So there I am Saturday night, just minding my business at The Starboard in Dewey Beach. We had gone out to the bars at 3pm. It was now 12:30am. I hadn’t spoken for a good solid hour and a half, because quite frankly I think I had forgotten how. Sure I couldn’t talk, but because I’m a bro, I wasn’t going to give up on picking up a slam piece. I decided to be bold – just try to make out with any girl that walks by. For some reason, these particular slam pieces didn’t take too kindly to my moves. That’s when I decided it would be good to trap them. As they tried to run away from me I would lift my Rik Smits jersey up and cover them inside of my shirt. Shockingly, this did not work either. That’s when I got the tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see three bouncers ready to end my night. I got kicked out.
Bros never want to leave bars, unless of course it’s to hook with a slam piece. 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.
Perhaps my favorite story of one of my bros getting kicked out comes from a Bruce Springsteen concert Junior Year at Shea Stadium. My bro bet himself that he couldn’t drink an entire 30 pack by himself. Let’s just say that everyone won that bet. About a half hour into the concert my bro decided that he wanted a souvenir from the concert – the stadium seats. So, all 250 pounds of him began jumping up and down on the seats as families watched nearby. After about 10 minutes of work he was successful! It was at this point where other concert goers started yelling at him to stop. He started yelling back at them, probably about things he would do to their grandmother’s corpse. This rubbed the mothers with children/bro haters the wrong way and they got the cops involved. I believe it was the exact moment where my bro was yelling obscenities at innocent bystanders while being escorted by 13 of New York’s finest that he officially earned the title of Bro King.