#141 Having Facial Hair

Fact: Bros are better than slam pieces in every fucking way. Unfortunately in this country, thanks in large part to Science Fiction books like “The Da Vinci Code” which preach bullshit fairy tales saying “women are more important than men,” we’re moving closer and closer to equal standing in society. Not on my fucking watch. Name one thing that a girl does better than a bro? Surely some fucking #133 femi-nazi out there is screaming, “UMM, HAVE CHILDREN!” Fucking please – Congratu-fucking-lations for not being barren. You want a cookie for something that can be done by every animal at the fucking zoo? While bros will always have the upper hand in their abilities to think rationally, parallel park a car, and not #123 bleed for a week every month, there’s certain aspects of a bro’s life that he often feels he needs to flaunt. While slam pieces mask their insecurities with four pounds of makeup, padded bras, and jeans that they delusionally think changes the fact that their ass is fat, bros are proud of who they are. What better way to show that pride than having it written all over your face? Shaving’s for fucking yuppies. Bros fucking love having facial hair.

#135 Being Rich

It’s the #59 Chi Omega Fall formal and you’re fucking wasted. After an hour-long bus ride where you put the bathroom out of commission by taking a fucking #97 dump all over the floor, you finally made it to your destination: some old ass couple’s “event center.” When she originally booked the formal, she was probably envisioning some evening of black ties and ballroom dancing. She was wrong.

Since you realize your date might as well be wearing a fucking t-shirt saying, “One ticket to Pound Town, please!” you scan the room for girls who might be interested in a “JV game” aka a warm up banging session. Just as you throw on your conductor hat and ready the fucking Brocomotive, you see it. It’s gotta be the most expensive thing in the entire house. Dangling from the ceiling, right next to a spiral staircase it’s hanging with shitloads upon shitloads of crystals. It’s the biggest fucking chandelier you’ve ever seen in your life. You immediately know what has to be done. You run up the stairs and scream out to the entire party: “I’m motherfucking Tarzan, bitches!” As all the girls scream out in fear/get wet, all the bros start #4 chanting the shit out of your name. You let out one of those Tarzan monkey screams and fly across the room, ripping the fixture right out of the ceiling. As you and the chandelier come shattering to the ground, everything goes black.

#132 Making Fun of Tragic Celebrity Deaths

It was the middle of February and we were fucking sick of Winter. The entire East Coast had been covered for two months with like 3 feet of snow, which was apparently (according to fucking bro-haters) due to the fact that I #57 don’t recycle. We needed to get the fuck out and get our fucking drink on. So we signed up for a scavenger hunt that would take you around in a limo all day long. Sure on the surface this might sound like some fucking lame shotgun wedding bachelorrette party, but the important thing to note is that the entire hunt revolved around getting fucked up, so needless to say, we were fucking in.

One of the requirements for the day was that your team needed to be in costume. While most of the teams decided to be hilarious shit like, “Team Everyone Wear Red Shirts,” we decided to push the envelope. We decided to be edgy. We decided to be bros. Our team name? “I Will Remember You.” We were dead fucking celebrities.

While tame costumes such as DJ AM, Michael Jackson, and Ed McMahon drew laughs from the fucking bro-haters, we started to get some glares and shaking of heads when they spotted a bloodied Steve “Ground” McNair and his pal in an Angels t-shirt that read “Adenhart" across his back. For some reason people didn’t like the fact that we were celebrating a 22 year old’s recent death at the hands of a #23 drunken driver. But shit really hit the fan when Ginger Bro walked in dressed head to toe in spandex, a helmet, goggles, one of those saucer sleds tied around his neck, and just in case anyone still couldn’t get it, a Georgian flag pinned to his chest. That’s right – he was the fucking luger whose death at the Olympics earlier that week was immortalized by the magical powers of Youtube. As bitches kept coming up telling him that he was “fucked up,” and that the luger had a family, he just gave them the motherfucking finger. True bros recognized his genius and gave him #13 high fives while telling him it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen. They were fucking right. Bros realize that tragic deaths are hilarious, so you better fucking believe we’re gonna make fun of them.

#127 Fake IDs

It was one of the worst moments of my entire fucking life. After a three hour drive, I had finally arrived at my destination: the beach. Just before I pulled into town I decided to stop for a 30 pack since my bros had only gotten one other case, and surely that wasn’t going to last the night with six bros straight punishing shit. As I grabbed the cube from the fridge and approached the counter, I dug into my pocket for my wallet only to realize it was fucking empty. Immediately I realized what had happened - I left my fucking wallet at my #32 Bro Pad back in Arlington. I fucking panicked. Now a bro-hater’s first reaction might be, “Never fear! You can just borrow money from your friends for food,” but I’m a fucking bro, so you better fucking believe that eating was the last thing on my mind. I needed that wallet for one thing and one thing only: getting into bars. My first thought was to immediately turn around to drive the six hour round trip, because honestly, what the fuck is there to do at the beach if you can’t get into the bars? But then I realized something – I’m a fucking bro. I’m one of the smartest people on the fucking planet. No fucking bro-hater bullshit law is getting in the way of me having a good time with my bros. Bros are above the fucking law.

Luckily for me, my younger brother and I look pretty similar, so we just had one of our bros bring his license out from inside the bar for me to use. It’s been years since my 21st #81 birthday, but as the bouncer studied my ID, I started to get the same feelings I did back when I was 19 trying to pass for a 26 year old organ donor from Long Island with a face so different I had to claim I was brutally injured in a car accident – I was fucking nervous. Now I’ve been to hundreds of bars, but the moment that bouncer gave me my fake ID back I had a rush that would rival Steve Phillips at a Star Wars convention. I was in the bar illegally – and it was one of the greatest feelings in the fucking world. Bros fucking love fake IDs.

#126 Peer Pressure

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.

#120 Icing Bros

Today has fucking sucked. Not only are you hungover as shit from spanking Franzia bladders all night, but you didn’t even get laid last night. Apparently the girl you were going to bang didn’t really like it when you chugged half the box of wine and proceeded to #48 violently throw up all over her designer purse. You tried to convince her she could just shove her money down her cleavage like a stripper, but the fucking bitch just stormed off – probably to go buy some tampons or something. If that wasn’t bad enough, your Mom keeps calling you to make sure you are coming to your Grandmother’s wake tonight. You try to explain to her that after last night’s kamikaze-cockblock you are in no shape to be viewing any dead bodies. She reminds you that you’ll find out what type of inheritance you’re getting so you reluctantly agree to go.

After spending most of the service trying to figure out if this hot blond chick in the third row is your cousin, you spot a familiar face in the back. It’s your bro Rich. You whip out your iPhone and text him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Just paying my respects, bro,” he quickly replies.