It’s Thursday night and you’re fucking thirsty. You and your bros have three slam pieces over to #35 pregame to your new power hour DVD. While punishing that case of Natty was fucking amazing and the tracks to Pound Town were no doubt laid, there’s a problem: you’re out of fucking beer. Immediately, the fat girl the hot slam pieces insisted on airlifting in notices. “I thought this was a pregame! I want to drink!!” As every bone in your body is aching to ask her what’s it like to be the World Famous “Tub Girl,” you stop yourself – sure it would be fun as shit to make that #44 fat girl cry, but if she leaves, her friends, who actually have a purpose in life outside of eating every living being, will leave too. You settle down and weigh your options. You could #23 drive to go pick up some more brew or you could do what any bro in this situation would do: call your bitch.
You scroll through the names in your phone, passing hazy entries such as “Ass=nice,” and “Big Tits Starboard” until you finally find his name: “Bitch.” You dial the number and before you even hear a ring, he picks up the phone.
“What’s up man – are you guys getting fucked up?” he says.
“You know it man, only problem is, we’re running low on bee...”
“I’ll be right over – 30 pack good? How about two? I’ll get two, just in case.”
Ten minutes later, “bitch” comes running in the door, out of breath, with two racks and a fucking bottle of Captain Mo, screaming “I’m sorry, I got here as soon as I can – I clipped a biker on the way – I didn’t stop though because I didn’t want for the beer to get warm – I think the biker’s wife might have seen my plates so I could be in trou..”
As the slam pieces look on in horror at the bitch’s story you and your bros just start making whiny baby noises. You grab the beer from him, start chugging, and remind him that he’s only allowed to hang out if he’s not going to be fucking annoying all night long. As he sits there, still in shock , you smile to yourself. While a normal person might console a person who just ran over a guy on a bike, you’re not a normal person. You’re a bro, by definition one of the smartest people on the fucking planet, and you’ve just kept your bitch in check. Thanks to your bitch, while that biker might be heading to the emergency room - there’s only one place you’re heading tonight: Pound Town.
While all bros are created equal, your bitch is the exception. While the bitch might think that he is a bro just because you let him hang out with you, bros know what he really is: a piece of fucking shit. A bitch can never become a fucking bro. Obviously, bitches have no fucking clue about this since they’re so fucking stupid and will do anything just to hang out with bros. By leading your bitch on to think that he can actually become friends with you, not only are you giving him a dream to work towards, but you are also giving your bros countless hours of free entertainment. Let’s take a look at a couple of the things that make having a bitch so fucking great.
He’s an ATM – Sure bros are rich as shit, but why the fuck would you spend your Dad’s hard earned money when you can get someone else to do it? Whenever you invite your bitch to hang out with you, it’s understood that he better be paying for every fucking thing you do. You better believe anytime your bitch opens up a tab at the bar everyone and their fucking mother is going to know about it. The bitch might try to stop you by saying bullshit like “only three people can use my tab – I need that money for my medication!” but this just means he needs to be reminded of the privilege that it is to hang out with you until he agrees to buy everyone at the bar a shot.
Making Fun of Him – Making fun of people is the shit. Not only does it make you look better than that person, but it’s fucking hilarious. That’s the beauty of having a bitch – you can do pretty much anything you want to him and five minutes later he’ll be congratulating you on a great joke. For example, one late drunken night back in College we convinced one of our bitches that if you lost a game of “hot potato” with a soccer ball, you had to shave one of your eyebrows. Obviously we all threw the ball softly to each other, until it was time to toss the ball to the bitch. I can still see my bro standing two feet away from the bitch and winding up with everything he had and pegging the ball. As the ball ricocheted off his shoulder, his head dropped. He knew what dropping the ball meant in the sacred bylaws of the game we had invented five minutes earlier, so he took his seat in a chair on our porch. As we all sat around, watching one of my bros shave his eyebrow with a buzzer normally reserved for pube-trimming, we realized this was one of the greatest things we’d ever done.We thought we had seen the last of the bitch, but sure enough the next night he came back 30 rack in hand to willingly get his other eyebrow shaven - you know, so he wouldn’t look like some sort of one-eye browed freak. Bros: 1. Bitch: 0.
Bros are fucking exclusive as hell. Not just anyone can be one of the smartest, #109 best looking, and richest people on the fucking planet. That doesn’t mean that there are under qualified people out there who try. Much like hot girls need fat ugly girls around at all times to appear better looking, bros keep bitches around to remind themselves just how truly fucking awesome they are. Bros are the shit.