It’s 11 PM on a Saturday night, normally at this point you and your bros are chugging the last of your brews on the walk to the bars, but today is different. As your bros are having a contest to see how many puffs of a #74 cigarette they can inhale through their nose before they throw up, you try your best to sober yourself up so that the bartender will serve you. After finding something to lean on and practicing “One #43 Red Bull Vodka, please” for five minutes, you’re finally ready. Just as the bartender gives you the head nod to take your order, you feel a pinch at your ass. At first you think it’s your #37 DOFF who often has strange gay tendencies when he gets drunk, but then you quickly realize who it is: the slut you banged last weekend.
“Hey Stranger!” she says – obviously you haven’t #49 called her. In fact, the only reason you remember her name is because she facebooked you.
“Hey…There…You,” you reply, check that - you don’t remember her name.
“Why didn’t you call?” she says.
Under normal circumstances you would tell her the truth: because you and your bros had an impromptu game of “Slam Piece Deal or No Deal” by looking at her facebook pictures, including the ones where she’s in her bikini that she de-tagged from her album entitled “I’m On A Boat!” and there was a resounding “NO DEAL!!” Fuck you banker. But you are drunk as shit and this might be your best chance at romance for the night, so you go with your patented, "I was scared that I might get hurt."
Within a matter of minutes you are #29 grinding on the dance floor to some shitty Ne Yo song telling her all kinds of ridiculous lies like, “I think you’re a special person,” “I’m interested in your feelings,” and “Let’s go out on a date sometime.” You are definitely getting laid with all this ‘A’ game you are spitting. That’s when your bro grabs you.
“Dude we gotta go.”
“Fuck off man, I’m in love.”
“Yo man, we’re not leaving you behind again – remember what happened last time.”
At first you get pissed off, but then you think back to last month when the Fire Department had to come pull you out of a sewer because you got so wasted that you thought you were a fucking Ninja Turtle. Apparently you ordered a pizza and decided to just eat it at “home.” After six hours of yelling “Turtle Power!!” “Gnarly!!” and “Cowabunga!!” someone finally heard you and called the Police. As much fun as a sequel might be, you realize you could pound this slam piece anytime – you have her number under “facebook slut” in your phone so you’re good to go. Sure you’ve been bouncing from bar to bar for the past seven hours, but last time you checked they are still open for four more. Some girl who doesn’t even have a name is not going to stop you and your bros from completing your mission. This night must go on. This bar crawl has just begun.
Over the course of time, bros develop an affinity for certain bars and will go there pretty much any chance they fucking get. Reasons behind their love include cheap brew, a band they like to see, and most importantly a good track record for #31 one night stands. But much like their reasoning in never wanting to get married, bros need variety in their bar scene. There’s no better way to mix shit up than a 10-stop bar crawl. Here’s a couple ways to capitalize on a good crawl:
Theme Crawl: Bros fucking love being the center of attention. What better way than walking down the street past some family of four going to dinner dressed like Payne “Cory Lidle” Stewart? Theme Bar crawls provide the best opportunity to have everyone in the bar wondering what the fuck is up with you. With mystery comes slam pieces approaching you, which in turn leads to #52 banging on top of some big pile of coats in a closet at the bar. Bar golf is a favorite amongst bros, but pretty much anything works.
Taking Over – Bar crawls are the perfect place for bros to wreak absolute fucking havoc. Normally when bros go out, they tend to try not to get #kicked out of the bar. Sure, it’s fun as shit and gives you mad bro cred, but it’s a fucking pain to either sneak back in or get all your bros to come to another bar. However, on a bar crawl, you’re fucking invincible. Since you’ll be leaving the bar in half an hour anyway, why the fuck wouldn’t you do everything in your power to get thrown out? #55 Break shit. Light shit on #33 fire. Who the fuck cares? For those 30 minutes you and your bros own that fucking bar. Everyone there should feel honored that you actually graced them with your presence. So what if you “ruined their dinner” by #48 puking right next to their table. Is that your problem? Fuck no. If they didn’t want bros booting all over their food, they shouldn’t have made 7 pm reservations at a Chinese Restaurant that serves $3 Sake bombs. Dumb fucks.
So this weekend, when you and your bros are trying to figure out where to go get fucked up, be bold. Stand up and declare, “All of them!” At first your bros will be hesitant, but a slow clap will soon develop into a chant of “Bar Crawl.” One bar? Please, that’s fucking amateur hour. Bros fucking love bar crawls.