It’s 2:45 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.” After parties are the shit – back in freshman year, we used to just sit around at parties talking about all the things we were going to destroy in our dorm hall for our maid to clean up on Monday morning. One week she threatened to quit when we threw an entire cake at the ceiling and someone put a block of wood in the toilet then took a huge shit on top of it so it wouldn’t flush. That maid was such a bitch.
Another great thing about after parties is that slam pieces fucking love them. If it weren’t for the fact that they have un-bangable, ugly friends who judge them for being whores, slam pieces 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 slam piece, 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 slam piece 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, the next time you hear the bell ring at the bar and some old man scream out “Last Call for Alcohol!” remember that this is just a suggestion from the bro-hater that is society. While the night wraps up for all the other losers out there, it’s just getting started for bros.