God damn your seats are fucking amazing. Thanks to your bro’s #14 Dad, you and six of your bros are sitting in the first row down the third baseline. While the game is boring as shit due to the fact that it’s baseball, you’re a fucking bro so you know how to make anything fun: getting fucking wasted. One of your bros suggested that you guys drink a beer an inning, but everyone agreed they were trying to get drunk and not just buzzed, so you decided to go a brew every half inning. By the sixth inning, the usher has already come to your section three times to ask you guys to keep the #91 profanity, #77 heckling, and masturbation pantomimes to a minimum. Each time your bro politely informed him that “My Dad fucking owns you. Take your 3rd grade education back to where you belong inspecting tickets wiping down seats.” Needless to say, you guys are feeling fucking invincible.
As the 7th inning stretch comes around, you’re getting tired of trying to get the right field ball girl aka #“Ball Slut” to flash you. You decide you need to spice things up. Luckily Timmy is there. Timmy is the bro who is without a doubt the craziest fucking guy in your whole group – motherfucker will do anything, but he always needs the proper encouragement.
“Hey Timmy – you won’t run onto the field and slide headfirst into homeplate,” you say.
“Nah man, I’m fucking wasted, but I’m not trying to go to jail tonight.”
Immediately everyone catches on and starts calling him a bitch and making chicken noises. Timmy doesn’t like this shit.
“Fuck you guys – why do I always have to do the crazy shit.”
You don’t even answer him, just keep asking him shit like, “Maybe next time we should invite your fucking husband, Alice!”
It’s really starting to get to him. His will power is starting to break down faster than a fat girl alone with a box of Twinkies. You and your bros have seen this look before – it’s time to break out the reinforcements. Slowly at first, you start it: “Tim-my! Tim-my!” All your bros join in, screaming and #4 chanting mercilessly, “TIM-MY! TIM-MY!” Like Lawrence Taylor at a #111 High School Pep Rally– he’s fucking helpless. Within seconds Timmy is making a bee-line for home plate. You and your bros are fucking dying laughing. As security chases him down the third base line, Timmy tears down the line and does a Superman leap into the air. The umpire gives him a mock “safe” call as 15 officers arrest him. As they lead him out of the stadium to jail, your bro calls his Dad to ensure the security guards get fucking fired for brutality. That was just the funniest shit you’ve ever seen – and it’s all thanks to two of the greatest words in the bro language: Peer Pressure.
In many circles of society peer pressure gets a bad fucking rap, but in the bro world, it’s seriously one of the most useful tools you can use. You can literally get your bros to do anything, just by pressuring them and saying they’re acting like a fucking girl. Being called a “bitch” is worse than getting fucking cancer, therefore bros will do anything in their power to prove that they are in fact a bro and not some dumbass girl. Here’s a couple ways that bros love peer pressuring one another.
Drinking: I always hate it when you’re trying to do a fucking shot with one of your bros and he says some shit like, “I think I’ve had enough, I know my limits.” Fuck that – bros will fucking drink until they can’t move if they have to. Anytime I see one of my bros with a cup of water at the bar, which they so cleverly tell people is “Straight Vodka,” I smash that shit out of their hands. I don’t give a fuck if you feel like you are going to die – drinking more will make you feel better. Besides not only is #48 throwing up all over the bar a great story, but it’s fucking awesome. Bros look out for one another, therefore anytime they see one of their fellow bros not getting more wasted, they force them to fucking drink.
About Girls: Every bro at some point in his life wakes up after some #31 drunken bang-sesh with a girl thinking, “Damn, that girl was #66 pretty hot, I could get used to banging her.” Then as you go back to hang out with your bros, they immediately start asking you what it was like to bang Gilbert Grape’s Mom or if #28 Gollum ever stopped screaming about “her precious” long enough so you could bang her. At first, you try to justify your banging saying she had a good body, but by the end of you can’t resist piling on as well. The next time you see her, you won’t be asking her out on #75 a date – you’ll be screaming across the cafeteria to look out for the “Tricksy Hobbits!!” Sure you thought she was alright, but that doesn’t matter if your bros think she’s a pig. Being made fun of for repeatedly banging a #78 slump buster is like getting the fucking bro electric chair.
Growing up bros are asked the question in school, “If Jimmy jumped off a bridge, would you jump too?” Obviously the knee jerk response is “No.” But, today, if someone asked me that same question, I would immediately fire back, “Well is Jimmy a bro?” Bros fucking know best. Bros are by definition the smartest people on the fucking planet. So, if the answer to that question is that “Yes, Jimmy is a bro” – well then you better fucking believe I’m jumping off that bridge. Bros are the shit.