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 Redskins 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 slam piece from last night, who for some reason is still hanging around, to bring over some fucking chips. Like a good slam piece she runs to the kitchen but gives you the worst news you’ve heard since the day Pamela Anderson had her #69 fake tits downsized: there are no more chips. After laying into her because you ate all the chips last week, she starts to #44 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 slam piece 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 #14 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. #86 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. I fucking love “wasting” money on eBay. Recently I’ve bought 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 my 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 #38 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.