games like “Asshole,” which promote bullshit like “strategy” and “thinking,” I’m talking about the card or dice games that get you straight up fucked where there’s absolutely no social interaction whatsoever and the only focus is fucking chugging. You can always tell if it’s a great fast drinking game because anytime it’s brought up someone yells out, “Oh man, that game fucks you up!”. A third way to get drunk fast is the keg stand - whoever decided, “Hey - I’m tired of drinking out of this keg using boring cups, how about you guys prop me up in the air and I’ll put my mouth on the tap and just chug”, was seriously a fucking genius. Bros are fucking smart as shit, so they eliminate bullshit useless middle-men like cups. If bros could drink beer straight out of the brewery bottling taps, you better fucking believe they would. And nothing gets a party going like a good old-fashioned keg stand count up. Honestly, if you can’t get at least 20 seconds on a fucking keg stand, then you seriously don’t even deserve to stand up when you pee. “Time isn’t wasted when you’re getting wasted.” I can’t remember exactly who wrote these inspirational words, but I’m pretty sure it was Jesus. Anyways, while this might be true, a bro never wastes any time when getting wasted. So this weekend, chug the beer. Set new personal speed drinking records. Get fucked up faster than humanly possible. Become a bro.

Kegs

In College Parties, Kegs are a bro staple. Three kegs is pretty much the standard for any party. Bros will however just get one keg to chill on, but this is primarily for a pre-drinking rather than an actual party. Bros love talking about where they get their kegs. Extra bro-cred is given to whoever knows the place that sells kegs the cheapest, no matter how far away that place might be. I don't give a fuck if you have to drive 45 minutes away, get it if its $5 cheaper. Then you got to tell everyone about the place that sold $40 kegs and how great a deal it was. Possibly the most valued item among a bro’s possessions is his keg tap. Every bro has a story about how he acquired the tap itself. Often times it will be passed down from his big brother in his fraternity, or more likely the bro stole it. This is a point of pride for any bro because the keg tap steal is one of the most difficult and biggest dick moves out there. If you are able to steal a tap from a keg in the middle of a party, you might have what it takes to be a bro-king. Once you have your cheap keg and tap and the party is rolling, bros assume their favorite position: right next to the keg. Bros love hanging by the keg the entire night just chilling. This gives bros the chance to never have to wait to fill up their cup and maximize on brew. This also allows bros to let everyone know that they tapped the keg and that is why it’s pulling so well and there is such little head. Bros are experts at exactly how many pumps the keg needs and how the SOLO cup should be tilted during the pour. Bros can also tell how much beer is left in the keg by simply lifting the keg up and they do this pretty much every 15 minutes, usually making a point to show how heavy it is and making the announcement to the party that “We’re still in great shape” and that “Everyone should stop being pussies and start pounding their drinks”. So if you wanna become a bro, go get your cheap ass keg and brag about it.

Shots

It’s midnight. You’ve been drinking for 8 hours and you’re at that perfect level of wasted. Sure you’ve been fucking grinding your dick off, but you haven’t tried to close any deals yet, because I mean, come on? It’s only fucking midnight. By trying to hook up with some slam piece now, not only will you miss out on the next 3 hours at the bar, but you might end up having to face the fucking sum of all fears and actually talk to her for an extended period of time. Bros realize the best time to pick up their fuck buddy is 30 minutes before the bar closes, thus talking time is limited and she’ll have the perfect excuse to tell her judging fat friends that she “wants to get another drink” at your place. Anyways, just as you’re looking for your next ex-slam piece, you see someone pointing at you. You barely recognize him in the dark bar, but then he screams out, “DIAHRREA MAN” aka your nickname he created after seeing you eat Wendy’s Chili one time like 3 years ago. “How you been man! Still getting fucking diahrrea?” he screams. This guy's a fucking tool. You tell him you’ve been great, just getting fucked up and banging strange. That’s when it happens, you realize you’ve got jack shit to talk to him about and he's gonna try to hang with you all fucking night. All you can remember is the story about his roommate catching him beating off to some Suzanne Sommers infomercial, but you don’t really think you can bring that up right now. So you say those four little words that every bro can believe in: “Let’s do a shot.” Boom: A cheers to “slaying some pussy” and two Jack Daniels later, he’s fucking gone and you’re back to surveying that dance floor like you’re George Motherfucking Washington. You could have had the “Step-by-Step beater” clinging to you all fucking night but thanks to shots, you’re back in the fucking game. Now don’t get me wrong, I pussify my drinks just as much as the next guy. Whiskey Sours, Jack and Ginger, Rum and Cokes, they’re all fucking money. Outside of freshman girls trying to save money/calories by taking 10 shots of Aristocrat Vodka before they go out, nobody in their right mind would ever drink only shots all night long. But there’re special occasions when chugging a beer will not do the situation justice. It’s at these times that when someone asks you “Wanna do a shot?” You better fucking say yes. Shots are an identifier for landmarks in the night. Nothing fucking beats trying to piece together the night’s activities when suddenly you remember, “OH FUCK, I was taking shots with Brooks last night!” Shots not only unite, but they validate bros’ relationships. It’s like pledging a fraternity – sure it’s fucking painful for a little while, but that shit’s worth it when your Blacked out and grinding on a fucking dime piece. Shots get you fucked up. Even bros have off nights. While for most people in society, this would constitute a normal night out, bros don’t just go to the bar to sit in the corner and stare at other people. We shred the bar to fucking pieces. However, every once in a while it just might not be happening. Our buzz might be weak, the girls might be fucking busted, the band might be shitty – I don’t know, sometimes there’s just something off about the night. That’s when any true bro knows the cure: some of Granpappy’s Ol’ Fashion’d Cough Medicine. Nothing bad ever happens from taking shots. If you just screamed out “YOU COULD GET YOUR STOMACH PUMPED OR DIE!” Fucking relax, we’re bros, not some 75 lb. 14-year-old girl with a death wish because our parents won’t let us go to some fucking Glee concert. Additionally, being able to tell everyone the next day you had like 10 shots and still picked up some chick is fucking bro as shit. Who cares if you puked all over her closet? The important thing is that she gave you a blowjob after knowing you for half an hour. Shots also unite bro's. Bros love fighting. It’s such a fucking rush. One minute you’re minding your own business, the next you’re in some guy’s face screaming “IS WEARING THAT AFFLICTION T-SHIRT PART OF YOUR SEX-OFFENDER PAROLE AGREEMENT?” Sure it’s fun as shit to get kicked out the bar, but you know what else’s fun? Staying in the bar. So, sometimes, you gotta play peacemaker and what better way to do that than taking a shot of liquor together? Back in the days of the Wild West, do you think the cowboys saddled up at the saloon to chug a cold beer after a long day of killing Indians? Fuck no. It was liqour that was so strong it could double as gas for a fucking car (according to Back to the Future III). Sure today we’re not trying to settle land or bury our children who died of dysentery on the Oregon Trail, but I say fuck it - we’re cowboys, too. And no better way to honor our forefathers than throwing some fucking shots down our throats.

Beer Pong

If there's one thing bros like more than getting fucked up - it's getting fucked up while competing against fellow bros. Drinking games are fucking awesome. They promote less talking and more drinking which after all is the point of getting fucked up. Perhaps the greatest drinking game for bros is beer pong. This is the ulitmate game for a bro to show how much of a bro he really is. Nothing gets the competitive juices flowing like Natural Light, ping pong balls, reused cups, and two cups of warm water. You see, amongst bros, you will command the most amount of respect from your fellow bros if you can dominate the table. For example, when someone asks you what you did on Saturday night, and you can honestly say, "Yo, me and DJ held the pong table down the whole fucking night, bro" you might have what it takes to be a bro-king. Holding down the beer pong table also gives you the right to call everyone that loses to you that night your bitch, because quite frankly, they are. If you are good at beer pong, you are famous among your fellow bros. They will all want you to be their partner, they will even brag to rival-bros about you, "Yo - my boy Tim is a beast at pong, we will take any of you fuckers on." You can always spot a beer pong brofessional by the way he plays the game. So to become a bro, you better learn how to play. Maybe the best thing about beer pong is the health precautions taken. Now back in the days when my bros and I were college freshmen, money was tight. So, instead of constantly purchasing new expensive cups, we would just stack up the cups after a night of games not worrying about cleaning out the cups because, hello, alcohol is a disinfectant, and throw them in the fraternity basement cabinets. Then, we would come back with our fresh cases of Beast the next night, rinse out the cups and have at it. Times have changed. Now, we bros have jobs and can afford to shell out that extra $1.99 for new cups. What hasn't changed is our ever present health consiousness. A staple in the game of beer pong has and always will be, the water cup. When throwing the balls in competition, there is always the chance that the ping pong ball will somehow find its way onto the floor. Now, chances are, your beer pong room does not have a floor which you can eat off of. So, what are you going to do when you get a pile of dust/ashes/band aid/pubes on the ball? Boom - you hit that shit up in the water cup. Cleans all. How, you might ask? Umm, did I mention that it was warm? Nuff said. Plus, if that's not enough for you, there are times during the game where someone will even call for NEW water cups. Some say its overkill, but not me. Health is always most important. So, if you wanna become a bro, buy some shit for your beer pong competitions.

Weed

Everyone remembers that day. For most bros they were nothing but bros in training, possibly in high school but for true bros it took place in middle school. One of your fellow bros in training invited you over after school to "play" although this time - there would be no rematch in Madden '98. He invites you to come out to the woods to see something. At first you are hesitant because this seems very familiar to every story you’ve heard of children getting raped, but you’re not a fucking bitch so you follow him. Once you get far enough to where you can't be spotted by bro-hating adults, he pulls out the wadded up piece of paper. "What the fuck is that," you ask. "It's a fucking joint man, we're going to get high a shit!" This is it. You're entire life you've been told about the evils of drugs and promised your parents you would never do them, but come on, this is one of your best bros! Even more so than any doctor, bros always know what is best for other bros. After he sparks that shit, he passes it to you. Nervously you eye the evil drugs burning inside the paper. Just before the cloud of smoke hits your lungs, you mutter under your breath, "Well, I guess this is the end of the road for us, Crime Dog McGruff." Just like that - you've entered the dark side. Welcome to the world of marijuana. Training wheels are off - you are now a bro. So, that was most likely your first time. But don't make it the last. You should bring weed to a lot of parties. Bros fucking love weed. Much like drinking and driving, bros love the fact that smoking is illegal. This makes them rebels - and chicks fucking love that shit. Even though it is illegal, any bro will argue with you for hours about how it should be legalized. Never challenge a bro to a debate about smoking weed. You will lose, most likely because they will be so fucked up that they will start a personal attack on you. Bros know everything there is to know about weed, however there is a distinct difference between weed smoking bros and hippie potheads. Hippie potheads are not bros. Hippie potheads care about bullshit like the environment and the feelings of others. They also smoke weed to "experience nature" or "enhance music." Fuck that shit. Bros smoke weed for one reason and one reason alone: to get fucked up. The only thing that smoking weed enhances for bros is their stories about how fucked up they were the night before. Being able to add to the end of your story that you came home and "smoked like 3 bowls after drinking for 10 hours straight" gives you a fuckload of bro points. Additional bro points are awarded if you don't even remember smoking up. Yeah, sure it’s cool to have that guy on your dorm hall that sells eighths is cool and all, but having "connections in the city" is fucking bro as shit. This makes you look hard, not to mention everyone knows you get the best bud from hardcore drug dealers. If you don't actually have these connections, just tell people you do. They'll believe that shit. Fucking idiots. Another solid way of getting your shit includes stealing it. If you can honestly say you got high off of your Grandmother's glaucoma medication, you might have what it takes to be a bro king. So go get some connections, bitch. And be that epic bro who brought weed to the party.

Crashing A Party

It’s Friday night. You and your bros are sitting around watching American Gladiators on ESPN Classic trying to figure out what to do tonight. Some girls you know were supposed to be throwing a party, but for some reason they cancelled, probably because one of them had an abortion. You could hit the bar, but you’ve been there the past three nights and you’re pretty sure the bouncer is not going to let you in since you peed off the balcony onto the crowded outdoor patio last night. You start to text people to see what they are up to, and everyone has the same response – “Party on Cullen.” So looks like it’s an easy decision, right? Wrong. You’ve known about this party for a while, 10 kegs and Jungle Juice, but even though you are a bro you didn’t get the invite. Unfortunately, one of the bro-haters that lives there does not like you. You’ve tried to explain to him that it was an honest mistake, but to this point he’s been completely irrational. Not only did you not know it was his girlfriend, but it wasn’t until after you had mopped up with the pillowcase that you realized it was his bed. At first you were hesitant, but you’ve pounded 12 brews and got your big guy to roll with you. Fuck it – it’s time to crash this fucking party. It’s hard to believe that a bro would not be welcome somewhere, but unfortunately, even after the life works of such bro-life activists such as John Daly, brocism still exists in society today. Together, bros must rise above this bro-hatred and personally, I can’t think of a better way to do so than crashing a party. To come onto the path of becoming a Bro, you will at some point need to crash a party. Bros fucking love crashing parties nearly as much as Black guys love below average looking White chicks. So how does a bro act when he finally crashes the party? MUTHA FUCKIN' ALCOHOL! In the non-bro world, a party begins with an eVite touting “Come celebrate Tammy’s job promotion!”. Everyone responds, usually with some shitty canned response like, “I’ll raise a glass to that!”. God non-bros want to make me vomit. Anyways, the point is, if you are not invited and still show up, the polite thing to do is bring your own alcohol. Bros are not polite. Why the fuck would you bring sand to the beach? Not only do bros not bring anything to contribute, but they fucking punish everything in sight. Bros immediately crowd around the keg to get to the point where if there is an altercation with the host, they will have no problem telling their big guy to beat his fucking ass. Also, no matter the brand of beer at the party, bros will make comments about how cheap the host is for buying it. This makes girls want to bang you. So take notes. And fucking make your presence known. While most people will quietly try to blend in to the party, hoping no one realizes they don’t belong, bros fucking tell everyone and their mother. “Yeah, the fucking host of this party hates me because last time I was here I took a dump in his shower” or “This guy’s not happy I’m here since last year when we put his sister's picture and phone number on Craig’s List hookers.” Crashing a party not only is cool as shit, but it makes you dangerous. You know who loves danger? That’s right – fucking chicks. So alcohol - check, making your presence known - check. Next, take over the mutha fuckin' joint. There’s a reason you and your boys are bros: you fucking dominate every place you go. Sooner of later, the bro hater hosting the party is likely to find you, but don’t worry, by this point you have already taken over the entire party. Through well-timed USA chants, convincing chicks you actually care about the things they have to say, and showing off your keg stand abilities, everyone at the party has started to worship you. That’s when the bro hater piece of shit tries to kick you out. Wrong fucking move. If you can get the host of the party kicked out of his own party – you sir, are a fucking bro king. The closest I've ever got was a couple years ago at a quiet Christmas party we decided to crash. Within an hour we were smashing Christmas ornaments on the kitchen floor and screaming “Mazel Tov!”. Within 10 minutes the floor was covered with glass shards and we went back to tending the keg. When we brought some girls back to the kitchen to show them how fucking awesome we were, all the ornaments were cleaned up. We were angry. “Who cleaned this shit up?!?!” my bro's sister screamed. “I did you fucking bitch,” replied the boyfriend of a girl who actually lived in the house. Big mistake. We all got into his face screaming about how you don’t disrespect women (obviously lying) and within a few seconds he was being pushed down the stairs and got fucking kicked out. For cleaning up our smashed ornaments. As one of the hosts cried, we laughed, gave each other high fives, and got back to pounding drinks. God I fucking love being a bro. So jump on the fucking band-wagon.

Breaking Shit

You just got kicked out of the bar, but honestly it wasn't your fault. There was a long ass line for the bathroom, so you just peed against the bar. Some fat bitch got sprayed on and she fucking told on you, so your night has to end at 1:45 and not 2, which fucking sucks. You're fucking hammered on your walk back to your car. Obviously you're driving because you are not a loser. That's when you see it: a mailbox shaped like a fucking cow. "That's the dumbest shit I've ever seen", you think to yourself. It's time for this cow to fucking fall. Through the drunken haze you remember you have a tire iron in the back of your car. After ten good swings and a lot of talk about the cow's mother the mailbox is demolished. That’ll show the bouncer for kicking you out. Bros fucking love breaking shit and vandalism in general. Bros know they are above the law, but knowing is not as powerful as showing. By breaking other people's property it sends the message that there is a bro in town and you better not fuck with him. It’s a fact. Bras want to be bros. Just a few of the things they envy include bros' drinking ability, superior intelligence, and the fact that they don't get periods. But perhaps the most overwhelming difference that haunts bras is their lack of strength. Bras fucking hate the fact that bros are strong enough to break shit and they aren’t. Bros love showing this shit off and to be honest bras can't resist it. Breaking shit is even a bigger panty dropper than grinding to Flo rida on a fraternity dance floor. I know – all you anonymouses out there are ready to call bullshit because nothing says romance like “Right Round” blaring on the speakers and a half-chub in the pants – but hear me out. The more impressive the break – the more the chick will want you and the more she will be willing to give up. Smash a few wine bottles in the street? Dome shots. Throw a fan off the balcony? Reverse cowgirl. Smash a random car window? No more saving anal for her husband. And sure, it’s nice to impress chicks, but it’s much more important to look good in front of your fellow bros. Bros fucking love to out do one another, and breaking shit is a great way to do this. One time in College I was visiting some bros from back home at another school. As they played some “Blades of Steel” on their original Nintendo, the game froze. Since the system was about 13 years old, this isn’t all that surprising, but as we had been drinking heavily for a few hours, the blame went elsewhere. The TV. Obviously, the TV itself had nothing to do with the game freezing, but its seemed like the logical explanation at the time. It was time for the TV to go. My bro put on work gloves to protect from the electric shock, some swimming goggles to protect his eyes, and a bandana for intimidation more than anything else and grabbed a 6 iron out of his golf bag. As everyone chanted his name, he took a couple practice swings and then connected. Sparks flew, we hit the ground laughing, and just like that, their TV was destroyed. I have to say I gained a lot of respect for that bro that night, and you had better fucking believe he earned a shit load of bro points. Who cares if they had to buy a new TV the next day? Who gives a fuck if security was called on their apartment? What difference does it make that there was shards of television screen glass in their carpet for the rest of the semester? The bottom line is bro points are priceless. Anytime you have an opportunity to earn some – you better damn well take it.

Rioting

This isn’t your typical pre-drinking. From the outside looking in it would look typical. It’s you and ten of your bros absolutely punishing 2 kegs and a fucking hugeass gin bucket. It’s only 11am, but honestly, it’s warm outside, of course you’re gonna get fucked up all day. But, today is different. Today is the "First Day of Spring" party at your school and there is a buzz in the air. This past winter has been fucking horrible. Sure the blizzards killed 13 old people, but the even bigger tragedy was that you only got laid twice. This cold streak is finally going to end. Much like rage turns Bruce Banner into the Hulk, warm weather turns girls into sluts. Today is going to be a good day. As you and your bros make your way down to the park where the DJs are spinning aka pressing the “next” button on their iPods, you get the same feeling you had back in high school just before a food fight. There’s electricity in the air. After a tense 10 minutes of screaming and chanting all kinds of inaudible shit, you see it. An empty 40 bottle making its way towards the parking lot. As the bottle smashes, bros everywhere cheer and immediately start chucking all kinds of shit into the air. Within minutes bros everywhere are bringing all the kindling aka park benches and plywood from houses to the middle of the park and lighting that shit on fire. People start swarming parked cars, shaking them, and putting dents in the hoods by treating them like trampolines. Before you know it a streak of blood crawls down your face – you have no idea how it got there. You turn to your bro, dab your finger on the blood, and take a taste. “Ahh,” you tell your bro, “tastes like Victory!". Bros fucking love rioting. Now when I talk about riots, I’m not talking about all those protesting riots bullshit over Rodney King or human rights. Bros don’t give a shit about that. Bros riot over much more important things – like winning a basketball game or because they’re drunk. Bros don’t celebrate big wins by having a fucking tea party and talking about if they take lemons or honey in their tea – they break as much shit they can find and burn all their fucking furniture. Whenever bros get together to have a good time, there are always those people who are jealous of them. These people are obviously the bro-haters. Shockingly enough, even during an all-out riot where literally everyone is invited to participate these haters still exist. The fucking police. I mean, honestly, what the fuck is wrong with a little innocent mischief? Are bros hurting anyone? Probably, but that’s beside the point. If you step foot onto a college campus, you should expect to get hurt. Do the fires ever get out of control? Yes, but that’s why you have the fire department. Besides, even retards know how to “Stop, Drop, and Roll” so what’s the big fucking deal? Even with all this hatred coming from the people who are supposedly there to “protect” their rights, bros don’t stop partying. In fact they party even harder. Immediately it becomes us vs. them. The good (bros) vs. the evil (the cops.) Bros quickly forget the real reason they are rioting (because it’s warm out) and focus on the new cause: letting the cops know how much better we are than them. While all we have is our chants of “Fuck the Police” and our father’s law firm to protect us – the cops have weapons. Little do they know, bros are fucking immune to that shit. Please what the fuck are the cops going to do? Tear gas us? Don’t they realize who they’re dealing with? What are we? Hormonal women? Everyone and their fucking mother knows bros are physically unable to cry. Stupid fucking pigs. Once the cops figure out they aren’t dealing with girls on their period, they might turn to more drastic measures, like rubber bullets. Sure this shit could sting, but let’s be realistic – bros might as well have Adamantium injected inside their bones because they're that genetically perfect. Shooting rubber bullets at a bro is like a power walk for fat girls – it doesn’t do shit. Besides, being able to tell people at the party later that night that you got shot with a rubber bullet will definitely get you laid. Chicks fucking love brave heroes. Getting wasted is fucking awesome. Destroying other people’s shit is fucking awesome. Burning shit is fucking awesome. Sure you might get hurt in the process, but seriously, who gives a fuck? You’ve earned this day. Riot on, bros. Riot on.

Blacking out

It’s fucking freezing and you don’t know where the fuck you are. Your head is pounding and the only reason you’re awake is because some fucking rooster just crowed. As you look around to try to understand what’s going on, you see a donkey and a shitload of chickens. At first you think you’ve been kidnapped and shipped to some Third World country, but then you see the animals have food and aren’t being forced to fight, so it’s clear: you’re still in America. Thank God. You pull out your iPhone to check out your location. It’s pretty obvious you’re in some sort of petting zoo, but it’s not like you know where the local petting zoos are. As your Maps app loads up your location, you nearly drop your phone on your pillow/donkey shit when you see where you are. You’re like 15 miles from your house. What the fuck happened? You try to piece it together, but up until about 5 minutes ago, everything was darker than Lebron James’s heart. The last thing you remember is taking that fucking Four Horseman shot some random guy bought you after he witnessed you slap a sandwich out of a fat girl’s hands and scream, “DON’T YOU THINK YOU’VE HAD ENOUGH!” After waking your bitch bro’s ass up to come pick you up, you start to think of what happened last night and you can’t help but laugh. While some might consider blacking out 8 hours of their life, only to wake up with their head in some farm animal’s shit to be a sign they need immediate professional help, bros realize what it really means: you just had an awesome fucking night. Blacking out is the fucking shit. I always love all those bro-hater campaigns claiming you might have a problem if you “experience a loss of memory when drinking.” Fucking please, who the fuck actually goes out and remembers the whole night? What the fuck are we supposed to do? Drink two beers over the course of eight hours? I’d rather be fucking dead. Blacking out is the absolute epitome of being a bro. I mean just think about it – you’re forcing so much alcohol into your system that your brain literally stops working. It’s pretty much like your mind thinks your body is dead. How fucking awesome is that? You’re like some fucking bro zombie! But blacking out doesn’t mean the night is over – it’s just getting started. Much like the undead, a blacked out bro will go hunting for brains, but the brains bros are interested in don’t come from human skulls – they come from chicks. Ask any bro and I’m sure he’ll tell you 9 out of the top 10 nights of his life involved some sort of blackout. It’s a proven scientific fact that the more bros drink, the better the fucking story they have the next day. I always love those nights where I know the blackout is coming. I’ll order my drink then make my way around the bar shaking my bros’ hands and telling them I’ll see them tomorrow. That’s when fucking magic happens. Waking up the next morning and having all your bros tell you all crazy shit you did the night before is about as bro as it fucking gets. And let’s just make one thing clear – a bro is not responsible for any actions he takes when he’s blacked out. Nowhere is this truer than when it comes to the girls they hook up with. Every bro’s got that one fucking fat skeleton in their closet - she’s not a slump buster or anything, she’s more like a character from “Where The Wild Things Are.” One of my bros woke up one morning after a pretty legit blackout next to what he described as a “1/3 out of 10”. He was angry. So angry in fact that he destroyed his own bedroom door while she was still in bed. Sure we could have made fun of him, but we realized there was nothing he could do. Hooking up with a fat chick while blacked out is a devastating tragedy that could strike any bro at ANY time, therefore we forgave him. Just remember guys: “If I can’t remember it, it didn’t happen.”

Drinking and Driving

Sir.. I'm gonna ask you to get the fuck out of the car.

It’s 3 AM. You’ve been pounding brews and dominating the beer pong table at your bro’s place for the past 6 hours. He’s about to go nail the last chick at the party who’s not comatose. That’s when you get the text: “What ru up to?” It’s your chick. She wants to fuck. You are now faced with two options: you can stick around the party and pass out in the living room with like 6 other bros, or you can make the 10 mile trip via the highway to go spend some quality time with the bra. That's when you remember: your trying to become a bro - you better believe your fucking drinking and driving. Sure there are some serious cons to drinking and driving but believe me, the pros far outweigh them. “But, can’t you go to jail?”. Listen, bitch, I am a straight bro, therefore I have an uncle who’s a high powered attorney, plus like 6 friends in Law School. Whenever a cop reads me my rights, I give him his rights to work at McDonald’s the rest of his career. But let’s just say you don’t have bros on retainer like I do. This doesn’t mean you shouldn’t drink and drive. You wanna become a bro, right? Drink driving gives you MAD bro-cred. Everyone has that one bro who drinks and drives every fucking time he goes out. It doesn’t matter how drunk he gets, he will always be behind the wheel, and you know what? No one ever has a problem getting into his car. That’s because he is renown amongst your bros as an amazing drunk driver. Sure he’s gotten pulled over before when he was hammered, but he always passes the field tests, no matter what. He even claims he drives better when he’s hammered because he’s more careful. He is an extremely important member of your bro-posse and he gets mad respect from everyone in your crew. Plus, this gives you fucking epic stories. Double vision? Close one of your eyes to drive.S ome of the best stories from going out end with the phrase, “And then I fucking drove home!” If you are honestly able to say you pounded like 15 shots of Patron, then drove home, you might have what it takes to be a bro-king. Remember, this is a win win situation. You get away with it - drunk, sloppy sex. You get caught - in trouble with police, a DUI and you get bro-cred.

Energy Drinks

Obviously you were drinking last night. The party starts at 6 which gives you roughly 8 hours of good pre-drinking action. By the time the 5th hour rolls around one of your bros (the bitch one) passes out. Fuck him - you’re not a fucking bitch so you keep drinking. It’s fucking time for the party. The chicks start to roll in. You are a fucking mess but you are a drinking pro so you keep it together. This onechick is fucking into you. You are gonna get laid, there’s only one problem – she wants to go out to the bars. You realize, on your 11th hour of drinking that you are on the verge of passing out/having a night abortion. You also realize you will get ass if you go out. As the 11 hours of drinking start to take over your body, you drag your non-responsive limbs to the fridge much like 007 dragged his motionless body to his car trying to jumpstart his heart in “Casino Royale”. You knock over all the shit in the fridge and then you see it – its as though the Refrigerator lights are sent from heaven beaming down on it. The last 16 ounce Red Bull. There will be no night abortion after all – just the opportunity for a regular one. Bros fucking love energy drinks. Mixing uppers and downers is the shit. Anyone that tries to tell you Red Bull is bad for your heart is a fucking bro hater. Many times people will ask bros how exactly they were able to drink for 14 hours straight without eating, they will inevitably reply, “I mean, fuck, I had like 4 Red Bulls, I was straight”. Bros love chugging Red Bulls, Monsters, or for lesser bros Rock Stars, but what bros love more than anything is mixing their energy drinks with booze. Of course theres the original - Red Bull Vodka. Still always a fucking winner in any bros book. Bros always know which bars have the best RBV deals and you better believe they load up on that shit. Anytime you aren’t in the mood to go grind on some random chick at the bar – you go fucking get in the mood by crushing a couple of these. Sure you might not be able to sleep that night, but who needs sleep when you are slaying mad tail. As well as a classic RBV, you can get a Jagerbomb. Now I know you all out there saw this you immediately thought that this is Guido shit. Well I agree with you – it was Guido shit, until the “My New Haircut” video. After that video bros everywhere were making fun of Guidos by yelling out “Jagerbomb! Jagerbomb!” non-stop. Of course this led to the purchase of countless Jagerbombs just to be fucking hilarious, thus causing all the bros to quote that video for the rest of the night. I know all you bros out there have your own energy drink combos and I’m getting thirsty just thinking about them. So, when your in this situation, you can go for a Red Bull Vodka or a Jagerbomb - but try to make your own aswell. You will gain mad bro-cred for making an epic energy drink alcohol combo.

Peeing in Places that aren't a Toilet

There are many differences between bros and bras. For example, bras have feelings, want to get married and have children and most notably, suffer from monthly bouts with hemophilia. But perhaps what separates bros from bras and puts them higher on the evolutionary food chain is the ability to pee standing up. The calssic is the sink piss - this includes more than anything, pissing in the bathroom sink. To be honest, I prefer to piss in the sink, because, like any true bro, I think washing my hands after pissing is a waste of time. After all, your package is the cleanest thing on your body. So, by pissing in the sink, you can just claim that you don't want to wash your hands near your piss. This ensures that any lurking bro haters in the men's room won't go spreading rumors to potential chicks that you don't wash your hands. Other fun non-toilet pissing bathroom activities include pissing all over the toilet paper so that it is drenched and unusable or if you are at a urinal next to your bro, pissing on his foot. This is funny as shit. If your bro gets mad at you, tell him to fuck himself because he is being a bro hater. As well as the sink, there's the outdoor piss. Bros fucking love being outside. Sometimes they love it so much the last thing they want to do is walk indoors to use the bathroom. Thanks to their God given ability to stand and pee, bros simply go to the corner of the yard to relieve themselves. But what happens if you are comfortable where you are, or even worse there is no corner of the yard to go piss in? That's when you show just how much of a bro you are. Just go fucking anywhere - you're outside. Next - the bedroom piss. Honestly, if you are out there reading this and saying, "Who pees in their own bedroom?". You are not a bro. Every bro I have ever had has peed in his room at one point or another. There is nothing to be ashamed of. I have had bro haters confront me after one of my many room pissing experiences to say, "Don't you think you should take it easy on the drinking?". Give me a fucking break. Pissing your room is like masturbation - everyone does it so there is nothing to be ashamed of. However, there are three stages to pissing in your bedroom. The first is denial - no bro wants to believe that he is sleeping in his own piss or that he pissed on his buddy's suitcase on their spring break. Bros also like to think that they are capable of controlling their bodily functions no matter how drunk they get. They are not. This obviously leads to blaming others for what you did. This is not a completely ridiculous claim, after all bros don't ever remember the actual peeing itself. After denial, comes regret - bros eventually realize there is no other explanation than the fact that they peed in their laundry basket. It's at this point where a bro is most vulnerable and as close to a bro hater as possible. He is incredibly hungover and possibly on the verge of vomiting and he now has to wash piss stained clothes. The thought runs through his mind, "It might be time to settle down". Luckily, this thought only lasts for roughly 30 seconds until the next and final stage takes its place. Pride - you just pissed your room. You cleaned it up, everything is back to normal, now what are you going to do? Fucking brag about it. Pissing your room gives you an incredible amount of bro cred. Not only did you get fucked up last night, but you got so fucked up you couldn't make it the 10 steps to your bathroom to relieve yourself. Everyone needs to fucking know about this. Additional bro points are awarded if you pissed on your chick or if she was so disgusted that she left during the middle of the night, thus eliminating any morning activities described in one night stands. So there you have it. You're trying to become a bro, fuck bathrooms - go in a sink, outside or your bedroom.

Benders

You wake up. Your alarm clock reads 12:37 pm. You try to stand up but realize that’s not happening just yet. You're pretty sure it's Thursday, but there is a legitimate chance that it's Wednesday. You try to think back to last night’s events and can only remember the 45-second keg stand you had around 8 o’clock – after that, things get a little hazy. Just as you begin to think that you need to get your shit together and actually start going to class your phone starts to vibrate – it’s your bro Tommy. “Yo doggy, you have to get over here - we got three fucking kegs. There are chicks fucking everywhere!” And just like that any thoughts of quitting are out the door – the bender must continue. Bros fucking love drinking. Sure bros drink every weekend, but if you are a true bro, you are never limited to just Friday and Saturday night. So, what defines a bender? If you honestly think that by drinking from Thursday to Saturday, that you just endured a bender you are not a bro. You are a broser. Chances are you spent Saturday night puking your fucking brains out and crying in the fetal position on the bathroom floor promising yourself you would “never drink again.” Fuck that. A bender is defined as five consecutive days of being completely fucked up. Additionally, at least one of those days you must be fucking hammered all day long. I’m not too proud to admit it, but it is tough to get through a legit bender on your own. When you are in the midst of a bender you need your bros more than ever. Benders can be expensive, but by working together you can find places where you can either drink for free or steal enough brew to get you fucked up. There also comes a time in every bro’s life where he thinks about quitting on the bender. That’s where your fellow bros are there to slap you across the face with their brown flip-flops and scream, “Get a hold of yourself! Do you fucking realize what you are on the verge of becoming?!?”. After reattaching to reality, you focus on the task at hand – keeping the fucking bender alive. God damn it, I love bros. The opportunity to acquire bro points doesn’t come around all that often, so when they are available, you better fucking grab that shit. There’s no better time to earn some bro points than during a bender. Sure you get a shit load of bro points just by having your standard 5 night/1 day bender, but come on, you’re a bro, and bros are better than just “standard.” Either extending the bender or drinking more hours of the day can earn additional bro points. Stacking your bender with other bro activities such as stealing shit, breaking shit, or banging places that aren't a bed can also earn you a fuckload of bro points. While I’m sure we’re bound to hear plenty of bender stories - and believe me, I want to hear them - no one will ever top the ultimate bender from the ultimate bro – Ben Sanderson. “Who the fuck is that” you ask? Only the lead character from “Leaving Las Vegas.” I dare you to tell me a better way to go out than drinking yourself to death in fucking Vegas no less. Then he dies while banging Elisabeth Shue of Back to the Future fame who plays a hooker – and he doesn't even have to pay for that shit! How fucking awesome is that? Honestly, if any bro tries to tell you that he wouldn't want to die drunk as shit and mid-thrust on the slut from "Cocktail" he's a fucking liar and worse - he's not a fucking bro. Ben Sanderson – Bro King. Follow in his footsteps, and you will become a bro.

Vomit

It’s a Saturday afternoon. You and three of your bros are sitting around watching TV but there isn’t shit on. “We could hit up some Beer Pong?”. Normally everyone would go for that because bros fucking love beer pong, but you held down the table for like 5 hours last night so you don’t really feel like playing. That’s when it hits you. Case Race. You go pick up two cases and draw names out of a hat to pick teams. Fuck. The fat fuck is on the other team. You have your work cut out for you. Things get started and you are absolutely crushing beers but predictably the endless garbage disposal of a stomach on the other team is taking care of business. Its time to start shotgunning to catch up. You slam two in a row and all of the sudden you are tied, but you need to keep pace. Two more down the drain – only this time things don’t go so smoothly. The minute the lukewarm Natty Light ran down your throat you knew this would be trouble. You stand there motionless and completely mute. Your teammate is yelling at you to “get your fucking head in the game!” But it’s too late. Here it comes. Just like that 10 beers and a 7-11 Chili-topped Big Bite are all over your living room rug. You are disappointed, but that’s when the slow clap begins from your bros. Be proud. You fucking booted. Okay, vomiting isn't actually that bad - sure, it means you can't handle your drink, but can you think of ANY bro you haven't witnessed throwing up from drinking? There are none. Sure there are fucking haters out there who will call bros that puke “bulimic sorority girls,” “chemo patients,” or my personal favorite “that little slut from The Sixth Sense,” but fuck them. You know they’ve gotten nice on some puking in the past. There are only two words that can describe drinking so much that your body is literally poisoned. Fucking Awesome. Yeah, it’s true, sometimes puking can cause a night abortion – but nine times out of ten, you will rally. This is perhaps the greatest thing about puking. Not only do you feel better, but all of the sudden you can drink a shit load more. This will seriously help you to get more bro cred. Like I said, vomit can be a bro move, but it can be a pussy move too. You DO NOT under any circumstances want to be the guy who throws up every time he drinks. This does not make you a bro; this makes you a bitch. However, a well-timed and directed puke can provide some legitimate bro points. Let me explain. It is of the utmost importance to puke towards the beginning of the night/day. This way the next day when bros ask you how your night went you can tell them, “Holy shit man it was out of control, I actually booted at like 3:30 and then fucking drank for 12 more hours!”. Much like bros love puking is crazy places. For example, this past weekend I puked on a girl at a bar. Most people would be horrified by this action and seriously consider stopping drinking altogether. Most people aren’t bros. I’m proud as shit. Other places that bros might puke which would get some major bro cred include backseats of cabs, pretty much anywhere that someone poorer than you has to clean it up, or most impressively: on their chick.

Hangovers

You have no fucking idea where you are, but one thing’s for sure – you are naked. And wet. You slowly open your eyes, shuddering away from the light like one of Buffalo Bill’s girlfriends. You try to quickly piece the night together, but all you can vaguely remember is making some last ditch effort to bang some chick outside of the bar. Oh, that’s right! You suggested the trash pile behind the joint, but she said some bullshit about broken glass and shit, so you went back to her apartment. By the time you got there you must have been blacked the fuck out because now that you’re awake you can see there are fucking “My Little Ponies” everywhere. This bitch is a clinger. Or at least you thought so, until she showed up this morning with a shitload of cleaning supplies. CLEAN IT UP YOU ASSHOLE! That’s when you see what you’ve done. Apparently, you must have found her bed uncomfortable because you’re lying on the kitchen floor. Not only that, but it looks like you decided to make a little artwork on the walls, but since your chick was so rude and didn’t provide any art supplies, much less a fucking smock, you improvised and used your piss and vomit and just for that classy artistic touch, there’s some smashed wholesale relish bottles to complete the masterpiece. Now the bitch is fucking pissed and demanding you clean the art. Yeah, fucking right. You’re not doing shit. If that bitch didn’t want you to make her a fucking mural, she shouldn’t have invited you over to have sex after talking to you for 5 minutes. “Sorry, whatever your name is, but I’m just too hungover.” She immediately realizes she’s powerless. You’re a bro and hungover, therefore you have a free pass to do absolutely nothing for the rest of the fucking day. You can always tell the fucking amateurs when they say shit like, “Oh I’m not drinking, don’t want to be hungover tomorrow!”. Or "OMFG My head! I'm never drinking again." Bros never fucking think about this shit. Bros wear their hangovers like an Indian wears a fucking scalp. Putting enough substances into your body that it doesn’t recover for like three days is about as bro as it fucking gets. And don’t fucking give me shit like, “Bros are immune to hangovers!” Yes, it is a fact that we are genetically perfect individuals, however even our bodies are not resistant to the magical power of alcohol. If there’s one thing we’ve learned, bros fucking love talking about how wasted they got. But sometimes we gotta mix that shit up. Sometimes we can’t get the full understanding of just how wasted we got without talking about the aftermath. Sure you can tell people you took like 15 shots last night, but just to ram it home that you’re not making that shit up you can add on, “And I was fucking throwing up all day long.” This let’s people know that you’re not full of shit and you fucking love getting wasted. The best cure for a hangover is rolling over and giving your chick a good old fashioned railing. Nothing stops bros from getting wasted. While bro haters might do some bullshit like “take it easy” the night before pointless events like their Mom’s funeral, bros aren’t gonna sacrifice a Friday Night. So needless to say, bros can get hungover as fuck in some pretty crazy places. Having your parents apologize to your entire extended family because you’re too hungover to even get out of the car is fucking bro as shit. Hangovers - Gods way of telling you, you fucking over-did it on the booze last night.

Clubs

Grinding/Dancing

Hugh Hefner grinding that shit - what an epic role model.

It’s 1 am. You’ve been slamming back brew dogs with your bros for like 7 hours and have a ridiculously nice buzz going. Up to this point it has been a perfect night, but now it’s time to break out the charm on some lucky chick. That’s when you spot her dancing in a circle with her friends. The target. As the DJ blares Lady Gaga, you slowly make your way over to the circle. Then, just at the part of the song where Lady Gaga breaks it down, you make your move. Without making eye contact or much less even talking to the girl, you saddle up right behind her, wrap your arm around her stomach and start swing your hips back and forth with her. Let the grind begin. Not that hard is it? I told you, you can become a Bro too. But really, Bro's don't like to dance unless it's with a girl in your arms. It's kinda gay otherwise. When was the last time there was a Bro dancing on his own, he pulls out a sick move and every chants and yells “Oh no he didn’t!”. But, the best way to the bedroom is through the dance floor, and what better way to get your chick in the mood than by a dance simulating sex. Ahh, grinding. Shame it was probably invented by a black guy. And, I know most of you haven't had sex with a girl. So, when a girl is grinding you, you are mos tlikely to get a boner. Fuck, even I've had a boner a couple of times with a girl grinding me and I'm anything but a virgin. So, when you get your boner, you can to two things. One - hide it in your waistband. Two - Don't show it off, you'll look like some inexperienced retard - but you can just, well, 'go for it'. Rub your boner up on the girl, then she'll know you want sex with her. This will often help you bypass any small talk you would normally have to suffer through and move things directly to the bedroom. Girls probably love it when guys get a boner. It’s pretty much the best compliment they could ever receive.

After-Parties

It’s 3:45 am. Sure you’ve drank enough alcohol to kill a decent sized animal, but you’ve also pounded like three 5-hour energy drinks so you are ready to fucking go. You were grinding on a pretty hot slut for like a half hour until her friends dragged her away. Fuck them – since when did being engaged mean you couldn’t enjoy some strange on the side? Fucking bro-haters. You roll up to the bar and convince some blonde chick with a huge rack to buy you a beer. This shit’s a wrap – 30 minutes with her is all you’re going to need (15 for pretending to care about where she’s from and 15 for grinding.) But then it happens. “I’m sorry, but last call was 15 minutes ago,” the toothless bartender whose ratty comb-over makes him look like a “contestant” on “To Catch A Predator.” You can’t believe it. You’re knees start to buckle. This must be what DJ AM felt like before he killed himself. Fortunately, you’re not dealing with the intense stress and pressure that comes with playing your iPod at Vegas Clubs – you’re just trying to get your dick wet. So after asking the redneck bartender how often he dresses his family’s pigs up in his wife’s Muumuus just to see what it would be like to bang someone with a decent body, you gather up all your bros and all their girls who think they found a boyfriend, but really are about to become a story and head out. It’s time for the fucking after party. Bros never want the night to end. Whoever came up with the idea of “last call” was definitely not a bro. Bros never look at their watch and say, “My, oh my, where has the time gone ? We should really get home to get some quality shut-eye so we are refreshed in the morning!” The only excuse for a bro to ever leave the bar early is when there is some slamming you need to attend to. Even then, you still deserve all the shit you get for letting a girl tell you what to do. Fucking loser. Bros have their own “last call” – it’s called when the fucking beer runs out. Bitch. Ask any bro to tell you the wildest thing that he has ever done. Nine times out of ten the story will take place after 2am and will start out by saying, “We had been drinking for like 12 fucking hours.” Another great thing about after parties is that chicks fucking love them. If it weren’t for the fact that they have un-bangable, ugly friends who judge them for being whores, chicks would go home with bros without so much as a “What’s your name.” Unfortunately, we live in a society full of bro-hater bitches. In order to rise above these fists of tyranny, bros came up with the “Hey, we’ve got a keg back at my place for some late night beer pong if you are interested” line. Problem fucking solved. The chicke, knowing full well she’s about to be slayed, tells her fat loser friends she’s going to play some beer pong and off you go. Now, the fatties might try to come along, and the chick might ask if this is ok. It’s not – they are only there to run interference so they have another person to split their late night pizza with. Just tell her that they can’t come because you’re afraid they will eat all your food. Since she just keeps them around to increase her self-esteem, she’ll laugh and probably go down on you on the walk home. So, fuck it when the last call is over and clubs close - take it back to your place. The party isn't over.

Getting Kicked Out

Good luck fighting off this roid raged bastard. If you survive when 3 of them are kicking the shit out of you, you will become King Bro.

You went to the bars at 3pm. It's now 12:30am. You haven’t spoken for a good solid hour and a half, because quite frankly you think you've forgotten how to. Sure you can’t talk, but because your becoming a bro, your not gonna give up on picking up a chick. So you decide to be bold – just try to make out with any girl that walks by. For some reason, these particular chicks don’t take too kindly to your moves. That’s when you decide it would be good to trap them. As they try to run away from you, you would lift your jersey up and cover them inside of your shirt. Shockingly, this doesn't work either. That’s when you get the tap on your shoulder. You turn around to see three bouncers ready to end your night. You get kicked out. Bros never want to leave bars, unless of course it’s to hook with up with a chick. If bros are forced to leave a bar, you better fucking believe they want to get kicked out. Initially bros are pissed that they are getting kicked out. Often they will try to bargain with the bouncer, pleading with him to get back in. Some of the most effective pleas that we have mentioned in past entries include, “Do you know who my father is?” as well as threatening the bouncer’s job. Insulting the bouncer for working at a bar is always a winner too. As angry as a bro might get, he is equally proud the next morning when he is able to tell everyone that he got kicked out. Anytime you are too drunk and out of control to the point where you are not allowed to be somewhere is what being a bro is all about. Additionally, bro points can be earned by forcing multiple bouncers to escort you out, being banned from the establishment for life, and most importantly, the more ridiculous the place you are kicked out of the more bro points you earn. So, in short, getting kicked out isn't all bad. Sure, it ends your night, but you get bro-cred.

Drunk Fighting

So it's your typical Friday night, hitting up some shitty club trying to bang a chick. After about 10 hours of drinking in the sun, doing the John Wall dance for half that time and finishing the day off by destroying a trash can and putting a hole in the wall of your rental house it was finally time to hit the club. You make your way through the crowded bar, just minding your own business, and you hear someone yell in your ear, “Panthers fucking suck!”. At first you wonder how this douchebag actually knew you liked the Panthers, then you remember in fact, you are wearing a Panthers shirt. Since you've have been a diehard Panthers fan for the past two years aka since they've been good, you can’t let that shit slide. If this shit happens to you when in the bar, to become a bro, you can't take that shit. Get into that fucker's face. It's fuckin' on like donkey kong. He replies with something like "You're a faggot". Fucking clever. Maybe one of his 5'6 friends tries to get into your 6'2 grill. Push that fucker away and let them throw in the towel. Maybe one of their girlfriends gets involved - “Why don’t you just walk away!” - saying that with a sound in her voice that makes you know she's dealing with emotional after-effects of her most recent abortion. Tell her what you think of her - fucking whore. And that's it. They back down and shut the fuck up. Okay, so maybe a fight didn't break out. But fighting is still the motherfucking shit. Like I said earlier - bro's don't like clubs/dancing. That's Guido shit. And so is fighting guido shit - but there's a difference. Guidos go out with the pure intention of starting fights just because someone stepped on their $300 shoes or ruined their hair by touching it. Bros fight about important shit – like whose High school, College, Fraternity, or Sports Team is better. Bros fight for honor – like fucking Samurais. Much like fake tits, bros just have a sixth sense for a developing fight. Anytime there is even a hint of a fight nearby, you better fucking believe that bros are going to want to watch that shit. Bros fucking love starting “Fight! Fight! Fight!” chants and then heckling the fuck out of any bro-hater bouncer who tries to break that shit up. To become a bro, you will at some point encounter in a fight. But if you already have been in a fight, you'll know about 'the rush' and know exactly what I'm talking about. It really doesn’t get any better that finding a weakness and exploiting the shit out of until your opponent has to submit and agree with you that, in fact Honey Nut Cheerios are better than that Apple Cinnamon bullshit. After winning a fight, you feel like you can do anything. You’re fucking invincible. So what do bros do? They go start punching tickets in the bar for the final destination: Pound Town. No, really. Fighting turns girls on - have you ever seen how fucking impressed girls are with the winner of a fight? You’re like a fucking hero. Anytime there is a fight at a bar the bartenders should put up those “Caution: Wet Floor” signs just to deal with all the excess moisture. Anytime a bro gets into a fight, he immediately has like ten girls surrounding him begging him to protect them…with his dick. While girls use primitive techniques such as talking it out, using a mediator, or sleeping with their enemy’s boyfriend, bro do the responsible thing to settle disputes. Whether its over the starting pitching rotation for the ’92 Braves or when you get to rack for Beer Pong, the point is there are important issues amongst the bromunnity that need to be settled and need to be settled that minute. Thank God we have fights. Thank God we have bros.

Banging In Places That Are Not A Bed

You're on a road trip with your bro's, and obviously you packed like 10 bros into a hotel room so you are only paying like $15 a night. Fucking genius. You’re out at the club getting absolutely hammered and hitting on anything that walks. That’s when you spot her across the bar. The target. Sure her face is average at best, but she has a pretty solid rack and keeps checking you out and smiling. You approach her and ask her name, it might as well just be “hot fuck” because there is no way in hell you are remembering it. One thing leads to another and before you know it you have been making out with her for an hour and the bar is closing down. She’s obviously DTF (down to fuck) so, knowing all your bros are back in your hotel room snorting No-Doze and slamming brews, you suggest going back to her place. That’s when she drops it on you – “I’m staying in a hotel room with my parents”. Fuck. What the fuck are you going to do? That’s when you remember – I’m a fucking bro – nothing gets in the way of my late night pounding session. Time to improvise. Somehow, through your 14 hours of drinking haze, you think back to a Gazebo by the Ocean and after 30 seconds of convincing the chick (it’s not that hard, after all she is a whore) you make the 4 block trek. Next stop: Pound Town. I seem to recall saying this before, but bros fucking love banging chicks. Honestly, does it get any better than bragging to all your bros the next day about the slaying you did the night before? Yes, it does. By being able to honestly say that you banged in a place that’s not a bed, not only will you get a shitload of bro points, but you will also provide bro points to your bros for simply knowing you. Being about to tell a shitload of stories about where you’ve banged is essential for any aspiring bro king. Not only does it tell others that you get laid all the time, but it shows that you are so fucking amazing that chicks will bang you anywhere. So, where is the best place to bang that isn't a bed? Public – Yeah sure, banging in your hotel bathroom is cool and all, but come on, there’s a fucking lock on the door, there’s no fucking danger in that. In order to get a shit load of bro cred, you’re going to want to do the dirty somewhere that you can get caught. A couple years ago one of my bros, the big guy, banged a girl on the beach. “Oh who hasn’t banged a girl on the beach, you’re not bro at all!”. Shut the fuck up. Not only did he bang her on the beach, but he did it when the sun was up at like 7am. Oh and did I mention he could see children playing on the nearby condo porch? Don’t worry; they were hidden by the garbage cans on the beach, so they were straight. The thrill of possibly getting caught is topped only by getting caught. Anytime you can say, “Yeah, some old man told us to stop banging, but I told him to go fuck himself and kept pounding away,” you have had a good night. Not only in public, but the more ridiculous the better – anytime that you can get the response of “What the fuck is wrong with you?” followed by a fist pound and an “I’m proud to be your bro”, you have done your job. By being able to both shock and amaze fellow bros, you get a shit load of bro points. Imagine strolling back into your Bro Pad the next morning and having this conversation: “So where the fuck did you go last night?” - “Oh nowhere special, just nailed that blonde chick inside the Goat Cage at the fucking Petting Zoo!”. How amazing would you be then? All your bros would go fucking apeshit and start calling and texting everyone. This is how legends are made. This is how bro kings find their throne. So, next time you get your chick - to become a real bro, go have sex somewhere fucking crazy.

Going Out

Strip Clubs

If the Bro Kings of the 1950’s were alive to see the atrocities in the workplace today, I have a feeling they’d fucking cry. Sadly, we no longer live in a world where the objectification of women is seen as the positive thing it truly is. Society’s once heavy-duty staple of giving women promotions strictly based on their sexual prowess has been removed – perhaps forever. As the bro-hater feminists (who are just jealous because they couldn’t get promoted since no one in their fucking right mind would bang them) stick out their A-cup chests with pride, they think they’ve won the war. They’re fucking wrong. While the government may make it illegal for men to be men aka tell their secretary she’s fired unless she gives him a BJ, they’ll never take away our right – or should I say duty - as bros to treat slam pieces the way they want to be treated – as fucking objects. There’s truly no better place to do this than at the fucking strip club. Now when bros go to strip clubs, they’re not like those old, fat losers, who go every night and request the same stripper because they thinks she loves them. Bros go to strip clubs when they want a change of scenery from the norm of getting blacked out at the bar and banging girls they’ll never talk to again. So what do bros do at strip clubs? Here’s few fun ways to make sure your trip is fucking legendary. Get Free Service - It’s a proven scientific fact that bros can get laid by simply walking down the street. You know those Axe commercials? Yeah, they’re fucking based on bros’ lives. Bros don’t pay for sex – they fucking profit from that shit by stealing cash out of slam pieces’ purses while they’re taking their post-sex piss. So, obviously at a strip club it’s no different. Anytime some stripper says shit to me like, “Why don’t we go back to the Champaign room? Only $200/half hour.” I give her my pitch. “Listen you bitch, I’m not one of those fat, old, hairy men you cry to your therapist about. I’m a fucking bro.” That’s usually all it takes before she’s riding me in her Mazda convertible for free. Visit Trashy Strip Clubs – Everyone’s heard of the famous strip clubs like Mons Venus in Tampa or Spearmint Rhino in Vegas. While these places may have the highest quality of strippers, there’s usually like a $50 cover charge just to get in. Then once you’re in there’s a 2 drink minimum where a Bud Light’s $14. Fucking please – even though bros are rich as shit, they don’t need to be blowing this type of cash just to see naked women hump the air while the Black Eyed Peas tell them what to “do with the beat” on the loud speaker. For my money, there’s nothing better than BYOB strip clubs. Sure the girls are fucking haggard, but who gives a fuck? Nothing beats draining a keg and finding the trashiest girl in the bar to give one of your bros a lap dance. Seeing him struggle to keep himself from throwing off a stripper who’s a dead ringer for Barf from “Space Balls” brings bros more joy than Rex Ryan at a Foot Locker. Get Kicked Out – Anytime I go to a strip club I can’t believe the amount of security they have. I mean, I definitely understand that nobody wants to see the strippers physically abused or anything, but come on. What’s wrong with taking a video with your phone of her gyrating her ass right in your face? “These women have families!” is the common response from the bouncers. Fucking please – if she didn’t want her little brother seeing some video of her stripping on Youporn, then maybe she should have been something other than, oh I don’t know, A STRIPPER? Anyways, being kicked out of a strip club is about as fucking bro as it gets. It’s good to get creative to the point where you get kicked out, but you don’t get your fucking ass beaten by the bouncer who’s over-protecting “Candy” just because she blew him out back by the dumpster. I always love trying to make the stripper cry by getting all psychological and shit. I might get a lap dance, but the entire time I’ll just be saying shit like, “You’re really good at this – must have been all that practice on your Dad!” "Did the first C-section not take?" or “What’s your personal record for number of abortions in one month?” Be careful though – after all, everyone knows stripper tears burn. Ask a stripper why she strips and 9 times out of 10 you’ll hear, “To pay for College.” Yeah fucking right. Strippers don’t to College. They spend 10 years climbing on poles, banging 300 pound men, and doing coke with Congressmen until it’s finally time for them to enter retirement aka become Crystal Meth prostitutes. As society continues to crack down on bro rights, one thing that will never be taken away is our appreciation for the timeless art of stripping. Where there’s stripping, there’ll be strip clubs. Where there’s a strip club, you better fucking believe there’ll be bros.

Hooters

One of the best restraunts in the world - Wings and tits in one.

It's Sunday night. You and your bros just got finished having another epic weekend at the beach and frat houses. Three of your bros yourself banged some chicks, another made a $250 tab at the bar on Saturday, and one even went to prison for spanking a cop (honestly, if the cop didn't want to get spanked he shouldn't have been acting so naughty.) Your all chillin' in your bro's pad and your fucking starving. Only one place where all bro's know is the best can serve you two of the finest inventions in one: buffalo wings and tits. That's right - time to go to Hooters with your Bro's. If you wanna become a Bro, you gotta learn to love Hooters. Fucking fine dining and tits rolled into one. There's no other option. Okay, so maybe it isn't a strip club - but you can get some awesome wings - and you have a smoking hot chick serve you food in a tight ass shirt and tiny shorts. Okay, well, thinking about it - the place is kinda shitty. But as gay as this sounds, its the atmosphere. Bros also love asking the waitress how much the beers are on tap. When she responds bros always ask, "Now how much for you?" This is always followed by an uproar of laughter, high fives, and a chanting of the name of whoever asked the question. Bros spend the entire meal debating which waitress they would most like to bang, but never can all agree on one. When you go to Hooters, you kind of intend on spending a shit load on beer, wings, and tips. Since you are gonna be spending a fuckload of money, bro's want to ensure that they are getting the best waitress the restaurant has to offer - this means no fat waitresses. There is nothing worse in the world (including cancer) than going to Hooters and getting a fucking orca whale for a waitress. Just becuase your fat doesn't mean you have big tits - they only appear big because of all the fat behind them, Porky. Bros should always try to bang their Hooters waitress and often times this happens, which is shocking since they are all whores. Having the Hooters girl serve you dinner and then banging her later that night is the closest thing to a date any bro should ever go on. The worst was when a Hooters opened up nearby us in College. Obviously we hit it up the first four days it was open. The first three days were fucking money - we got smoking hot chicks both days, but then the fourth day happend. We were seated by the hostess who was probably getting a little creeped out by seeing us a fourth day, but fuck her - she was just pissed off that her Gonzo-like nose and acne prevented her from being an actual server. As we eyed the beer menu, we heard the greeting, "Welcome to Hooters, my name is (insert whore name here) and I will be your server." That's when we realized the atrocity which occurring right before our eyes: our Hooters girl was 8 months pregnant. Immediately we began screaming to the hideous hostess. "We want a fucking new section! We don't want this pregnant waitress!" In order to quiet us down so as not to disturb all the families seated nearby with the parents of the year that bring their kids to Hooters - they moved us to a hotter waitress. If there is one thing any bros out there need to take away from this entry it's this - never fucking settle for the ugly Hooters waitress. You're a bro. You are better than that.

Road Trips

Typical Bro on a road trip - of course you've got to buy a t-shirt to the city you're heading too so you can brag to fellow bro's about how awesome it was.

It's your Freshman year. You've been at school for about a month and you're pretty proud to say you haven't attended one class. This is because you're not a fucking idiot and realize that all the notes are on Blackboard, not to mention there's some kid on your hall in all your classes and you can definitely cheat off of him. You've been fucked up pretty much every night since the first day of orientation and there is no end to the streak in sight - that is until you realize what this weekend is: Fall Break. Who the fuck needs a break one month into the school year? Bro-haters - that's fucking who. You fucking know Fall Break was made up by some little bitch who spent all his time in the library like a loser and missed his Mommy and Daddy too much so he begged the school to give him time to go home. Fuck that. True bros never go home to visit their parents. Why the fuck would you want to? All they are going to do is yell at you for skipping class and "wasting their money." Fucking bro-haters. The only reason a bro would even call his parents is to ask for more money so he can buy more kegs and shit. So while all those fucking losers go home to give their parents a big hug and tell them how "cool" the kids in Young Life are, bros have another plan. It's time for a fucking Road Trip. The first rule of Road Trips is there are no fucking rules. Bros don't make neat little itineraries and circle cities on the map where they heard there's "a cute place where you can use a real live butter churner." That's for fucking married couples aka slave owner and slave. Bros don't need luggage for their road trip. They already have the clothes that they are wearing - why would you need anything else? Fucking idiot. So, with nothing but the clothes on their back, a bottle of liquor, and their parents' credit card for gas and pretty much anything that you can buy to make your bros laugh for 5 minutes then throw away, bros hit the fucking road. So, in order to ensure for a solid road trip, here's a couple things that need to happen. You need to be drunk as shit. When bros visit each other, they don’t stay up late into the night sipping Earl Grey tea catching up about old times or have pointless shit planned out like going to museums. They walk in the door, give some fist pounds and a half-hug, and immediately start drinking. I dare anyone out there to go visit your bros and hold out for more than 2 hours without starting to drink. It’s physically impossible. Bros don’t give a shit about taking a tour of the campus – they just want to get fucked up as quickly as humanly possible. Not only on road trips should you get wasted, you need to bang some chicks. Outside of Craig’s List, there is no better place to find a slam piece who is looking for a one night stand than on a road trip. Having your bro as a mutual friend immediately gives you credibility as someone who is (probably) not a rapist. Not to mention the fact that girls don’t have to worry about being called a slut for hooking up with an out of towner. This is because they can claim to their friends, “we would probably be dating if we lived in the same city.” Yeah fucking right. For these reasons, there is no fucking excuse to not have at least one of your bros get laid on the road trip. Another great thing about banging on road trips is that it presents an amazing opportunity to bang in places that aren’t a bed. Since you don’t have your own bed, the options for slaying pits are cut in half. So what happens if the girl’s roommate is already passed out? Time for some hot, steamy handicap stall loving. Road trips are the breeding grounds for amazing stories, unbridled drunkenness and uncomfortable sexual positions, so next fall break don’t waste your time going home to have your parents yell at you for breaking curfew by 10 minutes. Take the road trip. Make the memories. Be the Bro.

Vegas

It's... It's BEAUTIFUL! *Tear comes to eye*

Every social group in America has that one special place where they are completely in their element. For example: Rednecks have Tractor Pulls, Old People have Florida/cemeteries, and teenage girls have Planned Parenthood clinics. And Bro's? Vegas. Every group of bro's go here at least once. After getting fucked up, in the morning someone makes at least 10 jokes at how last night was exactly like the movie 'The Hangover'. If you don't want to go to Vegas - change your fucking mind, Vegas is for hardcore Bro's. Why Vegas you may retardedly ask? Vegas is where you should devote all your money towards the most important aspects of the trip: Gambling, drinking, and strippers. Vegas is fucking awesome - bars never close, hookers roam the streets as respected citizens, if you aren’t fucked up out of control, even the police will call you a bitch. Just like Road Trips (above) don't fucking waste money. Don't stay at some posh place like The Venetian or Caeser's Palace. Don't get me wrong, a suite at the top of the hotel sounds fucking awesome - but don't waste your money. Seriously, how much time are you going to actually be spending in the room? And when you are in Vegas, if you manage to get any sleep at all, there is no chance you are going to remember going to bed, so why the fuck waste your money? You're gonna be gambling and partying all fucking night, you really think your gonna sleep? Once you and your bro's have dumped all your shit in your crappy standard hotel room, its time to hit the fucking tables. Obviously you should only gamble on poker, black jack and sports book. Only women and pussies play slots - plus the odds are fucking terrible. After you've lost 75% of all your money for the trip in one hour, hit up a bar and maybe watch some sports games. Don't hit the clubs in vegas. Find a nice bar instead. Really. Honestly, you’re in fucking Vegas – sure the slam pieces are nice at clubs, but who the fuck wants to pay $50 just to get into someplace where you have to pay another $200 for a table, just so you can buy a fucking bottle of Grey Goose for $500. Not to mention you have to dress up in suits to hang out with roided out Guido fucks waving their arms in the air to some shitty Lady Gaga remix. Are you fucking kidding me? First of all you are already fucked up from the free cocktails at the Black Jack table so just find a bar with some hot slam piece bartenders, hit on them for a couple hours while you watch your games, and wait, for it's only a matter of time until the Grade A meat to be on display. After a long, hard day of gambling and heavy drinking, you've earned some ‘me’ time. For bras ‘me’ time means a manicure/pedicure/spending more of their husband/boyfriend’s hard earned money. For bros, it means getting some fucking titties in your face. Vegas strip clubs are the shit. Much like young men and women flock to Hollywood to become “a star,” hundreds of young women flock to Vegas every year – to become a whore. That’s right, that stripper giving you that lap dance is not trying to raise money for school – she’s trying to break into fucking porn and practicing on men nightly. Bros don’t need to pay for sex, so while getting a lap dance, I always like to try to offend the strippers as much as possible, knowing that they won’t get up and leave because they need their money, most likely to feed their children. “What’s it like to bang fat hairy old men for money?” “At what age did you officially become a whore?” and “What did you do to your father that forced him to sexually abuse you?” are all winners. Also, anything related to the fact that there is an 80% chance that they will end up beaten to death with a hammer and buried in the desert is golden. Making a stripper cry earns you instant bro king status. You've only had a good time if you've spent a good few hours of gambling, visiting strip clubs and enough heavy drinking to kill a baby elephant. Honestly, if you consider yourself a bro and have never been to Vegas get your bros together and sack up. Sure you probably won’t be able to eat solid food for a week after your trip but it will be fucking worth it. Bros fucking love Vegas.

Spring Break

It’s early March and this fucking snow isn’t going anywhere. After spending pretty much the entire month of February off of school due to “dangerous campus conditions,” getting wasted with your bros and smashing snow men that all those fucking losers made around campus, you’re sick of this shit. If you hear one more “yellow snow” joke you’re going to fucking lose it. You even heard some rumor that there might actually be make-up classes. Fuck that shit. The only make-up that a bro ever should have to deal with shows up on their pillowcase the mornings after a midnight ride to Pound Town. Not only is all this snow about to make you lose your fucking mind, but you’re on a cold streak of epic proportions. Sure it’s only been like three weeks since getting dome from that chick with the weird eyebrows in a bathroom two dudes had already puked in, but it might as well have been three fucking years ago. Just when you’re thinking that even that Olympic luger had better luck than you do, you stop yourself. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel. After struggling through a month and a half of sleeping through classes, getting wasted five nights a week, and cheating your way to a C on your midterm, it’s time for some “Me” time. That's right - it's motherfucking Spring Break. I have no idea who invented Spring Break, probably Jesus or something, but whoever it was, he was definitely a fucking bro. Honestly, I dare anyone out there to bring up Spring Break with a group of bros. There is no fucking way that some sort of “SPRING BREAK” chant doesn’t immediately break out. Bros plan all year long for Spring Break to get here, and when it arrives bros are as excited as Daniel Snyder the night before the first day of free agency. I mean seriously, who could blame them, Spring Break is the fucking bro Mecca. On Spring Break, there is constant drunkenness. In a perfect world, a bro would get fucking hammered nonstop every fucking day. Unfortunately, we don’t live in a perfect world. There are bro haters everywhere using bigoted words such as “alcoholics” to put us down. That’s why Spring Break is so fucking amazing. All those fucking bro bigots are nowhere to be seen. They’re carrying on their fucking loser ways of Interning, applying to grad school, or worst of all, participating in some community service trip. Spring Break brings together bros and slam pieces alike who share one goal – not being able to remember a fucking thing about the entire week. Spring Break is like the Triple Crown of drinking with your liver being the horse. The entire week you are beating the shit out of your liver to keep up with the rest of the bros, and just like in horse racing, if your “horse” pulls a Barbaro, you still go down as a fucking legend. Anyone that drinks himself to death on Spring Break is a definitely a fucking Bro King. Not only is there constant drunkenness, but everything is fucking cheap. Everyone fucking knows bros are rich as shit. But please, the point of Spring Break is not to drop like 10K from your fucking trust fund on some tropical resort in Bali. The point of Spring Break is to go to some shitty ass resort in some town that only caters to College Students so there’s no chance so seeing anyone over the age of 30. Have you ever heard of people going to South Padre Island or Panama City on a family vacation even though they are cheap as shit? No. Because they're fucking shitholes. Bros also will throw like 10 guys into a fucking room because let’s be honest, there’s no fucking chance you’ll be sleeping in the room anyways. You’re a bro - your dick doesn’t have a chance in hell of staying dry one night, much less an entire fucking week. There are also slam pieces everywhere. Unlike our parents and grandparents who grew up with movies telling them Spring Break involved some shitty band playing on the beach while a bunch of women in horned-rimmed glasses and one-piece bikinis that went down to their knees did “The Swim” dance and screamed like fucking banshees, we were told the truth. Thanks to MTV’s Spring Break and perhaps the greatest series of film that has ever been passed over for awards by The Academy, “Girls Gone Wild,” bros and slam pieces alike know exactly what is expected at Spring Break: meaningless anonymous sex. Honestly, if you can’t get laid at Spring Break, you seriously might want to think about joining the priesthood, because there’s no hope for you. I always love to hear girls talk about how they “met someone special on Spring Break” and “hope to make it work even though we’re 10 hours apart.” Yeah fucking right – newsflash - the only reason he even accepted your facebook friendship is so he can show people pictures of the girl he banged next to the Senor Frogs dumpster. While bros have contributed much to society over the years (beer bongs, the backwards cap, etc.), society gives little back. Spring Break is one of the few handouts that society provides us with and you better believe we take that shit. Drink until you puke in the pool. Pull off that upper-decker. Throw chairs off the hotel balcony in a drunken rage. Bang that girl you met 10 minutes ago without the condom. It’s your Spring Break. You’ve earned it.

Ski Trips

If you do not point, laugh and make comments if you saw this douchebag fallover, get the fuck off this page. Now.

We've established that Road Trips, Vegas and Spring Break is awesome. But you only do that shit in the Summer. So what do you do in the Winter? Ski trip. Bros fucking hate the winter. If you live in a part of the country that doesn’t have seasons, or if “winter” means it’s 50 degrees everyday, consider yourself lucky. For most of us, every year from November to March, winter means freezing cold temperatures, shitloads of snow, no fucking sunlight, and depression. Obviously, all this shitty weather never stops bros from going out to get fucked up. In fact, whenever there’s a huge snowstorm the first thing a bro thinks is, “We HAVE to go to the bar.” This is because bros are genetically superior human beings. Honestly, if bros can’t get blackout drunk on a Monday night, then the fucking terrorists will have won. You know who doesn’t make it out to the bar in freezing temperatures? That’s right, fucking chicks. Since they’re by definition the fairer aka weaker sex, girls hate cold more than the motherfucking Transformers do. Rather than doing what they were put on this Earth to do, bang bros, girls “make it a movie night!”. Or even worse, when they actually do make it out to the bar, they’re wearing like 20 fucking layers of clothes. This has got to be fat girls’ favorite time of the year. Everyone’s covered up, so you can’t tell who’s the heffer and who’s actually hot until you reach around during a grinding session to be met with a fucking handful of belly-lard. Whenever this happens to me, I’ll scream “LIAR” in her face and if for some reason I bought her a drink, I’ll smack it to the ground. Honestly I’d rather fucking burn a $100 bill than buy a beer for a fat girl. Anyways, the point is that while enduring this stretch of cold weather and worst of all, cold streaks that make Concentration Camps seem like Disney World, bros need to get away. They need to get the fuck out of town to a place where the beer flows like wine. To a place where beautiful women flock like the salmon of Capistrano. Of course, I’m talking about a little place called a Ski Trip. Bros are rich as shit. So, it really shouldn’t surprise you that within every group of bros, there’s at least one whose parents have a house in the mountains. Now I know a lot of you out there are going to argue that “bros only snowboard,” but fuck you. Skiing is bro as shit, too. I tried to snowboard once, but since I didn’t grow up wearing Jencos, wallet chains, and Airwalks to the skateboard park so I could practice my fucking “ollies” and talk about how much I like to cut myself during Slipknot songs, snowboarding didn’t come naturally to me. Whatever though, it really doesn’t matter if you ski or snowboard as long as you do it like a bro. So, what to do on a ski trip? Give people shit from the chair lift. You’re fucking invincible. You can say whatever the fuck you want to whoever the fuck you want and KNOW they won’t do anything about it because of how many people you’ve got with you. I always root for skiers right below me to crash, and when they do, I’ll scream some shit like, “Stick to the bunny slopes, you fucking retard!” or “People with Cerebral Palsy shouldn’t be skiing!” If they talk back, I’ll usually just start making fun of their physical characteristics or how ugly their children are. So what if he tracks you down? Even better - it’s bro as shit to get in a fist fight with some old guy in front of his children. As well as this, you should drink and ski. One of the greatest things about skiing/snowboarding is that there’re no fucking rules. Sure there’s signs posted saying to “Stay in Control” and shit, but what the fuck happens to you if you don’t? Nothing, that’s what. There’s no fucking bro-hater lifeguards out there, and there’s definitely no checkpoint at the ski lifts seeing if you’re sober. Therefore, bros get wasted as shit before they hit the mountain. “But, you could be risking children’s lives out there!”. Fuck that and fuck you. Bros are experts at doing shit drunk, especially skiing. Besides, the only time bros ever endanger children’s lives is when we flush them down the toilet in our used condoms. Honestly, if people didn’t want their kids run over by drunk bros on snowboards, then they shouldn’t have brought them skiing at a fucking resort. Leave the slopes to the drunken professionals and stick to the arcade you snowplowing pieces of shit. As winter endlessly drags on, bros realize there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Within just a few short months, hot girls everywhere will be dismounting their treadmills where they spent the entire season preparing for that bikini. Over the coming weeks, as the snow starts to melt, so, too, will the panties. Until then, bros will distract themselves by dominating mountains across the country. “Stay In Control?”. Yeah, fucking right, everyone knows bros only have one speed – Mach 69.

Sex

Drunk Sex/BUI

It’s Thursday night and you’re fucking hammered. After four hours of playing dizzy bat, you and your bros decided to hit up the bar. Thirteen $2 pitchers of Keystone Light later, you’re ready to fucking party. As you stagger back from the bathroom where you just unleashed your stream all over the toilet paper and sanitary seat covers, you realize there’s only one thing that can make this night better: banging some fucking strange. You start to survey the room, looking for prospects. To the left you see a table full of fatties – you realize they’d be a fucking lock, but you’re a bro so you better believe you won’t be punting on second down. As you continue your lap around the bar you hear some girl scream out, “ASS-HOLE!” She's staring right at you. Fuck. It’s the girl you banged last weekend. For some reason she’s pissed off because you made her climb out of your bedroom window so your roommates wouldn’t see her. You tried to explain to her that she wouldn’t have to do it if her long ass neck didn’t maker her look like a turtle, but it does, so who the fuck’s fault is that? Now she’s trying to cockblock you? What the fuck? Normally you would put this bitch in her place by saying some shit like, “Go back to Master Splinter in your fucking sewer!” but you’re on a mission so you just pretend you don’t know who she is, which isn’t too hard since you’ve already forgotten her name. Just as you think the bitch might have ruined your game for the night – you make eye contact with a blonde with a decent rack across the bar. Instantly, the “Kill Bill” theme song starts playing in your head. It's slayin' time. You compose yourself just enough to string together a few coherent sentences to convince her to follow you back to your Bro Pad, but to be honest all you really needed to say was, “I’m a bro.” As you stumble home with this stranger, you smile to yourself because you know you are about to engage in one of a bro's all-time favorite pastimes: the BUI. Banging Under the Influence. Bros fucking love Drunk Sex. Honestly, how the fuck does sober sex even work? That shit has to be the most awkward thing ever. Like do people talk about what they’re doing? “Do you think we’ve been making out long enough to move to sex or should we keep going?? Would you like me to play with your boobs some more? I can’t wait for this protected missionary sex!” Sounds fucking terrible. Drunk sex is fucking beautiful because all thinking goes out the window. It’s straight up animalistic passion, just like God intended. Bros get laid fucking 24/7 and alcohol is pretty much always involved. You’re more likely to find dry land in Pakistan than a bro who bangs a chick sober. While bro haters plan romantic evenings where they lay a pathway of rose petals leading to their candle-lit bedroom and throw on the fucking “Sleepless in Seattle” soundtrack, bros are busy getting fucking wasted and going to Pound Town on sheets that have never even been fucking washed. What makes drunk sex so awesome - ninety percent of the time, bros can’t even remember how they ended up at their final destination, but it usually consists of grinding and making out on the dance floor with an invitation to “get out of here.” Have you ever seen someone sober try to grind? Shit doesn't work. It's a scientific fact that bros need at least 5 beers to remember the proper grinding techniques. We’re already Pound Town Hall of Famers, but with some help from booze, chicks don’t have a fucking chance. Bros are like fucking Indians. We use all resources to their greatest capacity. Also, just like Indians, bros realize alcohol is the greatest resource God ever invented. Sure we could just have sober sex with chicks, but honestly, what the fuck’s the fun of that? So chug that pitcher and find that lucky lady. After all, there’s no alcohol limit on the Pound Town Express. All Aboard!

One Night Stands

Typical reaction of a girl when she wakes up to find herself alone in bed.

It’s been a slow night. The DJ fucking sucks, and you are barely buzzed. You’re about to call it quits when your bro suggests you get some shots of Jack to make one last attempt at salvaging the night. You are waiting at the bar for what seems like forever making loud obnoxious comments about how you not being served is reverse racism when you see her. She’s laughing at your comments and keeps looking at you, then whispering to her friend. It’s fucking on like Donkey Kong. You go with your “asshole game” yelling out at least you will get served before these bitches. Now she’s engaged – you get to talking and make a bet that if you get served first she has to buy the round, and vice versa. You’re fucking in. You get to talking, you take a couple more shots, hit the dance floor and boom – its time to go home. You’re fucking hammered at this point and keep calling her by the wrong name – this shit doesn’t matter though, it’s in the bag already. It’s time to live the bro dream: The One Night Stand. If you wanna become a bro, you've got to start having a lot of these. Unless you are a fucking retard, you know what a one night stand is, but for all you Corkys out there it’s one night of random anonymous sex with the two parties never speaking to one another again. Bros fucking love this. Not only do they not have to go through the despicable process of dating or what I refer to as “socially acceptable prostitution” but they get a shitload of bro-cred. As an added bonus – they never have to talk to the girl again. Obviously, bros want more than anything to hook up with hot chicks, but for a one night stand, pretty much any chick will do. Say the girl is just plain busted – you can always make the claim that she had a nice body, thus justifying your night of passion. But what if nothing is nice about her? Fat girls are like mopeds – fun to ride until your bros find out, but what if they do find out? You CAN still spin this for your bro-cred benefit. First, it is important to claim you were so fucked up you don’t even remember it. Some bros might argue, “there is no amount of alcohol which could make me do her,” but they are full of shit. Every bro has his number of beers, and often times it is much lower than they claim. Second, you can just join in and make fun of her. Making fun of fat girls is fun as shit and by doing this you can gain back respect that your bros might have lost for you. If none of this works, bros can always take solace in the fact that they have added to their “number,” thus making them that much more of a bro. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the most painful part of the One Night Stand: the morning after. One of my bros, lets just call him Gary, mentioned this horrific time and I have to agree – bros hate this shit. The morning after you are hungover as shit. If you are at her house, all you can think about is “Where the fuck am I,” and “How do I get the fuck out of here?” The best move for bros is to sneak out and find their way home before the girl wakes up, but this doesn’t always work. Many times the bra is up first and sometimes she is looking for a morning sesh. After the morning sesh, things get very awkward. Sometimes the bro is still struggling to remember her name, or maybe the bra starts to talk about her feelings aka things bros don’t care about. This is the time for the bro to get the fuck out of there. But what if you live like 4 miles away – I say fuck it, take the walk of shame. For girls, the walk of shame is a slow death march of judgement from neighbors because you are still dressed like the whore that you are. For bros, the walk of shame is like a ticker tape parade celebrating a World Series Championship. Once as I made one of these at the beach, a fellow unknown bro spotted me from his deck and yelled out: “WALK OF SHAME!!” and started applauding. Soon his other bros came out and joined in the cheer. Proudest moment of my life.

Blowjobs

Your face the first time you get a blowjob.

Holy shit, you’re about to fucking lose it. After heading back to the hottest girls in your class’s place you draw a blank and can’t remember her fucking name. Sure you never remember your chicks names, but this shit is different. This is a once in a College career opportunity and you’re fucking scared if she finds out you don’t know it, you’ll be the one getting fucked. As she goes into her room to slip into “something more comfortable” aka Victoria’s Secret new line of Boner-wear, you start to do some Encybropedia Brown detective work. After rummaging through her purse, and subsequently washing your hand off from when her Tampon touched it, you finally find it. You’re ready for Pound Town. Just then, she emerges from her bedroom in her outfit. She might as well have her tickets in hand because there’s only one place this train is going. The boring obligatory make-out session gets started, but you can barely close your eyes. “Am I really about to bang her? She’s the hottest fucking girl in school!” you ask yourself. Answer: of course you are, you’re a fucking bro. She should be the one thanking God for the opportunity. Just as you’re ready to check her off your slay-list, she stops and utters four of the worst words a bro could ever hope to hear: “Let’s take it slow.” Under normal circumstances, you’d just fucking storm out of there and scream at her for wasting your time, but times have been tough and it’s been like two weeks since you’ve gotten any action, so you decide to compromise. “I could take it slow,” you reply. She tries to start making out again, but you just point down. “Ahem, minimum Speed Limit is one BJ per hour.” Just like that, you enter the fucking Thunder Dome. While our economy may be in fucking shambles, there’s always one job that chicks can get during a Recession, and luckily for them, there’s only one requirement for employment: “Applicant Must Swallow.” Bros fucking love blow jobs. Before you become a Bro, you must of gotten at least 5. I really don’t know who the first person in history to get a blow job was, but one thing’s for sure: he was a fucking Bro King. I guess this is what chicks did before they had facebook and shit. They just sat around trying to figure out new ways to pleasure their man. Blow jobs are the flashing lights and lowering gate at a railroad crossing – whenever they happen, you know the Pound Town Express can’t be far behind. But as high school bros know, sometimes BJs are used in place of sex. Usually this is because the girl is “saving herself“ for marriage aka her first weekend of College when she gets wasted and bangs some random dude because he’s good as shit at grinding. Some bros might even argue that since you can do other shit while getting dome, it’s even better than banging. Bros fucking love telling stories of shit they’ve done while getting head. It doesn’t get much better than telling your bro, “Remember when we were talking on the phone yesterday? Yeah, I was getting a fucking BJ!”. Fist pounds and a shit load of “Blow Job” chants often follow. Bros recognize that blow jobs are a fucking art form. Every group of bros has that one girl, when anytime you mention her name, someone will automatically scream out, “Oh man, she gives the best head!” While irreparable physical deformities such as having a big nose can rarely be overcome in a bro’s book, I’ve seen girls improve two whole points (from a 6 to an 8) strictly because of her blowing ability. By the same respect, giving a shitty blowjob can knock you down up to 4 whole points. The last thing a bro needs is a trip to the fucking emergency room due to a toothy blow job. If blow jobs are so disgusting then why the fuck do all the girls in porn say they love it so much? Blow jobs are patriotic as shit, and I’ll be damned if I just sit here and listen to some slam piece slander fucking blowjobs. God Bless blow jobs.

Sexting

It’s Thursday night and you’re fucking pissed. After spending an hour talking to some slut, you’re driving home alone. You thought she was in ready-to-bang formation aka alone at the bar, but after talking to her for like 45 minutes, it arrived: her designated ugly fat friend. You don’t really know where she was during that time, but you’re pretty sure she was either taking a massive dump or hanging out under a bridge somewhere eating children’s bone marrow. Either way she completely fucked up your plans of banging this random girl then never talking to her again. Under normal circumstances you’d ask her some shit like, “So what’s your deal? Are you training to be a contestant on “The Biggest Loser” or something? But her friend was fucking hot, so you decide to bite your tongue. After 10 minutes of Wilbur from “Charlotte’s Web” asking the hot girl why no boys are talking to her, you decided to cut your losses. You got the hot girls number and pretended to cough so you can made some snorting noises under your breath while staring at the fatty, just so she knew you hate her. Now, as you drive home paying homage to Nate Dogg by playing “Regulators” on repeat you feel a buzz in your pocket – it’s the slut from the bar. “Sry about my friend – nice to meet you and we def hav to get 2gether soon!”. “Yeah, I’m fucking pissed we didn’t get to bang, too,” you smoothly reply as you continue to drunkenly navigate the road. Five minutes pass and you start wondering if this girl actually thinks you’re gonna take her out on a fucking date. Fat fucking chance, you’re a bro – if she wants you to buy her a meal, then she can have some fucking Cheerios the morning after a midnight trip to Pound Town. That’s when your Droid buzzes again. This time there’s more than just a text. “Hope this works for tonight!” Just below the message is the familiar, now naked body of the girl you met just an hour ago. Oh it works all right. Now a piece of her belongs to you forever. While she thinks this will be for “your eyes only” – you better fucking believe you’ll be showing all your bros. After all, bros fucking love sexting. Alexander Graham Bell was a fucking Bro King. You gotta believe when he made that first telephone call, he was thinking that one day his invention would allow bros to get naked pics from girls they barely even fucking know. I for one am fucking proud about the progress we’ve made. Innovation and technological advances makes America the great country it is today, and to be honest, the only thing more American than apple pie and fire works on the 4th of July is some good old fashioned amateur porn. If a girl is unsure about it, just pull the old trick - say that it proves her love. “Don’t you love me?” and “You’d do it if you love me” are two of the clutch phrases a bro uses to get a girl to send them that naked picture. You see, girls emotions run on this made up word society calls, “love.” Bros don’t believe in fake shit like feelings – they believe in shit you can prove – like banging bitches! Anyways, obviously you’re a bro, so every girl’s gonna fucking fall “in love” with you. Unlike them who, “just know” you need proof. What better proof than a drunken iPhone picture in the mirror of her bedroom? So you finally got your chick to send the naked pic, under the conditions “FOR YOUR EYES ONLY.” Little does she know, bros don’t fucking follow rules – especially from chicks. The first thing any bro does when he gets a naked pic is send that shit to all his bros. These days it’s almost more of a notch on your belt to get a sext than it is to even bang the girl. That’s because while the drunken bang session might be nice, it’s often just one night. Being able to share the experience by sitting around, pregaming, and comparing naked pictures of chicks you’ve banged with your bros is something that fucking lasts forever. But something which pisses me off - I fucking hate all those advertisements warning girls about the “dangers or putting naked pictures on the internet.” Fucking please, what danger? When has anyone ever gotten hurt taking naked pictures of themselves? If you’re really scared about sabotaging your career of “trying to convince some rich guy that you weren’t in slut in College so he’ll marry you” then hide your fucking face. No one can prove that it’s you in the picture, mostly because your body’s about as good as it will ever be. If nothing else you should just keep the naked picture as motivation and a reminder that you actually used to be hot.

Fake Tits

Throughout the history of time, while bros have worked to master their drinking skills, girls have worked equally as hard to perfect another art form: lying. Now when I talk about lying, I’m not talking about telling your run of the mill white lies that bros like to tell girls such as, “I love you”, “I enjoy spending time with you” or “I”ll pull out”. I’m talking about the fact that every day a girl lives a lie. On nights before they go out bros spend about 5 minutes getting ready. Girls, on the other hand, treat every night as though it is Halloween and put on their whore costume aka a shitload of makeup and high heels. By the way, you know whoever invented high heels was definitely a bro. Forcing women to walk on their toes all night long just so their ass and legs look better is a stroke of fucking genius. Anyways, the point is, when slam pieces are wearing all that makeup and shit it’s not what they really look like – it’s what they know bros want them to look like, and that is fucking awesome. This presents a problem though. Every bro has woken up one morning only to find half of their slam piece’s face on their pillow. This shit fucking sucks. Plus if you thought the mess on the pillow was bad, you are even more shocked to see the face post - makeup. You immediately want to rub her head in your pillow hoping that some of the makeup will find its way back to her face. So how do girls get over this problem? How do they make these temporary solutions to make bros want to bang them a permanant one? Three words: Fake fucking tits. Ever since the days of dominating Little League, bros have been obsessed with cans. It's really one of those things that they can’t explain - all they know is that they love them, and the bigger the fucking better. It’s a proven scientific fact that girls can never recover in the mind of bros for being fat, but never fear – even though it might look as though your face was used as a prop in a Gallagher show, you can always redeem yourself as a person by your rack. While natural is nice, they have a tendency to start to sag, but you know what never droops? Silicone. Bros can spot fake titties from a mile away. Bros don’t hide the fact that they know they are fake either; once they identify the rack, they make sure everyone and their fucking mother knows about it. Recently I was wasted at the beach when I saw a fake set from across the bar. Before I even introduced myself, the first words out of my mouth were, “There is no fucking chance in hell those are real.” I didn’t bang her (her boyfriend was on his way to meet her), but I still got to inspect the merchandise with both my eyes and hands. Bros also always tell chicks, “It looks and feels so real,” which is obviously a lie. This is done primarily with the intention of banging them. Bros are smart as shit so they always know what is real and what is not. Perhaps the best quality of fake knockers is what they mean. A fucking bulls-eye. Even more so than a tramp stamp, fakies mean that the girl in question is in fact not a girl at all – she is a whore. Seriously, what is the mindset behind getting fake tits? That you want more guys to want to bang you? Good news – bros are here to take that bullet. Bros love the fact that even though chicks think that their new found tits makes them “the shit” bros know they are not. She's still the same old insecure chick with a shitload of new cleavage revealing dresses. A couple well timed remarks about her developing wrinkles or expanding ass (even if it isn’t) can knock her off her fake-tit-induced delusional ride on her high horse and right back to the only riding position a chick should ever find herself: reverse cowgirl.

Hot Streaks

Tonight’s going to be fucking crazy. After a long, busy day of lying on the couch watching Skip Bayless argue that Sasha Vujacic is the greatest player to ever wear a Lakers uniform, it’s finally time to blow off some steam and get your motherfucking drink on. You and your bros are having people over to pregame so you get the house ready for company aka turn music on and pour cups of warm water for beer pong. As people start to file into your bro pad, one of your bros comes up to you and gives you a fist bump. You start talking about how you nailed that chick from across the bar last night - in a fucking little kid's tree house. As the pregame starts to pick up you get a text from some chick you slayed last week: “Going out 2nite??? ;)”. Under normal circumstances you would be all over this, but not tonight. As you take a lap around the room, you start to get involved in a hot debate about who you would rather bang: Snookie or "Precious", when a hand grabs you. It’s that chick with the big rack. She asks if this is your house - she better fucking believe it is. "Cool. My name is (doesn't matter)". She then asks for a tour. You immediately take her to your bedroom to show her your swingers poster collection and within minutes she’s all over you. Your bro from earlier who you was talking too about nailing the chick in the treehouse walks by the half open door with a look of amazement on his face. You make eye contact and slowly pump your fist up and down and yell out “Toot Toot!”. That’s right - you’re the conductor on this fucking train. Next stop: Pound Town. Afterwards, as she disappears to the bathroom to do whatever it is that girls do after getting banged, you emerge from your room. Your bros immediately start yelling out old NBA Jam catch phrases like “He’s heating up!” and “He’s on FIRE!”. At that moment, you feel as though you could hook up with Marisa Miller. You’re riding a hot streak of Ripken proportions and you are fucking invincible. There are definitely times where all bros are forced to dip down to the dredges of humanity and hook up with a fat girl. This is called rock bottom. But for any true bro, this service to society is rewarded with the pinnacle of all things bro: the hot streak. Hot streaks can last any amount of time, from a weekend to a month to their entire lives (for true bro kings.) No matter the length of the hot streak, a bro enjoying one can do no wrong. Chicks must seriously have a sixth sense for bros riding high on hot streaks, because in the midst of a streak, a bro has to do even less work than usual. Not only do bros have to put in less effort aka not have to text a girl at 2am, but the quality of the girl during the hot streak is extremely high. This means if you fucked two fatties in a weekend, you are not on a hot streak, and to be honest, you’re not even a fucking bro. Just leave us alone and go fucking rub one out at Sea World. When becoming a bro, make a hot streak and hit on everything with a fucking pulse. Extend it as long as possible, but remember, much like all good things, hot streaks must eventually come to an end. When it does, don’t worry, you’re a fucking bro, and you’re always just one chick away from the start of a new streak.

Married Chicks

Bros are the fucking best there is. Why do we think that? Oh, I don’t know, maybe because everyone and their mother is constantly trying to bang us, is that enough fucking proof for you? Anyways, somewhere along the way bros and hot girls shifted paths in their life journey. While bros are in this single shit for the long haul, hot girls get fucking locked down in their early 20’s. Often times, the minute they graduate College they commit to just one man for the rest of their life and wear a fucking wedding ring everywhere to ward off anyone that might be looking to bang them. Obviously, bros are a different fucking breed. Deep down, you gotta believe that hot chicks, who’ve had their pick of the litter their entire fucking lives are thinking the exact same shit as bros. It’s gotta drive girls crazy that now that they’ve settled down, well before their sexual prime, that guys won’t even hit on them just because they’re wearing a wedding ring. Immediately they go from a life of guys showering them with gifts, expensive dinners, and vacations to over the hill, off limits, and with nothing to look forward to but playing “Win, Lose, or Draw” with all the other bored married couples on Games Night along with the same familiar pounding from a now disinterested husband. I mean seriously, can you imagine having sex with just one person for the rest of your life? I feel like that’s gotta be considered a form of punishment in some third world countries. So how do these hot Married Chicks spice up their life? That’s where bros come in. Bros realize what wedding rings really mean: fucking caged heat. You know why hot chicks get married? It’s not because of that made up shit called “love.” It’s because the guy’s fucking rich, with definite exceptions like Anna Nicole where that shit was based solely on sexual chemistry. So, after they get bored banging that dude, they’re willing to do whatever it fucking takes to live every girl’s fantasy of banging a bro. From picking up your bar tab to buying you a new computer so you can send all your bros naked pictures of her, fucking married chicks will do whatever they can to please you as long as you keep giving them that strange. And let’s be honest, the only reason girls ever go to bars is to get banged. No matter what they tell you, they don’t go there “just to dance.” They don’t go there to watch the big game. They definitely don’t go there to lose some fucking weight, which is what they should be doing. I don’t care what she tells you, the reason a girl enters a bar is because she thinks there’s potential that some guy in it will eventually be railing her from behind. So, if she’s already locked up, why would a married chick ever want to hang out with a bunch of guys getting wasted and chanting shit? It’s so she can bang them. Wearing a wedding ring in the bar might as well be the clanging bell and closing gates at a railroad crossing – it won’t be long before the Pound Town Express comes barreling through. Not only that, but the last thing any bro wants is a fucking commitment or girlfriend. I mean why would anyone want a girlfriend in the first place? I always thought the only reason was because they can’t pull random ass. Anyways, the good news with Married Chicks is that they’re not looking for a fucking boyfriend. They’re in this shit for the same reason a bro is – getting some random ass. Bros don’t have to worry about carrying all their emotional baggage or buying them shit just to make sure they keep putting out, their dumbass husbands do all that! The only whining a bro will ever hear from a Married Chick isn’t so much of a whine, as it’s a fucking moan. At this very moment, millions of girls out there are praying that some Prince Charming will be coming to sweep them off their feet and marry them. For all you hot girls out there, there’s a good chance he will show up. Maybe he’ll throw bouquets of flowers at you, and give you that diamond ring so you can show that shit off to all your girlfriends just like in the fucking movies. But do you know what they never show in the movies? What happens after the final climactic wedding scene where “happily ever after” turns into “boring rest of your life?” That’s when bros show up. Become a bro. Go make a married chicks life better by giving her a good old deserved pound.

Eskimo Brothers

Bros are like Christopher Columbus. We’re fucking Conquistadors constantly searching for shit that no man’s ever seen before. But unfortunately, we live in a world where, much like Columbus’s greatest “discovery” of America, there’s rarely a chick out there who’s natural resources haven’t already been tapped into. Regardless of the fact that bros are often subjected to “Sloppy Seconds” or more likely, “Sloppy Forty Thirds,” we don’t take this shit as a strike against us. Unlike women, who will fucking cry for hours when “true adversity” hits them aka the death of a character on “Grey’s Anatomy,” bros rise above it. We fucking embrace that shit. Every time a Bro throws coal in the engine of the Pound Town Express, the chick isn’t the only passenger getting her ticket punched. No, instead, back in the dining car there’s a group of people you’ll now be linked to for the rest of your life getting fucking wasted: your Eskimo Brothers. The term Eskimo Brothers comes from “The League”. Basically, an Eskimo Brother is a guy who’s banged the same girl that you have. While yes, every bro wants to believe that the girl he brought home after talking to for like 10 minutes at the bar is “Not really a slut,” and “Never does this kind of thing,” let’s be fucking honest here: she’s a fucking whore. It’s a scientific fact that after 12 am, chicks are physically unable to resist banging bros. Therefore, since there’s a fucking shitload of us, it’s pretty likely she does this a lot. But having a shitload of eskimo brothers isn't a bad thing. You could have a fucking famous esikimo bro. Hearing the news that one of your old chicks banged some famous athlete or musician must be what it’s like to win the fucking Nobel Prize. In the matter of seconds, your lifetime resume of laying wood has immediately been validated. Famous people can bang whomever they want, whenever they fucking want, and he banged a girl that banged you! Recently, one of my bros found out he’s an eskimo bro of Clinton Portis, which as a Redskins fan is pretty much as good as it fucking gets – unless of course she had banged Joe Gibbs. Also, people have your sloppy seconds. You know when you add a girl on Facebook - but only to show your bro's pictures of who you banged? Well it's fucking hilarious when you see one of those girls in a serious relation or getting fucking married. Doesn’t that guy realize she was a fucking slut in college? I mean, not just like an “It was College, I was drunk!” type slut, I’m fucking talking borderline Craig’s List hooker slut. What lies is she fucking feeding him? Do you really think he would be marrying her if he knew she got Eiffel-Towered by two Pikas? Has he seen that POV BJ video you and your bro took on Spring Break? Anyways, the point is, every time you see the loser that ended up “buying the cow” after she basically paid you to take her fucking milk, you can just smile and say those four magic words, “How’s My Dick Taste?”. When you're a bro, trust me - you'll have a shit load of more eskimo bro's.

Cougars

You’re at the bar with your bros when three older ladies set up shop right next to you. One of them is absolutely busted, another is decent, and the third is legitimately hot. Luckily for you one of your bros is an asshole and asks the decent looking one, “Do you know where your grandchildren are?”. Even though you think he’s hilarious, you move in and apologize so you can make your move on the smoking hot member of the group. You buy her a drink. The drink leads to the dance floor, which leads to a make out session, which leads to an invitation back to her hotel room. You continue your makeout sesh as the hands start to wander. That’s when she drops the bomb: “You’re a much better kisser than my husband”. You stop what you are doing and recognize that this is pretty fucking awesome, but you are curious. “How old are you,” you ask her. “42, how old are you?”, "... 25". And thats when you realize - you're in a cougar trap. But, whatever - you get mad fucking bro-points. Cougar hookup stories are one of those rare things where if your bro hooks up with a cougar and you tell the story – you are given bro points just for knowing him. The older the Cougar, the more bro points you get. The more children she has, again more bro points. If you are able to get a picture of her holding out her fingers to show her age, possibly fighting back tears, you better fucking believe you will be getting some serious bro points. Although of course there's a fucking limit - no one wants to get with a fucking 50+ who will need a new hip when you're done with her. Also, it's fucking funny as shit. Honestly, anytime you have the chance to degrade women – you better fucking take it. What better way than to make having sex with her a joke? One of the best ways to do this is when you are at the bar and it is apparent that you are going home together. Demand to see her ID. Then go around the bar to make sure all your bros know just how old she is. Make sure she can see all their reactions as they undoubtedly yell, “God damn, that bitch is old as shit!”. followed by high fives and fist pounds. And the best thing of all, you have no fucking commitment. That’s why you should love cougars. No cougar hookup story starts with, “So we went on a couple dates and both realized that we had a lot in common”. No. You meet. You drink. You hook. Cougars will never text you constantly after your hookup because quite frankly, they probably don’t even know how to text. And the best news is, thanks to menopause, you can raw dog without even worrying about getting her pregnant! Cougars are the shit. Go hook up with one, bro.

Periods

It’s Saturday night and you’re fucking hammered. After a long day of bonging beers through vuvuzelas, chanting U-S-A, and arguing with your bros about who was the hottest girl on “Step by Step”, you really don’t think it could get any better. That is until you see her. At the corner of the bar some hot blond chick is staring at you and quite honestly, why the fuck wouldn’t she be? You’re a fucking bro, by definition one of the best looking people on the planet. It shouldn’t be any surprise that she wants buy her One-Way ticket to Pound Town. As you make your approach and lay down your ‘A’ game aka tell her about the time you scored six goals in the High School Lacrosse championship, there’s one thing that becomes immediately clear: She wants to bang you. Within five minutes you’re out the door and heading back to your Bro Pad for some good old fashioned unprotected sex with a stranger. You get home and immediately start making out and just as you are ready to put another notch on your belt she stops and says: “I want to take it slow – I just think we should really get to know each other”. You’re fucked. After trying to convince her that you get to know girls best by banging them, she’s not buying it. As a last ditch effort to try to salvage the night, you decide to go against every bro-bone in your body and violate everything you believe in. You go down on her. After what seems like four hours but in reality is three minutes of her thinking, “Wow, I wonder if we’ll get married!” and you thinking, “This better at least get me a blowjob”, you come up looking for your reward. But instead, you see a look of horror on the girl’s face. “You really need to go to the bathroom!” she screams. As you enter the bathroom and turn on the light you cry out, “WHAT THE FUCK!”. You look like one of those fucking zombies in “28 Days Later”. After the initial hesitation due to shock you realize what just happened: she just perioded on your fucking face. At first you try to wash it off, but you’re barely able to turn the water on before you start projectile vomiting all over the bathroom. You start screaming at the girl but she’s already left. After your fourth heave into the toilet, you get a text. It’s from Period Slut. “Sry bout that! Hope we can still hang out!”. No fucking chance in hell. There’s nothing that she could ever do to come back from this fucking atrocity. After all – you’re a bro and you fucking hate periods. Periods are one of the biggest fucking bro-haters of all time. Not only does it mean you can’t bang your chick, but it’s seriously one of the most disgusting things on the planet. It’s fucking bro-kryptonite. While a bro will readily pop his own dislocated shoulder back in place without hesitation, the mere sight of period blood is enough to make him faint. Now sure there are people out there who will say periods don’t bother them and that they have no problem “riding the Crimson Tide”, but those people are fucking psychopaths and I wouldn’t be surprised if they tortured fucking guinea pigs as children. I really don’t understand why it’s acceptable for tampons to be advertised on TV and in magazines. It’s fucking obscene. Seriously, what would happen if a company started running commercials for “The Incredible Super-Absorbent Jack-Off Rag?”. People would flip their shit. But for some reason it’s cool to have commercials talking about repulsive unnatural shit like “heavy flow?”. Unfortunately, we live in a Brocist World and sadly periods aren’t going away anytime soon. As bros, we’re not like fucking Hipsters who bitch and moan about pointless shit like Health Care reform, Oil Spills, or how much we hate our parents – we offer fucking solutions. While it would be preferable for bros that girls never leave the house while on their period, we realize this is a bit harsh. Since bros are compassionate I offer this compromise: Any girl on their period should be required to wear a giant “P” on their chest to let all bros know that, “I’m on my period – talking to me is a waste of time”. And for all you fucking Femi-nazis out there complaining that this would be setting the Women’s Movement back thousands of years, I have one thing to say: Fuck You. If you honestly think that wearing a letter on your chest broadcasting that you’re on your fucking period is degrading, then it’s about time you get off your fucking high horse. Not only would this save so much time, but it would avoid any awkward, “Umm, It’s that time of the month”, conversations later on when bros are trying to bang you. The World is a fucked up place. There are haters around every corner trying to punish bros just for being bros. There’s always questions about who a bro should trust. Never trust anyone that bleeds for a week straight every month and doesn’t die. If you ever have sex with a girl on her period, get the fuck off this page, and you will never become a bro.

Chick's Phone Numbers

"Errm.. yeah. Sorry its taken me so long to call you back. I've been busy and your call didn't seem that important."

When bros are out getting fucked up, there is one thing they are thinking about: getting laid. They will go to amazing extremes to accomplish this. One of the most popular methods is pretending they are actually interested in the girl. Jokes on her though – everyone knows bros don’t have feelings. Anyways, after suffering through a half hour of learning about meaningless things like her job, the college she attended and what she wants to do with her life, its finally sexy time. Mission accomplished. Now comes the interesting part. “Let me see your cell phone”, she says. Since you will do pretty much anything to get her out of your apartment, you oblige. She then types in her cell # with her name, which is good because you had already forgotten it. “Call me sometime, let’s go to dinner or something”. After she bounces you quickly change her name to the name of the bar you met her at followed by “chick” so you can remember her. Oh she’ll be called for some dinner – but unfortunately for her the only item on the menu will be Sausage. Bros never call the phone numbers of girls they got from the bar. Getting a phone number is such a huge ego boost to a bro and sometimes knowing you can bang a chick is even better than having to go through any effort of banging said chick. Bros often will ask for a girl’s number at the bar with the intention of banging her that night, and if it doesn’t happen they will be deemed as worthless. But what happens if you run into the chick again? Won’t it be awkward? Not at all. You can go down one of two roads. If the chick is absolutely busted, go for the pretending not to remember her route. But a bro's favorite and what is most likely going to get you laid is this route. Quickly change her number by one digit in your phone. This works best if she approaches you first asking why you never called. Say you “did call but she gave you the wrong number”, then really give it to her by saying you “thought you had a connection and called to ask her out, but found out she just gave you the wrong number on purpose”. This makes the chick think you really care about her and within the hour the deal will be closed.

Calling Girls Sluts

Chances are, even if you aren't a bro, you're not always gonna get sex off a chick. And frankly, bros dig power - who doesn't? And to be honest, what's more empowering then calling girls sluts. Okay, so she doesn't want to have sex with you - you gonna let that slide? Fuck no - just call her a slut. Honestly, does it get any better than cruising the streets with your bros and constantly saying, “Oh, look at these fucking sluts!”, every time you pass by a group of girls. Answer: No, it doesn’t. Bros love to change the pronunciation of sluts just to mix things up. Slutties, Sloots, and Slutbags are variations of the word, but they all mean the same thing: that the girl is a ho-bag. While its fun to call girls sluts behind their back, its even more rewarding to call it to their face. The best part of calling girls sluts is that most of the time they aren’t sluts at all, but it still makes them feel like they are, which is awesome. Anytime you can make a girl feel self-conscience about herself, you have done your job as a bro. A good time to call a girl a slut is when she’s showing off skin – honestly, she’s just asking to be called a slut at this point. This is a no-brainer. If you and your boys don’t call her a slut, you lose serious bro-points. I mean this is a fucking lay-up line insult that will definitely get you some fist pounds so why would you pass it up? And feel free to call her a slut when she insults you in any way – it's so fucking sweet being a bro. No matter what a girl says you always have a trump card. Say for example, some girl is making fun of you because you live in your parent’s basement. That’s when you remind her what she is. And when she rejects your advances – So, you’re at a bar with all your bros and some girl that’s hot as shit tries to get a beer right next to you. You obviously hit on her because she’s basically asking for it. However, this girl doesn’t appear interested. What do you do? In order to not lose any bro-cred it’s best to just rip into her calling her a slut. Other possibilities are that she’s a “whore”, “lesbian”, or “dyke-bitch”. Not all is lost when you're a bro and you get rejected for sex - call her a fucking slut to get your bro-cred back.

Sports

Lacrosse

Every race has that Sport that defines them. Indians have Cricket, the Chinese have Ping Pong, and Mexicans have Lawn Mowing. So it comes as no surprise that Bros also have their trademark activity. Over the past few years, our Sport has received criticism, but there’s no reason a few bad apples have to ruin our fucking heritage. It’s time to honor the game that has produced some of history’s greatest Bro Kings. It’s time to celebrate our pastime. It’s time to honor Lacrosse. Now, the common misconception amongst the brommunity is that the only “true bros” are Lacrosse players. While being a bro involves so much more than just growing up with a long stick in your hand, it doesn’t fucking hurt. According to facts, Lacrosse teams have the highest percentage of bros out of any Sport in the fucking World. Now I know some football players are out there claiming they fucking throw down harder than anyone, which I definitely believe, but that’s a big fucking team, and while I guarantee there are a handful of Bro Kings on every Football team, there’s no way you can tell me that your roster top to bottom matches up with any Lacrosse team in the country. So why are Lacrosse players such bros? Lacrosse, much like being a bro, is an elitist activity. It’s fucking expensive to play, so it keeps all the fucking loser poor people out. Lax bros all have their own pads, sticks, and helmets, unlike Football where it’s all just dirty fucking hand-me-down equipment like you’re living in some sort of Russian orphanage. Having the best Lax stick not only makes all your teammates jealous, but it also makes slam pieces wet as shit. “But what about other elitist Sports like Golf?” Yeah fucking right, for every Tiger Woods out there, there’s like 10 Zach Johnsons who are fucking religious and shit and probably don’t even cheat on their wives. Lax bros get laid all the fucking time. Girls fucking love chasing jerseys, so it’s no surprise they try to get railed by as many Lacrosse players as possible. First of all, they’re pretty much guaranteed to be bros, which is reason enough to bang them, but then, the fucking icing on the cake is that they’re athletes too! And it’s not like the other athletes such as Basketball, Football, or Hockey players who might have fucked up body characteristics like being 7 feet tall, 330 pounds, or Sidney Crosby. Lacrosse players are just your normal, run of the mill Bro Kings that love to get fucked up and slay some fucking strange. The greatest injustice in the history of Sports (and perhaps in the history of time) is the recent decommissioning of many Lacrosse programs in D-1 athletics to make way for Women’s “Sports.” Are you fucking kidding me? If this isn’t a clear case of Brocism, I don’t know what the fuck is. Is there any way we can bring this shit to the Supreme Court? It would no doubt go down as the most groundbreaking Bro-Rights case since Wade made that bitch Roe get an abortion. And don’t tell me that Lacrosse doesn’t bring in any money. Lax players parents’ are fucking loaded and do you know where they love giving their money? That’s right, their fucking kid’s schools. Who the fuck is ever gonna donate money just so some fat girl can miss a fucking layup? While the rest of society sleeps soundly at night knowing their favorite Sport will never be taken away, Bros once again suffer from society’s iron fist of hatred. As allegations continue to pour in against us, our Sport and the bros tilting their helmets for us every day on the field of battle are coming under attack. We must come together to preserve our Sport of Bro Kings. Save Lacrosse. End Brocism.

Tailgating

And this is why you should go to a tailgate party.

Your alarm goes off. It’s 7 am. You haven’t been awake this early since fucking high school. It’s a week deep into the Fall semester and you have been perfect in skipping all your classes. Shit doesn’t matter though, you already have all the tests from last year. You’re hungover as shit and there’s fucking puke in your bed. You’re pretty sure the chick next to you is a freshman, so she’s probably dumb as shit. Therefore you can convince her it’s her puke and make that bitch clean it up. You get out of bed, nearly fall over because you’re still wasted from last night and try to remember why the fuck you are awake 3 hours after you passed out. Your up as your Bro's are knocking your door - you remember, its tailgating time. A tailgate party - Sports, barbeque, and beer. There’s no denying that bros love football, but to be honest with you, a football game is nothing without a tailgate. Bros take pride in their tailgating abilities. Tailgating is the perfect storm for bros. Combining drinking, grilling and football causes bros to nearly lose their shit in excitement. No matter how good their tailgate might actually be, bros will always claim that they have “the best tailgate,” which is due largely to the fact that they are “the best tailgaters.” This can be due to the fact that they have shit like a 6 foot sub, an ice luge, 30 cases, a fucking roasted pig, beer pong tables, hundreds of jello shots, a car with sick speakers, multiple corn hole or testicle toss sets, or the hottest sorority tailgating with them. That shit is good and all, but seriously, the only important part to tailgating is making sure you get fucked up. Hosting one is fun and all, but stealing from another persons tailgate is just as good - no getting up fucking early and free beer and food.

Football Parties

Whenever a bro around the country has been asked, “What are you getting into this weekend?” he’s had two answers. Besides the obvious response of “Getting fucked up,” he’s also quick to say, “Watching football.” It really doesn’t get much better than football season. With pro and college games being played pretty much every day of the week thanks to ESPN’s exploitation of College athletes, there’s always a game on. Of course, Bro's just sit around drinking beer watching football - unlike Jocks who actually play football. To become a bro, you gotta know how to watch football. Bro's have been doing it better than anyone else since the fucking beginning of time. Bros get together every weekend to watch games, drink a fuckload, and constantly check their iPhone to see how their fantasy football players are doing. Why the fuck would the biggest game of the year be any different? Why the fuck would you ever want to invite a shitload of bro-haters over who don’t know shit about football just so they can tell people at school or work on Monday that they went to a fucking Super Bowl party? Fuck that. When bros have people over for football they don’t send out eVites three weeks in advance saying shit like, “Come watch the Big Game at mi Casa! Susie has already promised to make her world famous bean dip!” That’s fucking bro-hater talk. As much as any true bro would just want to watch the football with their bros, a keg, and a shitload of wings, it really never works out that way. Somehow bros always find themselves at some “party” where they are forced to sit on a fucking footstool so that some fat bitch can take up half the fucking couch. So, what you need to do is get plastered. While everyone else at the party is complaining about having to go to work or school tomorrow, you don’t give a fuck. You’ve got like 12 sick days for the year and you’ve only used like 3 so far. That’s a fucking no brainer. Besides, football is pretty much a fucking National Holiday and I really can’t remember the last National Holiday where I wasn’t drunk. Not getting wasted on a National Holiday is like a slap in the face to our fore fathers, and I will not stand by while anyone does that shit. Also, it really doesn’t get much better than getting obnoxiously wasted around people who are not only not drinking, but are really only at the party because society tells them they have to. As well as getting fucking wasted, you should teach girls about football. Over the years I’ve learned that whenever a girl sits next to you on the couch at a football party and tells you that she wants you to “teach me about football,” the only thing she wants to learn about is how well you bang. While this is pretty much a fucking lay-up line, its always fun to push the limits. The last thing a bro wants to do is waste his entire football day explaining why a touchdown is worth 6 points, so bros go on the attack. I always like to quiz the prospective chick on her current football knowledge, you know, just to see where we stand. Ask her any question - she'll answer wrong. Then punish her by announcing to the entire party how dumb and retarded she is for getting a simple question wrong - then say some shit like no wonder chicks couldn't vote for like 500 years. Then you know what's next? Destination - Pound Town.

Talking About Sports

"Did you watch the game last night?" "Nope, I don't really like football. It's over-rated." "... GET THE FUCK OUT."

A bro’s time is fucking precious. Bros are the most important, smartest, and best looking people on the planet and therefore should never be taken for granted. Sure there’s no actual rate on a bro’s time, but if I had to label it, I would say take whatever the fuck a Doctor makes – and double it. Since a bro’s time is so fucking valuable, there’s no time for the bullshit bro-hater invention called “small talk.” Small talk is basically a way for losers/old women whose only friends are dead to try to get some sort of human contact. Honestly, why the fuck would anyone ever need to waste someone’s time by talking about how much they hate traffic, where they live, or worst of all, “What’s up with this weather?”. Bros have more important shit to talk about – like how many chicks they’ve banged, how drunk they got last night and most importantly how drunk they’re planning on getting tonight. While these are all pressing issues, there’s one topic that bros across the fucking country agree to be by far the most critical. It makes people fucking hate each other just because they were born 100 miles apart. It makes bros fucking celebrate like they just got triple-teamed by the Dahm triplets. It’s fucking Sports. While “chatting” with some old lady in line at the store for one minute about her fucking grandchildren is a complete waste of time – arguing for hours about whether Henry Rowengardner could strike out a juiced Barry Bonds is fucking priceless. Bros fucking love talking about Sports. If you hate sports, you can't become a Bro, and you should stop reading this article. Honestly, what self-respecting guy doesn’t like Sports? I really don’t understand how that shit happens. If you’ve gotten to this point thinking, “Oh fuck yeah, I’m a fucking bro,” then see this and try to make a fucking argument saying some shit like, “You don’t need to like Sports to be a bro,” you’re fucking wrong. Get the fuck off this site now. You know who doesn’t like Sports? Girls. Hipsters. That’s because they fucking suck at them and “Sports” to them means bros pissing on their locker in High School gym class. Serves them right for wearing glasses. In all seriousness though, Sports are more important to this country than fucking Religion. Since bros are the smartest people on the fucking planet, you better believe they know more about Sports than anyone else. Bros always need to stay sharp on current events in the Sports world so they don’t look like a fucking idiot when they’re hanging out with their bros. Among every group of bros, there’s a hierarchy of Sports Knowledge. There’s always that one guy within the group who knows the most obscure Sports Trivia and can name the Final Four participants from the past 20 years or the last NFL Draft picks. The hierarchy of knowledge starts getting progressively lower until you get to the guy who isn’t that interested in Sports, but acts like he is and does extra research just so he isn’t labeled a fucking bro-hater. A lot of times the bro with no Sports Knowledge sounds more like a fucking girl when he talks about Sports. He’ll drop shit like, “What period is it?” while watching a Football game, or will totally butcher pronouncing someone’s name while acting like he knows what he’s talking about. While it’s truly embarrassing to even be associated with someone like this, the good news is that all you need to do is call him a fucking loser for trying to fit in. Will he try to fight back? He fucking better not – by not knowing shit about Sports, he assumes the role within the group as bitch and deserves anything he fucking gets. This may be turn out to be you - but whatever, at least you'd be with a group of bro's. If you see me walking down the street, don’t ask me if I think it’s going to fucking rain – I save my breath for when it fucking matter. Let me know when you’re ready to talk about fucking Sports.

Running Through the Middle of a Game

God damn your seats are fucking amazing. Thanks to your bro’s Dad, you and six of your bros are sitting in the first row down the third baseline. While the game is boring as shit due to the fact that it’s baseball, you’re a fucking bro so you know how to make anything fun: getting fucking wasted. One of your bros suggested that you guys drink a beer an inning, but everyone agreed they were trying to get drunk and not just buzzed, so you decided to go a brew every half inning. By the sixth inning, the usher has already come to your section three times to ask you guys to keep the profanity, heckling, and masturbation pantomimes to a minimum. Each time your bro politely informed him that “My Dad fucking owns you. Take your 3rd grade education back to where you belong inspecting tickets wiping down seats”. Needless to say, you guys are feeling fucking invincible. As the 7th inning stretch comes around, you’re getting tired of trying to get the right field ball girl aka “Ball Slut” to flash you. You decide you need to spice things up. Luckily Timmy is there. Timmy is the bro who is without a doubt the craziest fucking guy in your whole group – motherfucker will do anything, but he always needs the proper encouragement. “Hey Timmy – you won’t run onto the field and slide headfirst into homeplate”, you say. “Nah man, I’m fucking wasted, but I’m not trying to go to jail tonight”. Immediately everyone catches on and starts calling him a bitch and making chicken noises. Timmy doesn’t like this shit. “Fuck you guys – why do I always have to do the crazy shit". You don’t even answer him, just keep asking him shit like, “Maybe next time we should invite your fucking husband, Alice!”. It’s really starting to get to him. His will power is starting to break down faster than a fat girl alone with a box of Twinkies. You and your bros have seen this look before – it’s time to break out the reinforcements. Slowly at first, you start it: “Tim-my! Tim-my!” All your bros join in, screaming and chanting mercilessly, “TIM-MY! TIM-MY!” Like Lawrence Taylor at a High School Pep Rally – he’s fucking helpless. Within seconds Timmy is making a bee-line for home plate. You and your bros are fucking dying laughing. As security chases him down the third base line, Timmy tears down the line and does a Superman leap into the air. The umpire gives him a mock “safe” call as 15 officers arrest him. As they lead him out of the stadium to jail, your bro calls his Dad to ensure the security guards get fucking fired for brutality. That was just the funniest shit you’ve ever seen – and it’s all thanks to two of the greatest words in the bro language: Peer Pressure. You've gotta be fucking stupid to run through the pitch in the middle of a game, but hey, it gives you fucking mad bro-cred.

Hating Other Teams

This is why you should fucking hate on the other team.

Everyone knows bros love sports. Bros also have that one team that they live and die with. Sure, it can be a hard time for your team, but you gotta fuckin' stick by them. Through all the changes, one thing remains constant: You absolutely hate the rival teams. When asked about why bros hate the teams, often it will have little to do with the players themselves, it’s the fans. Personally I can not stand Eagles fans, and to be honest, I lose a huge amount of respect for anyone that tells me they are fans of the Birds. But it’s not just the arch-rivals that bros hate. On game day, it doesn’t matter who you are playing, if you show up in the opposing team’s jersey chances are bros are going to hate you. Bros fucking love to drink at games. Bros love to talk about how early they are going to get to the parking lot to start tailgating before the game. Perhaps the only time where it is acceptable to not go out on a Friday/Saturday night is when there is a tailgate early in the morning and you need to rest up. Bros love being able to say they waited at the gate a half hour before game time just to get into start drinking. All this tailgating leads up to your added sense of invincibility. By putting on your home team jersey, you have the automatic right to try to start a fight with anyone wearing the opposing team jersey because everyone in the stadium has your back. Drinking gives you the courage to talk shit to the opposing fan in the throwback Bernie Kosar jersey. Sure she’s in a wheel chair and 70 years old, but thanks to booze this doesn’t stop you. This is actually a gold mine, because not only can you make fun of her team, you can also make fun of her disability. Extra ammo is always key. And no matter where their team is from, bros always believe that the opposing city is a shithole. “Go back to your fucking cesspool,” “Get the fuck out of my city,” and “Why don’t you go back to your trailer” are all clutch insults and they definitely let others know that they are not welcome. This works great when cities have suffered disasters. For example, lets say your playing against the Saints. You have a few too many frat sodas in you and as the 25th bandwagon Reggie Bush fan walks by your tailgate, so you politely inform him that you wish he had died in Katrina. He might not like this, but he knows he can’t start anything because you've got like 30K other guys behind you on your side. Also, remind their players that they are thugs – this is used in pretty much any sport. The great thing about this is that the players don’t even have to have committed any crime to be accused of being a criminal. Pretty much as long as they have cornrows or tattoos they are thugs and you better believe the opposing fans are going to hear about it. However, when the players actually are convicted of crimes, its pretty much a fucking jackpot. And, age doesn't fucking matter. Sure you already yelled at the old cripple wearing the other teams jersey, but that was too easy. Bros like to push the envelope. That’s right - I’m talking about kids. Honestly, what type of parent would bring their kid to the opposing field wearing the opposing jersey? Does he really think people aren’t going to give them shit just because he’s got a kid with them? Bad idea. Do anything it takes. The games on Christmas Eve? You better fucking tell the kid that santa doesn't come to anyones house who supports his team. I know what you pussy bro-haters are thinking, “This is what is wrong with the NFL” but please, if they don’t want to get harassed, don’t fucking wear the opposing team’s jersey in their stadium. So, to get on the path to become a bro, you better fucking give other teams shit.

Hating Women's Sports

Ew. Imagine how many brews you would have to pound to be able to slay that beast?

Women's basketball. Can their players even reach the basket with their shots? How many of their victories have ended with the other team crying? Are players even allowed to play when they’re on their period? Sure he’s second in victories all-time for male Women’s Basketball coaches (next to Pat Summitt) but how the fuck can Geno Auriemma respect himself? While bros might fucking love talking about Sports – there’s just no place for Women in that conversation. The only times that bros ever support Women’s athletics is when they’re competing in Beach Volleyball, Lingerie Football, or Blow Job-Giving Contests. Outside of that, it’s all just a fucking waste of time and money. There’s a reason why the WNBA loses a shitload of money every year – because no one wants to watch that shit. I’d seriously rather get my nutsack sliced climbing over a fence than be forced to sit through a fucking Sparks – Comets game. And it’s not like Women’s athletics can market to the male audience with their sexuality. They’re all fucking lesbians and not like the hot lesbians you see in hot porn movies – these bitches are fucking beasts. Bros probably wouldn’t have such a fucking problem with Women’s Sports if it weren’t for that Title IX bullshit. Title IX represents everything that is wrong with allowing Women to participate in Government. First the fucking Government says that there has to be equal amount of teams, but what the fuck’s next? If there’s a female President is she gonna force us to watch their fucking games, too? As excited as bros get every Saturday morning when Lee Corso puts on his mascot head and starts strutting around like some fucking idiot, a part of them dies inside the second ESPN cuts away to the early game. That’s because they’re greeted to a Big Ten stadium by the nasally voice of none other than Pam Fucking Ward. Seriously, who’s the fucking genius in charge at ESPN that thinks Pam Ward is better than any other available male announcer. I mean, even that fucking “Boom Goes The Dynamite” kid would do a better job that her. There’s a place for female announcers – it’s called the fucking Home Shopping Network. "HURR DURR playing sports gives girls confidence!". Confidence to do what? Win a high school basketball game 4-3? I mean I get it – women are jealous of men and will do anything in their power to make things “fair” aka eliminate football programs just so they can have their precious fucking rhythmic gymnastics team. But come on, can’t women build self-esteem from a more respected competition? How about signing up for a Hawaiian Tropic Bikini Contest? Or if bikinis are too “revealing” or “sexist” then look no further than a good old fashioned Wet T-shirt contest! Not physical enough? How about time-honored traditions such as Mud Wrestling or Foxy Boxing? Not only do these competitions give girls confidence, but even if they lose, they still might be able to win the fucking jackpot and bang a bro. Talk about a win–win! Society preaches equality, however society’s definition of equality is fucking bullshit. Society promotes “equality” by taking away a bro’s rights to play Sports just so girls can get a free-ride to College because they’re freakishly tall and can make a free-throw without shooting it “Granny-style”. Society has made laws stripping bros of the ability to be bros for way too long. When will these injustices end? Before long we’ll be forced to watch Pam Ward cover Monday Night Women’s Indoor Volleyball. Is this a World we want to live in? If you ask me, Global Warming and the War should be the last thing on Congress’s mind. It’s time to put it to sleep. It’s time to outlaw Women’s Sports.

Basics

Dressing like a Bro

Hair

Note the angle of the cap. And Brotip: See he's left the sticker on under the cap? Shows it authenticity and his bro status.

Spike That Shit Up - The bigger the better. Be sure to use a fuck load of gel. If a tornado comes by and your hair moves, you didn't use enough gel. Your hair should be able to withstand winds of up to 90 miles an hour without even moving. Plus, if someone fucks with you, you can headbutt them and BAM - they're on their way to ER with a cut up stomach. The final effect should look like you were standin' in a puddle when you stuck your finger in a light socket. If you don't like using gel if it makes your hair look greasy, you can use 10 bottles of hairspray and make the ozone layer your bitch.

Caps - Alternatively, if you're a fucking skinhead or some shit like that (or you have a receeding hairline due from too much colouring, heating, styling, gelling, and killing your hair), wear a cap. The cap must be a New York Yankees one, even if you don't support them. And don't even think about taking the sticker off your hat. It must be tipped to the perfect angle. Anything less than a ten degree tilt won't show your bro status. Don't wear your cap backwards, thats like, a 90's style bro.

Facial Hair - Before I start rambling on about facial hair - bro's aren't hippies. They don’t grow beards in protest or because they think they’re fucking Rastas. Furthermore, soul patches, chin straps, “ice picks,” and Goatees do not make you a bro. They make you fucking white trash. If you're sporting one of these you might as well go throw on your all-white tennis shoes and gold chain and get back to doing what you do best: impregnating fat girls. The only acceptable facial hair is sideburns - they are pretty fucking standard amongst bros. Don't grow a beard unless your doing it for a bet. A stubble is okay, women find that sexy in a men - but don't grow a full on beard.

T-shirts

Pink Shirts - A pink polo shirt is a essential piece you must have in your wardrobe. Girls like it when a guy wears pink, they think he's sensitive. Of course, jokes on them when you tell the bitch to send it packin' the morning after - make the whore leave at 7am. When wearing it, make sure you pop the collar - it gives a retro/vintage look. The popped collar attracts the attention of hot girls. Not only must you make sure it's pink and you're wearing the collar popped, get a designer label such as a Abercrombie or Ralph Lauren. Wearing two different coloured shirts, both with popped collars, makes you seem even more like a bro. The 1st T-shirt will soak up all the sweat so you wont have pit or neck swamps that might show up after partying for too long.

Or to be a proper alpha bro, you could just not wear a shirt at all.

Vests/Tank Tops - Another piece of clothing you must have are vests. You've got to make sure it's at least 2 sizes to small. This will show off your bulging muscles - small sizes makes you look bigger. At least make the vest skin tight. Remember, the point of a tank top is to show off how buff you are, especially your arms, chest and shoulders. Don't refer your tank top as a "wife beater" - you're trying to be a bro, not some guido Jersey fag.

Going-out Shirts - When hitting the clubs, you should wear a tight button down shirt. Be sure to unbutton it to at least the middle of your chest, you need to show off your tan and tight abs. Extra points if you take it off when hitting the floor. Don't even think about putting it back on. Take it off after 2am, when you've had over 3 beers or your favourite song comes on. Or of course, if you were born a bro, your shirt naturally comes flying off when you smell a camera withing a 5 metre radius.

Ed Hardy Shirts - Studded, sequined and shiny. The flashier the better. It's a official Bro shirt - however, it may take several hours of working the door at a nightclub or behind the counter of your parents’ convenience store just to afford one of the $110 t-shirts. So what if they are ridiculously low quality garments at a hideously jacked up price - alot of the bro's wear these, so follow on. They're cool t-shirts - sparkly tigers, and multiple colors are not gay. And the jeans with this heart on them are totally not queer. When hitting the club, if you're not wearing one piece of Ed Hardy like a shirt, jeans, or hat, you should be ashamed of yourself.

Humor T-Shirts - Bros have tough decisions to make before they hit the town. “What type of brew should I pick up for the party? Who will I drunk dial tonight for a booty call? What bar should we go get tanked at tonight? How many slutties am I going to hit on at the bar?”. But before any of this can be determined, he must make his most important call: “What the fuck am I going to wear?” Sure, if you want to blend in with all the rest of the bros you could go with your classic pink Lacoste shirt you bought for like $80 last summer (totally worth it by the way), but tonight you want to show the ladies you are more than just a piece of meat, you are also funny as shit. That’s when you pick out your favorite t-shirt. A fucking sexual humor t-shirt. Bros love wearing these out because it shows that you are hilarious and it’s also a great conversation starter meaning you will get laid wearing it. They can be kinda hard to find, but you can find some classics such as anything involving the year 1969. The fact of the matter is bros love the number 69. Even when someone mentions something innocent like, “I got a 68 on that Calc test” someone inevitably interjects, “I bet you wish you got a 69!!!”. A bunch of “OHHH’s” and then a dog-pile of bros and a final group chant with fist pumps of “Six-ty Nine! Six-ty Nine!” usually follows. So, if you are lucky enough to find a shirt that has a 69 on it, you had better god damn snatch that up.

Throwback Jerseys - wearing throwback jerseys began as a trend amongst the black community. But while Black guys would fork over $250 for the Mitchell & Ness Willie Stargell ’79 Pirates jersey, bros had a better idea: eBay. For the small price of $20, anyone can add an incredible amount of bro-cred just by throwing on their new threads. Trust me, nothing feels better than having a fellow bro come up to you and say, “Dude, your jersey is fucking hilarious,” then taking a picture with you facing away from the camera. This is basically the equivalent of girls complimenting each other on their shoes. And, well, theres nothing more funny as old white basketball players. Perhaps the funniest type of jersey a bro can get is a white basketball player from the 90’s. And the whiter, the better.

Bottoms

The best things to wear are jeans. Get some ripped jeans to give you an edgy style. Extra points for wearing them low on your hips - this will show your underwear off. Be sure to wear your best underwear - then the girls can't wait to take them off. Warning - if most of you tried to pull this off, you'll be walkin' like a fuckin' penguin.

Accessories

Doin it right. Star tattoo and on the bicep - what a fucking Bro.

Sunglasses - You should have some $2,000+ pair of shades. You can't go wrong with white sunglasses or aviators. Dont fucking make a fool of yourself, get a well known designer brand - Gucci, Armarni, D&G etc. Best to wear them indoors or at night, especially in nightclubs - It's like a Bro's trademark. It ain't cool to squint, plus dark sunglasses make it easier for you to check out the women without them knowing you're eyeing them up, down and all around.

Tattoo - Get some fucking inks. Essential accessory. Not as a method of self expression or art, but rather as an example of “Broskie, look at my sweet tat!”. Getting a tat goes good with showing off your finely juiced body. Not sure what tat to get? You can never go wrong with the two most awesome bro tattoos - 1) A chinese lettering tattoo, or 2) A star. Extra points for getting it on the bicep. If you think you can pull it off, go for the old 'Mom' tattoo. Because a Bro always puts his mom first. You got a problem with that?

Jewellery - Wear some expensive jewellery - gold and silver, necklaces, bracelets, rings, fucking everything. Lots of jewellery shows women that your rich as fuck. Whats that, you don't have a pure gold necklace? Aww - I guess McDonald's doesn't pay as much as it use to. It's okay, just spend less on Runescape, Porn, Whiskey, Fast food and Farmville and maybe you could get one. Alternatively, instead of a gold necklace, wear some Dog Tags. OK, so maybe you didn't serve yourself, but if your pop, grandpa or other relative did, wear his dog tags. It's like patriotic. Or again, instead of gold jewellery, wear a cross necklace. Who cares if you haven't been church since christmas? Just where any jewellery you can find - as long as it's big, clunky, and shiny, you're slammin' Bro style.

Gym

An example of a bro at the gym, showing off.

Quit your Runescape membership and get yourself a gym membership if you fucking haven't already. The gym shall be your new religion - it's a holy temple. Start pumpin' iron at the gym. If you don't have a hot body, you can't perform a robbery and steal someone else's woman. Max your workout - you're not fit enough until you can bench press a fucking ~~car~~ tank. Don't even think about going places and trying to chat up chicks before you're bulked up - you will get dropped instanteously by me personally. My muscles are fucking big and real, but I may have to suggest steroids for you scrawny fucks. Make the gym a daily trip - it's fucking EXTREMELY important. And obviously, every bro loves to lift. This is a fucking staple in their life and gym time is basically the equivalent of church. Sure bros like to look good for the ladies, but the real reason bros work out is so that they can talk about it to other bros. Much like girls will buy 100 pairs of shoes just so other girls see how stylish they are, bros want to be able to explain to other bros just how jacked they are. It just doesn’t get much better for a bro than finding out they bench more than any bro at the party. You can't be not in shape and be a bro. Going to the gym can also be great for picking up chicks. You can stand around flexing your muscles so the women can marvel at them. And when lifting weights, don't forget to 'groan' so you get attention at how much you're lifting and how buff you are. Also, you're trying to become a bro, but I guess you might be new at this. So you might need a personal trainer. But hey, if you're buff already, still get a personal trainer anyways - you can give her a workout back at your place.

Jobs

Dream Job

You're in charge of the booze and practically the whole fucking night - bartenders are fucking bro's.

It’s January of Senior Year. After a heated debate at Christmas dinner about your plans to take a 5th year so that you can focus on breaking the school record for sports classes taken, your Dad threatened to cut off tuition payment. What a fucking bro-hater. Doesn’t he realize College isn’t about class and shit? In addition to being a fucking dick and not paying 20 thousand dollars so you can learn about Frisbee Golf and Kickball II, he demanded you talk to the Career Counselor. For some reason he didn’t like it when you yelled, “But Dad can’t you get me a job?”. He started screaming some shit about responsibility, but you weren’t paying attention. Fuck him. He better be getting you a fucking car for graduation. Now you're sitting in this Career Counselor Bitch’s office. It’s been a while since you’ve been up before 1pm and the last thing you want to do is listen to some ugly old hag drone on about life after graduation. She starts rambling about bullshit like your “multiple conduct violations”, “terrible GPA”, “no extracurricular activities”, blah, blah, blah. Meanwhile all you can think about is how many beers it would take for you to bang this gruesome beast. That’s when she says something that actually hits you: “The key to career success is doing something you love”. Holy shit. It makes perfect sense now. You’re pretty sure there’s no company out there requiring their employees to “Have unprotected sex with hot random girls.” so you move to your second favorite thing: getting fucking wasted. You interrupt her and scream out, “I’ll DO IT!” as the she looks at you like you’re fucking crazy. You tear out of the building and sprint across campus like you’re playing the “press the rape button and run” game so you can break into your “liquor cabinet” aka the freezer and start pouring shots for your roommates. You’re gonna need all the practice you can get if you’re gonna land that dream job. For the first time in your life, you’re excited to enter the workforce. You’ll be applying to one of the most bro jobs in the fucking world. You’re gonna be a Bartender. Being a bartender is the only job worth doing for a bro - and let’s be honest - outside of illegal Mexican immigrants, nobody likes to fucking work. When people ask kids what they want to be when they grow up, do they ever say, “Jr. Consulting Analyst?”. Fuck no. So why the fuck are so many people graduating College and agreeing to work at some sellout Corporation just so they can make their parents “proud by getting a steady job?”. Bros don’t give a shit about making their parents proud. If a bro’s parents want to take pride in their son, they can do it by bragging to all their friends about how many chicks their kid’s banged. Becoming a bartender is one of the most selfless jobs in the World. Fuck all those losers teaching for America or joining the Peace Corps. Bartenders may not teach the alphabet to dumb-fuck 7th graders who don’t even know how to read or dig out holes in the ground for people to shit in, but I would argue they serve a much higher purpose. They help American men deal with the crippling bropression epidemic plaguing them daily by getting them wasted. Bartenders aren’t all about charity though – sometimes they take. In addition to living the bro dream of working in their natural habitat, girls fucking throw themselves at bartenders. It’s a proven scientific fact that chicks love powerful men and what’s more powerful than deciding who gets the next beer? I just can’t think of a better job than having drunk sluts PAYING you to get them more drunk. Anytime a girl buys a bartender a shot, it doesn’t mean she thinks "he’s sure doing a swell job!” – it means she wants to get banged. As bro as it is to be a bartender, knowing the bartender is fucking essential. Every group of bros has that one bro who tends the bar. Anytime he’s working you better believe everyone and their fucking mother is out there pounding free drinks. It really doesn’t matter how shitty the bar is – there could be fucking 80 year olds playing Bingo – as long as there’s free booze, bros are gonna be all over that shit. It’s gotta be funny to see the workers close up after a big night where all the bartender’s bros came in. After dishing out like $600 of drinks, there might be like $22 to show for it. Who gives a shit though? Just by having a fuckload of bros in your bar made it cool as shit in there. Bros should really be getting appearance fees for that shit. I’ll be the first guy to tell you tipping fucking sucks. I don’t need some fucking psyschopath rolling my bag for 20 feet at the airport and I definitely don’t need to pay that motherfucker to do it. While tipping people to do shit you can do yourself might be stupid as shit, there’s always a group of people who I’ll throw a dollar for a simple twist of the wrist. No, I’m not talking about hand-hookers, I’m talking a fucking Brofessional. I’m talking about Bartenders. Seriously, this is one of the only good jobs a bro can get. Fucking do it and become a bro king.

Banging Chicks from Work

Alternatively, sex on the photocopier is a bro place too.

But, let's say the worst comes to the worst. You don't get that fucking awesome dream job of a bartender. You're working in an office. Work fucking sucks. You’ve only been at it for three months, but they’ve been by far the worst of your entire life. You keep thinking, “Is this really the way I’m going to spend the rest of my life - like some fucking caged hamster? Why am I such a sellout to my bro roots? Am I becoming a bro-hater?”. Just as you enter the identity crisis that every working bro faces at some point in his lifetime you hear a knock at your cube – it’s that old annoying bitch that always talks about the fucking weather. Normally you’d just bust a silent fart to clear her out, but she’s got someone with her this time: “I’d like to introduce you to Jennifer – she’s our new employee”. Holy Fuck - Jennifer’s hot. She’s wearing one of those outfits trying to look professional and shit, but you can just tell by the way she’s eye-fucking you – she knows you’re a bro, and therefore she’s down to pound. Normal people spend months, maybe even years of “courting” someone at work before they even get the balls to ask them out, but you’re a bro, so normal rules don’t apply. You mouth the words, “3rd Floor Bathroom” to the new girl while giving her the international banging symbol of making a circle with your index finger and thumb of your left hand and rapidly sticking your right index finger through it. Ten minutes later, you and Jennifer are going at it in the handicapped stall as the motion-activated toilet repeatedly flushes. Talk about a good first day at work! She’s just lucky she met you – after all you’re a bro and you love banging girls from work. So, another great thing about work - you can bang girls from there. A lot of people are scared of banging girls from work because they think just hitting on them could be considered “sexual harassment”. Luckily, bros don’t have to worry about that shit. By definition, it’s only sexual harassment if the girl doesn’t want to be hit on, and let’s be honest, who the fuck doesn’t want to be hit on by a bro? If I’m not mistaken, it’s every girl’s fantasy to be fondled by one of us. I mean, why the fuck would they present themselves on the dance floor just begging us to rub our boners on them while Usher tells us how we should act “in the club” in the background? Anyways, banging a girl from work can be tricky since it’s not just your run of the mill one night stand who you tell you’ll definitely go out on a date with then never talk to again. You see these girls every day and NEWSFLASH: girls make shit fucking dramatic. Sure this blows, but the positive aspects far outweigh these issues. You'll be a fucking office hero. Just think about how shitty it is to work. Now think about doing it for like 20 years, with nothing but a wife and kids to go home to. Every office has got these guys who live vicariously through bros. Every Monday they want a full recap of all the shit you got into, while they imagine themselves doing it instead of their depressing actual weekend activities of yardwork, going to some 2 year old’s birthday party, or having missionary sex with their wife for the 4,000th time. So imagine their joy whenever they find out you banged the hot girl in the office. It makes their fucking year! They’ll call you the fucking man and thank you endlessly, usually with tears in their eyes. Then they’ll probably consider either getting a divorce or committing suicide so they can end the personal hell that is their marriage. Also, fucking blackmail. You would think girls would be proud for banging a bro at work, but for some reason, this isn’t the case. Typically, when girls submit to their natural carnal urges, they brush their girlfriends’ slut allegations off by claiming they were just really drunk because they didn’t eat dinner or some shit. However at work, it’s a different story. The last thing any girl wants to be known as is the “office slut”. Girls will do ANYTHING to prevent you from telling everyone in the office about your trip to Pound Town. Bros naturally take advantage of this. We agree to keep it a secret, knowing full well this means we’ll always have some shit on the girl. What the girls don’t know, is that even though bros promise they won’t tell anyone – you better fucking believe we tell everyone anyway. Seriously, what kind of charity do you think we’re running here? The fucking Make a Wish Foundation? We don’t care about your reputation – we care about ours. And you better fucking play it dumb. Say one night at the bar you run into “Hot Accounting Girl” who you’ve never talked to at work. One thing lead to another, and the night predictably ends up with some hot reverse Accounting-girl action. While she’s probably expecting you to ask her out to lunch at work next week, you don’t have to do that at all. Just pretend like nothing ever happened. You’ve never spoken to her at the office before, so why start now? Just keep pretending she’s a stranger. If she tries to talk to you, just act like she’s crazy. Pretending you were blacked out when you banged is always fucking clutch. If she gives you shit about being an asshole for not remembering hooking up, just be like, “So let me get these facts straight, I blacked the fuck out on Saturday night and now you’re telling me we had SEX? Oh my God...I feel so dead inside. That’s it - I’m getting a rape kit on my lunch break!”. Causing girls to think, even for a split-second, that they might get charged with date rape is about as bro as it fucking gets. If it were up to bros, they’d never get a fucking job. Unfortunately, at some point society forces bros to have their Dad call his old Squash buddy to hire them at his law firm. While many might consider time at the office a death sentence for a bro’s life, we capitalize on that shit. Bros realize there’s a reason there’s so many porns that take place in an office – it’s because that shit actually happens. After all, you can put a pantsuit on a chick, but it will never change the fact that she loves having random anonymous drunken sex with bros.

Money

It’s Sunday afternoon. You and your bros sitting around watching football and debating whether it was a retard or some guy with a hook for a hand that performed the abortion that is the football season. After about an hour of arguing that gets pretty personal to the point where punches are almost thrown, you come to an agreement: not only was the abortion done by a guy with a hook, but the hook was rusty as shit AND he had Parkinson’s disease. After about a half hour of doing impressions of “Captain Shakes, M.D.”, you get bored and hungry. You yell at some chick from last night, who for some reason is still hanging around, to bring over some fucking chips. Like a good chick she runs to the kitchen but gives you the worst news you’ve heard since the day Pamela Anderson had her fake tits downsized: there are no more chips. After laying into her because you ate all the chips last week, she starts to cry, calls you an asshole, and storms out of the house. Mission Accomplished. It’s finally halftime, so you and your bros decide to drive to 7-11 to pick up the essentials. Everyone packs in and starts talking about how much of a bitch that fucking chick was being. While one of your bros goes on about how she was probably on her period and how he just doesn’t trust anything that bleeds for a week without dying – you scream out, “Stop the car, NOW”. Since everyone knows you’re a fucking bro king the driver obliges, although hesitantly at first. You jump out of the car and yell, “I have to have it”. You’re bros look at each other as if to say, “Not again”. This red Corvette is amazing and without so much as a test drive, it’s yours. “How the fuck are you going to get that home?” your bro asks. For your normal, run-of-the mill bro-hater car, this would be a dumb question, but this isn’t any typical Corvette. It’s a fucking Power Wheels. As you slowly make your way home with your knees crammed in the front seat and 20 cars lined up honking behind you, you give them the finger. That will teach those pieces of shit a lesson – you’re a fucking bro, and you fucking love wasting money. Thanks to their fathers, bros are rich as shit and therefore don’t ever have to worry about money. Obviously, bros love dropping a shitload at the bar so they can be able to tell everyone they “did some fucking damage on my credit card last night”. But spending money at the bar is not a waste of money at all – it’s an investment in great stories and getting laid. What I’m talking about is dropping cash on shit that you would never need, except for the one time it’s going to be used for a joke. The more money you spend on it, the more laughs you will probably get, and therefore the more bro points you earn. Halloween is definitely a good time to drop a shitload of money for one night of hilarity. For example, I saw some guy last year at the bar that probably spent about $200 so he could dress up like a baby and have a grim reaper on his back. If you couldn’t figure it out, yeah he was a fucking abortion. Every bro should love “wasting” money on eBay. You should buy a gold chain with a huge fake diamond dollar bill sign on it, a belt buckle that has an upward arrow pointing to “The Man” and a downward arrow pointing to “The Legend”, grillz with fake diamond studs that say “PIMP”, and perhaps the most valuable asset to name – a Tom Gugliotta 1993 Starting Lineup action figure. Everyone knows bros have no limits – except for wasting money. Sure it’s all fun and games to spend $20 on a Transformers mask just so you can drink your beer from it all day and talk like Optimus Prime, but there is nothing funny about the biggest waste of money of all time: Charity. Bros would rather throw their fucking money away than give it to a homeless person. The only time it’s ever acceptable for a bro to give to charity is if there is an open bar attached to the event. That way you can not only get your money’s worth, but also drink more than you paid. Nothing beats taking money from some phony, made-up cause like “Save Darfur”, “Feed the World”, or “Cancer Research”. So the next time you see some shit at the store that you know would be fucking hilarious – don’t let something ridiculous like not being able to buy your family Christmas presents stop you. This holiday season give them the gift that they’ll remember – the gift of laughter. Sure your Mom might not see the humor in an XXXL Black T-shirt with "Player" written in gold, but fuck her. That's her fault. Nobody's perfect. Nobody, except of course for bros. Become a bro and fucking waste your money on shit you will use for 2 hours and then store in the trashcan.

Driving

It’s Wednesday afternoon. You’re fucking pissed off. After yelling at your parents for a half hour you hung up on them. For some reason, they are not buying the idea that books cost $3,000 this semester. Fucking bro-haters. After that abortion of a conversation you deserve a drink. You wade through the empty Natty cases lining the kitchen floor to get to the fridge, only to find a bottle of pickles and a shitload of mayonnaise. After googling, “Can you get fucked up on pickle water”, you finally accept it: you’re going to have to make a beer run. So you hop in your old school Jeep Wrangler, throw on your shades and make your way to the closest 7-11. As some shitty Katy Perry song blares from your blown out speakers, you gun it down the two-lane road to the promised land of drunkenness. That’s when you see it just over the hill. Some old fucking Oldsmobile with a handicapped license plate puttering along at about 15 MPH. This shit is not going to fly. You can’t fucking pass because there’s a shitload of traffic coming in the other direction, so you do the next best thing. Ride this old fuck’s tail. As you nearly touch his bumper, he doesn’t get the picture and stays on the road. You lay on the horn and start screaming shit like, “Get off the road Gramps!” and “The grave yard is the other way, old-timer!”. As he finally pulls to the side of the road, you pass him – it looks as though he’s been crying. Good – that’s what he gets for slowing you down. As you roll by, you shout out, “Driving won’t make your grandkids call you! Turn in your license, old man!”. Then you give him the fucking finger. It’s not your fault he ended up in tears - you’re a bro. It’s in your fucking blood. You love aggressive driving. Bros fucking own the road. This is not only because they are rich as shit, but it’s because they are the best fucking drivers in the world. I mean seriously, what other group of people are better drivers than bros? Women? Please – they are lucky bros even allow them to drive. Don’t even get me started on foreigners driving – they are the fucking worst. This is due to the fact that all the “cars” in their home countries have tails. Anyways the point is that because bros are such fucking amazing drivers, this entitles them to a shitload of respect on the road. By respect, I mean if you see a bro coming, you better fucking get out of his way. If not, said bro is entitled to use his car as a weapon. “B-B-But, isn’t that dangerous?”. Maybe for you, bitch. Learn to fucking drive or get off the road. Not only are you owning the road, you better fucking believe that the speed limit is just a fucking suggestion for shitty drivers. The faster you fucking go, the more bro cred you earn. But anyone can fucking say, “I was going like 120 in a 35,” so how do you prove it? By getting a fucking ticket. Sure, the fine sucks but your parents will pay for that shit, so the bigger the better, right? Bros treat their speeding tickets like fucking war medals. Bros love saying shit like, “Dude, I just got like a $300 ticket for going 90 in a school zone”. This is usually followed by a shitload of fist pounds and chest bumps, not to mention all the drinks your bros will buy you since you just got fucked over by the pigs. Also, you better get a fucking nice ride. You're more likely to pick up a chick if you're in a hot piece of transportation. Get the roof down, blast some fucking music, put your shades on and honk at the sexy chicks you drive past.

Your Pad

If you get kicked out, you better fucking throw a leaving party like this.

Ever since they sprouted their first pubes, bros have looked forward to the greatest four (or five) years of their lives. College represents that window in every bro’s life where he gets as fucked up as humanly possible and bang chicks nightly without having to make any fucking excuses whatsoever, because, come on, it’s College. But it doesn't last forever. So, you're gonna have to get a place of your own. Times are tough right now, so it’s gonna be tempting to move back home with the parents to save money. Bad fucking idea. Parents can be some of the biggest Brocists on the planet. All you’ll fucking hear about is how it’s not “healthy” to sleep in until noon. Or how puking on a Tuesday night means you have a drinking problem. I just don’t fucking get it - for four years of College, your parents didn’t give a shit where you were at 4 am or how many dirty clothes were on your bedroom floor, but the minute you move back in, it’s like you’re some 14 year old kid again. Fuck that shit, you’re a bro, by definition one of the smartest people on the fucking planet. Your parents don’t know shit about our constant struggle with society. Find a place with a few of your bros within walking distance of bars – it doesn’t matter how shitty the place. I had girls come back to my shithole of a house right after College and while they were disgusted with it, they still fucking banged me anyways. It’s a proven scientific fact that bros could bang a chick on a fucking pile of garbage if they needed to. So, you're gonna have to get a mutha fuckin' bro pad. All of you fucking bro wannabes who are living at home with Mommy and Daddy or much worse – with your girlfriend/wife, time to change the website. Go ahead, go back to TMZ and find out what Brangelina is up to. You gone? Good. Now it’s time to talk about the staple of any bro’s life. His fucking pad. “Oh this post is about bachelor pads!”. If you just said that to yourself, get the fuck out of here, better yet, go an hero. The difference between bachelors and bros is that bachelors plan to marry. Bros on the other hand are smart enough to recognize that marriage is a violent crime against nature and it will not be tolerated. So, once you've moved into your, well, not-so modern pad, you gonna wanna name your new crib. Back in the 80’s bros would name their cars. These days their prized possession has become the house they rent. Back in college I lived in “The Yellow House” which was actually brown (how ridiculous is that?!?!). But you better fucking name your pad something socially acceptable. Something like 'The Brotel' or 'The Brostel'. Bros fucking love giving their place a title. And I know you guys are expecting this part of the article to say "DERP SPEND SHIT LOADS ON YOUR PAD MAKE IT FANCY AND MODERN LOL". You don't need to spend a ridiculous amount on your pad. All you need is a bed and a shit load of spare sheets. I actually can't believe when you go into some people's pads and they have fucking 60 inch tv's - why the fuck do you need one of them? What a fucking waste of money, I'd only get one for the sports. So, on the checklist, get a bed for your pad. I also recommend getting three couches in your living room and if it’s a good night aka every night you go out to get fucked up they will be filled. Bros will then immediately start calling/texting their other bros to tell them just how many bros stayed at their place. They will also add, “What can I say bro, we fucking threw down last night!”. If you are ever able to honestly say that you have over ten bros crashing at your house, you have the potential to become a bro king. But, worst case sceneario. Your renter getting his fucking man panties in a twist that your disturbing neighbours and ruining the place. So he tells you, you can't fucking stay their anymore. Bros suffer bro-cism from renters. For some reason, owners of nice houses don’t want to rent to a group of young men. This is because the owners are smart. Fine. You're getting kicked out of the place - you have 3 hours to move your shit. Well, if that happens, you better fucking believe your gonna throw a leaving party of the likes no one has seen before. For the party, buy a hose and cover the apartment with water - try to make an indoor pool. If it doesn’t work, oh well, settle for a slip and slide. At this point your probably gonna have a fuck load of dirty dishes built up. But why would you clean them if you were just going to move out? Instead, just throw all the dirty dishes in the backyard, along with any trash they might have. By the next day, there should be some new pet rats hanging around. So seriously guys, become a bro and get your own fucking place - chicks won't care too much if it's not exactly Buckingham Palace.

Giving Other People Shit

You’re sitting on the front steps of your bro pad with all your bros. It’s just a typical Tuesday afternoon, so obviously you’ve been drinking for like 3 hours. You’ve managed to pass the time by arguing about whether Lady Gaga is actually a hermaphrodite and checking out facebook pictures of girls you’ve banged on your iPhone. It’s been pretty much a perfect afternoon, but it’s about to get much better. Since your house is close to a busy section of campus, you get to see a shitload of freak shows walking by every day. Today is no exception. So far you’ve seen three goth chicks, a guy who looked like he was dead at one point, and a mammoth beast of a woman walk by. Since everyone was focused on the $5 a point testicle toss match up, nobody really bothered to make fun of them, but things are about to change. Just as you finish pounding your 10th Coors Light, it emerges from behind a building. Standing about 5 feet tall with bright orange hair, massive braces, horrid acne and weighing about 250 pounds, it makes its way closer to your house. Immediately two of your bros fall down they are laughing so hard, so you realize it’s up to you to punish this guy for choosing to look this way. “All Hail – The Great Pumpkin King!!!”. You’re bros are literally holding the tips of their dicks to stop from pissing their pants. You remember you have a lighter in your pocket so you run up to him, make him hold it, and get all your bros to crowd around in a circle chanting “Jack-O-Lantern!”. He starts to cry and runs (slowly) away. I mean, come on, it’s not your fault. If he didn’t want to have to call his mother in tears, he shouldn’t have tried to pick a fight with bros. Mission Accomplished. While Bro Kings are the only truly perfect people in the world, bros are a very close second. Unfortunately, because of brocism and bropression, there are evil-doers in the world who claim that bros are simply assholes, ignoring the fact that they are the most elite members of society. These delusional people, considered in many circles to be a bigger threat than terrorists, are called Bro-Haters and they fall under the broad societal category known as “Losers”. Bros are so much better than losers it’s not even fucking funny. Everyone fucking knows it. I know it’s hard to believe but some losers haven’t even been laid. How ridiculous is that? I’m going to say something right now that may incense and enrage all you bros out there – some of these losers think they are better than us. If you didn’t just smash your computer screen, then I’ll tell you why. They tell themselves that because they study and don’t cheat on all their exams and shit that they will have a high powered, high paid job someday, thus making them more attractive to chicks. Newsflash you fucking losers: Bros are already rich as shit and get chicks whenever they want. Dumb fucks. So you better fucking give these people shit. Attack their physical characterisitcs - honestly, there’s no better way to put some fucking loser down than state the facts. Being short, fat, having braces, going bald, huge glasses, giant ears or nose are all solid places to start. If by miracle of God he doesn’t have any of these faulty characteristics just say he has a tiny dick, which he probably does. Making fun of losers’ physical features is the closest that a bro will ever come to doing charity work. By realizing what makes them ugly, losers can now get plastic surgery to fix themselves. And you better fucking exploit their sports weakness – bros fucking dominate sports (apart from jocks). So, it’s pretty easy to recognize a loser during physical activity. Say you have a Volleyball class or some shit. Find the biggest loser on the other team and spike the shit out of the ball at him. Obviously, he’s not going to return that shit, and you might even get the bonus of breaking his glasses so he plays even worse. This will make everyone on his team hate him and all the chicks want to bang you. And to make it even funnier - do it in public. I can’t stress this enough – in the never ending one-sided battle between bros and losers, although it feels fucking great to give losers shit when it’s just the two of you, there must be others present. We need to spread the word about how much better bros are than losers and it’s just a waste of time if you don’t do it in front of an audience. The bigger the fucking better. Say the valedictorian from your class gets up to give the commencement address. Fucking boo that loser. Fucking nerd. Anytime some loser gets an award at work I spread rumors about how I heard them masturbating in the bathroom. They usually get written up. Fucking loser. Serves them right for taking shit away from its rightful owner. To become a bro, you gotta give other people lots of shit.

Lying

"Sir, how many drinks have you had?" "One.. GALLON!"

Holy shit, you’re fucked. It was just a couple weeks ago that your Dad sat you down and told you that you needed to get your shit together or else he’s going to stop paying for your tuition and rent and now this shit happens. Apparently some fucking bro hater saw you and your bros drive a golf cart into the campus lake and watch it sink while one of your bros played “My Heart Will Go On” on his kazoo. For some strange reason the fucking administration and honor council are both taking the word of the bro hater over that of a bro. How anyone can ever even think of bringing a child into a world where injustices like this go on is fucking beyond me. The Dean is pissed. With a smirk slowly crawling across his stupid fucking bro hater face, he hits you with it: “You’re expelled”. You’re head starts to spin. What the fuck just happened? Is College really over? What the fuck is going on? Am I really going to have to live at home and go to Community College with all those meth-addicts and girls who got knocked up in high school? Dejected, you quietly mutter to yourself, “This is worse than living in Haiti”. As you get back to your Bro Pad to start packing up your shit, you immediately see the answer to all your problems sitting in your living room. It’s six feet tall and purple. It’s a symbol of just how much of a bro you truly are. It’s the lifesize statue of Grimace that you and your bros stole from McDonald’s this past weekend. You immediately realize that no fucking bro hater is going to end your Senior year. After all, your parents don’t even know about this shit, not to mention they’ve already paid tuition. All you need for the next four months is rent and beer money. It’s time to pull off one of the greatest bro pastimes ever. It’s time to fucking lie. Sure your parents will find out eventually when you never get your diploma, but who gives a fuck. Graduation is pretty fucking far away and there’s drinking and slamming to be done. Besides, you’re a bro, by definition one of the smartest people on the planet – you’ll think of something. In the mean time, with pesky school out of the way, all you’ll have to do for the next couple months is drinking, banging, and lying through your fucking teeth to your parents so they’ll keep sending you money. Bros fucking love to lie. They fucking do it all the time. You know who loves to tell the truth? That’s right, fucking bro haters. What the fuck does telling the truth get you? A fucking merit badge for your Boy Scout sash? Fuck that. Bros realize that everyone lies, but much like everything else in life (drinking and driving, having sex with strangers, having rich parents, etc.) bros have perfected that shit. Say you’re driving down the street and you come to a stop light. All of the sudden some old woman who looks like she crawled out of her grave this morning motions for you to roll down your window. “Excuse me Sonny – can you tell me how to get to the Pharmacy. I have to pick up my medication and can’t seem to remember quite where it is”. “Oh no problem”, and you give her the directions – or so she thinks. Little does she know you just sent her on a wild goose chase on the fucking Interstate. Hilarious. Maybe next time she’ll wise up and invest some of that drug money into a navigation system. To add major bro-cred, you should lie to the police. Throughout the history of time, there has never been a documented case of a true bro ever being honest with the fucking cops. I mean how could you ever be expected to when they ask such condemning questions, like, “How much have you had to drink tonight?” or “Sir, Is that weed I smell?” or “Did you really think it was a good idea to take a dump on the hood of a school bus in broad daylight?”. I mean, seriously, what do we look like? Fucking idiots? Of course we’re gonna lie about that shit. It’s called the 5th amendment, bitch. Sure it’s fun to fuck around with old people and avoid getting arrested, but when it comes down to it, there’s one group of people who bros have mastered the art of lying to: fucking chicks. Everyone fucking knows that bros are like a million times smarter than any girl, but when we start to use that superior intelligence to our advantage is when there’s just no chance at all for girls. Bros fucking love getting wasted and telling girls ridiculous lies like, “I lost you’re number, but now that you gave it to me a second time I’ll definitely call you”, “I’ll totally take you out on a date next week”, or “I’ll pull out”. I mean please, if you actually believe a bro when he says something like, “I don’t want to be with anyone else except you”, then you might as well believe in fucking Rumpelstiltskin too, because its pretty much a fairy tale. Bros realize just how fucking amazing that they are, but every now and then they need that extra boost. You're trying to become a bro, one of the most important and influential people in the entire world. People will believe anything you say.

Greeting your Bro's

So, you’re at the bar. All of the sudden some guy you used to shotgun beers with back in college comes up to you. You’re fucking thrilled to see him, but unlike bras who in this situation would start screaming and hugging immediately, you are a bro so you stay in control. You interlock hands and give a half brother hug pounding your fist against his back. Sure this is an obvious move for this situation, but which situations warrant the different types of bro-shakes. You can go for the fist pound - Bros love Black guys. Therefore, they try to do anything that Black guys think is cool. I’m pretty sure that Black guys don’t think fist pounding is cool anymore, and that’s probably because bros have started doing it. A simple fist pound – executed correctly – can be one of the smoothest moves for a bro. Things to remember – don’t force a fist pound. You have to be sure you are going to get the fist pound back, you don’t want to have the terrible bro-ment where you go for the fist pound while the other bro is going for the interlocking handshake. You just end up looking like an idiot and more importantly, everyone will know you are not a bro. Also, never overdo fist pounds. If you ever have to say “pound it” you are overdoing it. Finally, no bro should ever EVER pretend that the fist pound is a bomb. Pretending a fist pound is a bomb gives one instant bro-hater status. Instead of a fist pound, you can go for a high five - a classic bro move. It is a fact that high fives are an extremely underrated art form, and they are most prevalent to mid 80’s to early 90’s when the Saved by the Bell gang used to get the group five together to close out another killer episode. However, these days the high five has become a much less personal greeting. Bros rarely will greet other bros with high fives, instead they save the high five for girls they have recently drunkenly hooked up with. It’s the perfect go to when you haven’t called a girl for weeks and you run into her at the bar. You are pretty sure you are going to get resistance if you go in for the hug so instead you give a non-awkward high five. The high five basically says, “Hey, sure it looks pretty obvious I didn’t want anything to do with you, but come on slap my hand and maybe we can get drunk tonight and bring back that dorm room passion we shared with your roommate on the bottom bunk crying audibly while she pretended to sleep. And lastly, you can go for a interlocking handshake – we really aren’t that far away from this becoming the new acceptable handshake. You can always tell you are meeting a bro because instead of the 20th century style handshake, you immediately get the interlocking thumb grip into finger cupping.

The Comprehensive Guide to Becoming a Bro
is part of a series on

Life

[BRB HugboxGo Live One]

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People In Your Life	25-Year-Old Girl • Army • Brother • Cops • Cripples • Dad • Gays • Grandma • Jews • Military • Military Wives • Mom • Niggers • Old People • People (duh) • Paedophiles • Sister • Uncle •
See Also	The Comprehensive Guide To Life • Cupcake Thief • Curvy • Hero • IRL • King Of The Nerds • List of Proposed Internet-Based IRL Communities • Minimalism • Night Auditor • Pain (Physical) • Pokémon Go