It’s Thursday night and you’re fucking hammered. After four hours of playing dizzy bat, you and your bros decided to hit up the bar. Thirteen $2 pitchers of Keystone Light later, you’re ready to fucking party. As you stagger back from the bathroom where you just #36 unleashed your stream all over the toilet paper and sanitary seat covers, you realize there’s only one thing that can make this night better: banging some fucking strange.
You start to survey the room, looking for prospects. To the left you see a table full of #78 fatties – you realize they’d be a fucking lock, but you’re a bro so you better believe you won’t be punting on second down. As you continue your lap around the bar you hear some girl scream out, “ASS-HOLE!” She's staring right at you. Fuck. It’s the girl you banged last weekend – “#28 Turtle Slut.” For some reason she’s pissed off because you made her climb out of your bedroom window so your roommates wouldn’t see her. You tried to explain to her that she wouldn’t have to do it if her long ass neck didn’t maker her look like a turtle, but it does, so who the fuck’s fault is that? Now she’s trying to cockblock you? What the fuck? Normally you would put this bitch in her place by saying some shit like, “Go back to Master Splinter in your fucking sewer!” but you’re on a mission so you just pretend you #12 don’t know who she is, which isn’t too hard since you’ve already forgotten her name.
Just as you think Turtle Bitch might have ruined your game for the night – you make eye contact with a blonde with a decent rack across the bar. Instantly, the “Kill Bill” theme song starts playing in your head. It's slayin' time. You compose yourself just enough to string together a few coherent sentences to convince her to follow you back to your #32 Bro Pad, but to be honest all you really needed to say was, “I’m a bro.” As you stumble home with this stranger, you smile to yourself because you know you are about to engage in one of a bro's all-time favorite pastimes: the BUI. Banging Under the Influence. Bros fucking love Drunk Sex.
Honestly, how the fuck does sober sex even work? That shit has to be the most awkward thing ever. Like do people talk about what they’re doing? “Do you think we’ve been making out long enough to move to sex or should we keep going?? Would you like me to play with your boobs some more? I can’t wait for this protected missionary sex!” Sounds fucking terrible. Drunk sex is fucking beautiful because all thinking goes out the window. It’s straight up animalistic passion, just like God intended. Bros get laid fucking 24/7 and alcohol is pretty much always involved. You’re more likely to find dry land in Pakistan than a bro who bangs a slam piece sober.
While bro haters plan romantic evenings where they lay a pathway of rose petals leading to their candle-lit bedroom and throw on the fucking “Sleepless in Seattle” soundtrack, bros are busy getting fucking wasted and going to Pound Town on sheets that have never even been fucking washed. Here are a few things that makes Drunk Sex fucking amazing.
Easy Transition – Ninety percent of the time, bros can’t even remember how they ended up at their final destination, but it usually consists of #29 grinding and making out on the dance floor with an invitation to “get out of here.” Have you ever seen someone sober try to grind? Shit doesn't work. It's a scientific fact that bros need at least 5 beers to remember the proper grinding techniques. Using alcohol to get laid is the bro-equivalent of Barry Bonds on HGH. We’re already Pound Town Hall of Famers, but with some help from booze, slam pieces don’t have a fucking chance.
Creativity – Bros are some of the most creative people in the fucking world, but sometimes they can’t express their creativity because it’s against the social norms that the bro-hater society has decided to randomly impose. For example, say you wanted to bang some slam piece on a fucking #52 see-saw in the backyard of a random house on your walk home from the bar? If you were sober you would be called a fucking deviant, but when you’re drunk you’re a fucking genius. And how the fuck do you think new sexual positions were invented? Do you really think they were created by those fat, loser, nudist swingers from HBO’s Real Sex? No, they were invented by bros who were wasted and fucking bored of the same old shit.
Excuses – As much as girls put them on a pedestal to worship them, bros are not perfect. Sorry bitches, but it's true. Every once in awhile we’ll make an unacceptable and ungodly mistake. That’s right, we’ll bang a busted chick. While this might seem absolutely unredeemable and grounds for exbrommunication, it’s how we act in the face of tragedy that determines how great of bros we truly are. After waking up next to a slam piece wilderbeast, a bro will immediately equate her ugliness to how #1 wasted he got last night. The uglier the girl, the more hammered he must have been. If shes like a ‘6,’ it’s “I must have been drunk last night,” all the way down to if she’s a '0,' at which point he will claim he might put himself in rehab because banging this disgusting chick is rock bottom. Now, of course, no self respecting bro #124 would ever need to go to rehab, but the point is by being drunk when you banged the fucking fatty, you are forgiven from your sins by your fellow bros.
Bros are like fucking Indians. We use all resources to their greatest capacity. Also, just like Indians, bros realize alcohol is the greatest resource God ever invented. Sure we could just have sober sex with slam pieces, but honestly, what the fuck’s the fun of that? So chug that pitcher and find that lucky lady. After all, there’s no BAC limit on the Pound Town Express. All Aboard!