Tonight’s going to be fucking crazy. After a long, busy day of lying on the couch watching Skip Bayless argue that Sasha Vujacic is the greatest player to ever wear a Lakers uniform, it’s finally time to blow off some steam and get your motherfucking drink on. You and your bros are having people over to #35 pregame so you get the house ready for company aka turn music on and pour cups of warm water for #6 beer pong. As people start to file into your #32 bro pad, one of your bros comes up to you and gives you a #13 fist bump.
“Bro, did you end up sealing to deal last night?” he says.
You look at him like he’s fucking Simple Jack. Seal the deal? Does he even realize who you are?
“Of course I fucking sealed the deal. We ended up banging in some #52 little kid’s tree house.”
“Holy shit, that’s fucking awesome! So is she coming over here tonight?”
You just slowly shake your head at him. What is this? Fucking amateur hour?
As the pregame starts to pick up you get a text from some slam piece you slayed last week: “Going out 2nite??? ;)” Under normal circumstances you would be all over this, but not tonight. As you take a lap around the room, you start to get involved in a hot debate about who you would rather bang: #100 Snookie or "Precious," when a hand grabs you. It’s “#28 Big Rack Runner Chick” from your Art of India class.
“Hey, is this your house?”
“You better fucking believe it.”
“My name is (doesn’t matter.)”
“Hey, nice to meet you…you.” (You’ve already forgotten her name.)
“Well could I get a tour of the place?”
You immediately take her to your bedroom to show her your #17 Swingers poster collection and within minutes she’s all over you. Your bro from earlier walks by the half open door with a look of amazement on his face. You make eye contact and slowly pump your fist up and down and yell out “Toot!! Toot!!!” That’s right - you’re the conductor on this fucking train. Next stop: Pound Town.
Afterwards, as she disappears to the bathroom to do whatever it is that girls do after getting banged, you emerge from your room. Your bros immediately start yelling out old NBA Jam catch phrases like “He’s heating up!!” and “He’s on FIRE!!” At that moment, you feel as though you could hook up with Marisa Miller. You’re riding a hot streak of Ripken proportions and you are fucking invincible.
There are definitely times where all bros are forced to dip down to the dredges of humanity and hook up with a #78 fat girl. This is called rock bottom. But for any true bro, this service to society is rewarded with the pinnacle of all things bro: the hot streak. Hot streaks can last any amount of time, from a weekend to a month to their entire lives (for true bro kings.) No matter the length of the hot streak, a bro enjoying one can do no wrong.
Slam pieces must seriously have a sixth sense for bros riding high on hot streaks, because in the midst of a streak, a bro has to do even less work than usual. Not only do bros have to put in less effort aka not have to text a girl at 2am, but the quality of the girl during the hot streak is extremely high. This means if you fucked two fatties in a weekend, you are not on a hot streak, and to be honest, you’re not even a fucking bro. Just leave us alone and go fucking rub one out at Sea World.
Whether this weekend marks the start, middle, or end of your hot streak, remember to cherish the high. Hit on everything that fucking walks. Extend it as long as possible, but remember, much like all good things, hot streaks must eventually come to an end. When it does, don’t worry, you’re a fucking bro, and you’re always just one slam piece away from the start of a new streak.