It’s Saturday night. You and your bros just got #40 kicked out of the bar. Apparently the bouncers didn’t appreciate your Big Guy shattering their flat screen with a pool ball. After trying to explain to them for like 20 minutes that it was done because of a dare, they threaten to call the cops. Fucking unreasonable bro haters. You let those loser high school drop out bouncers know that not only can they expect to lose the thousands of dollars from your business, but they can also expect to hear from your attorney. That bar is going to fucking pay.
Anyways, as you make your way outside you quickly remember you are not in the best part of town. As you walk down the street talking about how you think you just saw Snoop and Chris Partlow from #73 The Wire drive by, some crazy dude in a red bandana comes hobbling out of the shadows. Normally, as a bro, you would start making fun of him and ask him questions like, “Do you even belong to a Country Club,” but something doesn’t feel right. You flash back to the time you saw Boyz ‘n the Hood and realize this isn’t just some #38 homeless guy – it’s a fucking Blood. He pulls a gun out and yells, “Now give me all yo money white boys.” Your mind is racing – your gut tells you to tell him about how #14 important your father is, but that might just get your ass kidnapped. That’s when you remember – Tyson, your Black bro is hanging out tonight.
“Excuse me, Plaxico -- It’s all-good,” you tell him.
“What’s fucking good, bitch?”
You point to Tyson and immediately the killer drops his weapon and goes in for the brother hug. Within minutes you're all sippin’ some Hen’, smoking some #70 chronic shit and #4 chanting “Yes We Did!” As you make your move back home, your new friend gives you his number just in case we ever run into anyone that “needs some killin’.”
Walking down the street you look at Tyson and just say, “Thanks.”
He’s fucking hammered and really high, so he can’t remember and responds, “For What?”
“For the street cred.”
Bros fucking love the Token Black Bro.
Bros fucking love Black guys. Throughout the years bros have adopted much of their social practices after Black guys. This includes #29 grinding, rap music, pretty much whatever #13 handshake/fist pound/half hug Black guys thought was cool six months ago, and most importantly, #24 having sex without condoms. Bros fucking hate being behind the emerging trends “on the street,” so in order to effectively keep up with the newest Black trends, bros bring the street to them. Enter Token Black Bro. Admittedly, the Token Black Bro is often Whiter than any of the bros themselves but that shit doesn’t matter. Just because he has 20 times as much Brooks Brothers apparel as he does FUBU and has been to more O.A.R. concerts than Lil’ Wayne, Three 6 Mafia, and Snoop Dogg concerts combined doesn’t mean shit. He’s still Black and had to struggle through being the best athlete all throughout Private School. Racist. I recently moved into a new #32 Bro Pad and after a few months of living with a Black guy, I’ve found in addition to the sick street cred I’ve gained, there are a couple other reasons why having a Token Black Bro is the shit.
Jokes – I always love it when people ask me about living in my new spot. Immediately I tell them I fucking love it, but there are issues: “Yeah, its great and all living there, but it just sucks because the DVR is always fucking full of Tyler Perry episodes.” Basically, now that I live with a Black guy, I can tell racist jokes and if anyone gets offended and calls me a racist, I can just turn that shit on them and say, “Sounds like the pot calling the kettle black to me, you racist! Do you even have a Black roommate? I didn’t fucking think so.” Bitch.
Telling Girls Your Black Bro Is Famous – I don’t care who you are or how “colorblind” you are – the first time you see a big athletic looking Black Guy you immediately wonder what College or Professional sport he plays. Since bros are the smartest people on the planet, you better believe we’re using society’s racism against them. Early this summer at the beach, we noticed that our Black Bro had a resemblance to Stephen Curry only in the sense that he was tall, light skinned and had short hair. Our bro had a good 60 pounds on Steph and there really is very little resemblance elsewhere. You know who didn’t know that? Slam Pieces. We’re all 6’3’’ and over so we told everyone and their fucking mother that we were all his Davidson teammates celebrating him just getting drafted the week prior. As we moved from #92 bar to bar chanting his name, just as Curry’s real friends would do, our Black Bro started getting autograph requests. At dinner our waitress had “Stephen” autograph a menu so it could be hung up on the wall. Unfortunately for her, she was unable to hook up with the “millionaire” that night. She had to settle for one of the guys in his entourage. She’s so lucky.
So the next time you see a Black guy hanging out with a group of White guys, don’t wonder what he’s doing there. He’s the Token Black Bro, teaching the rest of the bros the way of the street.