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#128 Bikinis

2010-07-28T22:49:00.002-04:00

Bros and society fucking hate each other. Outside of the glorious double-standard that makes it not only acceptable but also the social norm to bang #101 younger chicks while simultaneously labeling girls as #39 Cougars if they hook up with younger guys, there’s really not that much on which we agree. While society keeps pushing its anti-bro Nazi-like propaganda aka “Women’s Rights,” there is really little bros can get away with these days. Sadly, we live in a time where even harmless attempts at conversation can result in a fucking sexual harassment charge. Once innocent questions such as “Are you single?” “What color underwear are you wearing?” and “Do you swallow?” are now seen as “inappropriate” or “threatening.” Fucking bullshit. While society’s “Fourth Reich” continues its reign of terror on bros and the Women’s movement somehow continues to grow (hairy) legs, there’s always one thing that will remain constant. It’s something that reminds bros that women shouldn’t be running for fucking President or sitting on the Supreme Court (unless, of course, she’s ruling over “The Case of the Missing Shoes: A ‘Sex and the City’ Mystery!”) - they should be getting their tickets punched for fucking Pound Town. Obviously, I’m talking about fucking bikinis.

Whenever a group of bros heads to the beach or pool, they’re not out there to catch rays or flip through fucking tabloids to see what type of hats B-list celebrities think are cool. They’re there to check out slam pieces in their fucking bikinis. Bikinis represent everything that bros love about society. Whoever came up with the idea that men should wear huge baggy shorts as bathing suits and women have to wear two tiny pieces of spandex that are more revealing than most underwear was definitely a fucking bro.

Outside of dangling a Big Mac by a stick in front of a fat bitch on a treadmill, a picture of a bikini during the wintertime is the greatest form of motivation for any girl. Bikinis are more inspirational than all those fucking “My Wish” features about dying little kids on Sportscenter put together. Thanks to #95 Models, girls realize what the only acceptable body type is and as much as they love to say shit like, “I’m happy with my body, it worked for Khloe Khardashian!” or “More cushion for the pushin’!” deep down they know that the only way to get that guaranteed late night #text from a bro saying, ”Wanna bang?” is by looking like you belong in a fucking magazine.

Perhaps a bro’s favorite aspect of bikinis is the fact that there’s nowhere to hide. At the bar, a slam piece has so many ways to trick bros into thinking she’s good looking, just so he’ll sleep with her. Whether it’s makeup, dark lights, getting him drunk, or wearing one of those tops that’s tight around the chest to show off their cleavage but blouses over the stomach to cover their jelly rolls, slam pieces have more tricks than fucking David Blaine. The beauty of pools/beaches/rap videos is that there aren’t any surprises. Bros know what they’re getting so it makes it easier to decide who’s getting the free ticket to ride the Express that night.

While nothing beats a shitload of hot slam pieces in bikinis, it can all be cancelled out if there’s someone who doesn’t belong. Of course, I’m referring to the dreaded fat girl in a bikini aka beached whale. Bros realize this shit doesn’t belong so anytime one is spotted – they immediately let their other bros know. This is accomplished by yelling out shit like “FREE WILLY” or “Someone rescue that beached whale!” While in Mexico we came across a fatty in a bikini who our #94 Token Black Bro immediately #28 recognized as “BP” due to the fact that she was “a fucking manmade disaster.” Every time she walked by we would yell at her begging to plug the hole and asking, “What did those poor pelicans ever do to you??” Looks like she finally got the memo.

Sure this shit sucks but how can we end it? Fucking easy – much like kids must be 16 to get their driver’s license; I propose we enact a weight limit for a “bikini license.” Stores selling bikinis would each have a scale and if you exceed the fair weight limit (probably like 110 lbs) then you’re not getting a fucking bikini. By doing this not only would fat girls not have to hear bros asking them if they ate the entire cast of “The Klumps,” but it would provide a more enjoyable experience for bros – because let’s be honest, there’s nothing more important than that. And before all you fucking left-wing feminists start calling me made up words like sexist or misogynist, I’d like to let you know that my plan also includes the option for the fatties to buy a one-piece suit AS LONG as they promise to use the beach/pool when no bros are present.

As summer flies by, we as bros find ourselves with just a few more weekends to spend at the beach. The next time you’re there, try to break away for a couple minutes from sculpting that gigantic sand vagina to really sit back and appreciate. Tell that group of girls to the left they would be a lot hotter if they didn’t have so much cellulite. Try to catch a glance of the slam piece to the right’s #5 nipple as she ties her bathing suit back up so that god forbid she doesn’t have a tan line on her back. And perhaps most importantly, yell out “Go Back To Sea World!” at the fat girl walking down the beach. Sure you may end up giving her an eating disorder – but you’ve just made the world a better place for bros.

#127 Fake IDs

2010-07-22T10:22:00.001-04:00

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.

Bros have always been ahead of their time. While nerds use #111 high school as a time to study/do extra-curricular activities/not get laid, bros are getting fucking wasted. Unfortunately, for some reason, society thinks they know what’s best for bros. Bros realize that the 21 year old drinking law is the biggest fucking joke of all time. Who the fuck doesn’t drink before they’re 21? Fucking losers, that’s who. True bros have been drinking for close to ten years by the time they turn 21. Honestly, if you develop cirrhosis of the liver by your 21st birthday, you seriously might have what it takes to be a fucking bro-king. But how do bros buy alcohol/get into bars before they turn 21 with all the convenience store clerks scared of getting deported for selling to underage kids and tatted up bro-hater bouncers aka amateur backyard wrestlers? They get a fucking fake ID. Here’s a few key important factors for any good fake ID.

Where You Got It: Growing up, every bro knows someone who makes perfect IDs. Sometimes it's some creepy old man at a photo shop just praying someone will use his toilet so he can get some new “pee cam live vids” for his website, but most of the time it’s some techie nerd trying to get friends by making them fakes. Bros also fucking love the hand-me-down IDs from older brothers or cousins. No matter where they get it, bros are forever linked with the guy on their fake. Bros may forget their fucking mother's birthday, but they'll always remember the name and address on their fake ID.

Where It Works: Bros know every fucking bar and liquor store in the tri-state area that doesn’t card or takes fake IDs. Bros are like fucking Velociraptors – they look for weaknesses and when they find them, you better fucking believe they’re exploiting that shit. You know the bars are fucking in on this shit too – sure they’re gonna be known as the underage bar, but who gives a shit? Underage bros are rich as shit, so you know they’ll be running up huge tabs. Besides, is there anything better than a packed bar full of bros and slam pieces getting fucked up? Answer: No.

How Good It Is: As much as bros love fake IDs, bros love talking about how good or shitty they are even more. Sure it’s fucking sick to have an authentic ID with the hologram and shit, but honestly, some of the biggest bros I’ve even known have had some of the shittiest fucking fake IDs. Bros fucking love challenges – and there’s nothing more challenging that getting into a bar with a shitty fake ID - and the shittier the better. Get in the bar with a real ID like I did last weekend? Fucking child’s play. Get in the bar with a grease-stained ripped apart square from a pizza box with a stick figure self portrait wrapped in a fucking sandwich bag: Bro King.

Society is quickly evolving. But much like professional athletes respond to drug testing, bros evolve faster. As society invades our freedom and privacy with barbaric and deranged practices such as ID scans and bouncers asking bros what street they live on – we must rise up. We must overcome. Now I would rather fucking die than promote a charity, but I think in this case we as bros should make an exception. This summer I challenge bros everywhere to join my cause and “Send a Bro to the Bar.” By donating your ID, one lucky bro will get the chance to experience a life that, thanks to society, he would never have to the opportunity to experience. Don’t let society win – donate your used ID to an underage bro today.

#126 Peer Pressure

2010-07-15T12:57:00.004-04:00

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.

#125 Rebounds

2010-07-07T12:52:00.012-04:00

It’s Wednesday morning and you’re hungover as shit. You just bought a breathalyzer off of eBay so obviously you and your bros were having a contest to see how #124 high you could blow. Right around the time you blew a .38, you’re mind went fucking blank. Somehow, you made it back to your bed, but even more alarming was the fact that you didn’t have to pee when you woke up. This could only mean one thing – there’s fucking #36 piss somewhere in this room. As you slowly move around the room gently touching the floor as if you’re walking through a minefield, you’re shocked – the floors are fucking clean. Satisfied with yourself, you hop back into bed, grab your laptop, and throw ESPN on your flat screen. You’re set for the next four hours.

You start fucking around on Facebook. You sift through the pointless status messages girls put up like, “Baking a cake!” or the fact that they now like ‘TO MOVE IT! MOVE IT!’ in the hopes of checking out some bikini pics, when out of nowhere you see it. As Jemele Hill makes the case in the background that Pool is a racist sport since the 8 ball is Black, the best newsfeed you could ever imagine flashes across the screen: “Allison Thomas is now listed as single.” Holy shit. Without even an explanation, you text all your bros “Fucking Dibs.” The hottest girl at the entire school just broke up with her boyfriend. She’s on the fucking rebound. You’re a bro aka motherfucking Karl Malone. You better believe you’ll be boxing out on this one. Bros fucking love rebounds.

Scholars have debated for hundreds of years and to this day it remains unclear as to what group of girls is easiest to bang: #101 Younger Chicks or Rebounds. Certainly there are pros and cons to both groups, but when you break it down, I would contend girls on the rebound are by far the easiest. While people generally attribute a girl on the rebound as one that’s recently been dumped and is desperate for some sort of self-confidence, this is only one of the ways they can hit the market. Bros are the smartest people on the fucking planet so they know how to take advantage of any end to a relationship. Here’s a look at what each breakup really means and how bros get recently single girls to buy a ticket on the Poundtown Express.

The Mutual Breakup - While you might think that this would be the hardest rebound to bang, you’d be fucking wrong. Whenever there is a mutual breakup, it’s basically a race to see who can get laid first. By no means does a girl ever want to be in a position where her ex-boyfriend is banging some new chick and all she has to show for it is giving out her number to some guy who will probably never fucking call her. Girls will be desperate to not only bang a bro, but also make sure there are pictures of you two at the bar beforehand so she can put it in her new facebook album, “Enjoying Single Life!”

Girl Dumps Boyfriend – Sure she just dumped her boyfriend, but nine times out of ten it’s because she issued an ultimatum demanding crazy shit like moving in together or God forbid marriage. Obviously, guys don’t fucking respond to ultimatums so, shocker, she’s now single. After “dumping” the guy she just wanted to fucking marry she’s on the prowl with one intention: make my ex-boyfriend want to marry me. What better way to do that than by banging a bro? While she thinks that by seeing her with another guy will make her ex-boyfriend want to drop to one knee, he’s really thinking, “Thank fucking God I got rid of that crazy bitch.”

Girl Who Got Dumped – While bros might fucking love rebounds, there is one group of people who love them perhaps even more: their fat friends. Anytime a hot girl gets dumped the fat friend gets so fucking excited and immediately proclaims, “I am taking you out everyday this week!” Fat girls are miserable people and are elated anytime someone can share their pain.

While bros and fat girls may share an interest in the Rebound – they’re not Allies – they’re fucking enemies. The fat friend will do everything in her power to make sure the hot girl doesn’t hook up with a bro. This is due to the fact that once the hot girl remembers how hot she really is, the fat girl won’t have someone to take care of/eat late night pizza with/help shove her fat into ridiculously undersized dresses she delusionally thinks she can wear. This is where it’s vital to call in the favor with one of your bros. You need a fucking hero. You need someone to jump on the grenade. Find your bro in desperate need of a #78 Slump Buster and beg him. It’s a cruel request, but sometimes you have to go the extra mile to position yourself like Dennis Rodman under the basket to catch that falling board.

Bros are like fucking sharks – they always smell blood in the water. Anytime a hot girl is on the market, bros don’t sit in the background and wait until she’s “ready to start dating again” - they fucking pounce. Bros realize there’s a window for rebounds and they don’t want that shit closing. Recently single? Sounds like you might qualify for an upgrade – welcome to First Class. I’ll be your conductor today. Our first stop: Pound Town.

#124 Not Being Alcoholics

2010-06-30T12:53:00.001-04:00

I fucking hate bro-haters. It seems like they’re fucking everywhere these days trying to bring bros down. I really find it troubling that in a world where equal rights are universally accepted, bros are still persecuted on a daily basis. Honestly, why would anyone want to #24 bring a child into a world where people aren’t free to #97 take dumps in communal dryers, #2 steal giant statues of the Hamburgler from McDonald’s, or most importantly, get so wasted at a restaurant that they get #40 kicked out for #36 peeing on a gumball machine at 3pm? Bros were fucking born as bros. We are who we fucking are. We’re not changing, so society damn well better learn to accept us. While society repeatedly makes up words like “chauvinists” and “misogynists” to bring bros down, we just take that shit in stride. Bros know that the only reason they are calling us that shit is because they’re just fucking jealous. It’s not our fault you fucking #89 hipsters got a swirly every day back in grade school. If you didn’t want your head shoved in a toilet maybe you shouldn’t have chosen to be fat.

While bro-cial epithets never bother bros, there is one thing that we will never stand for. It’s a fucking ridiculous statement. It makes me sick to my stomach just thinking that society may actually cause bros to stop acting like bros just because of some bullshit “disease” #83 doctors invented to scare people into not having fun. Among all the accusations that bro-haters spew at bros to help them get over the fact the only girl they will ever bang is their fat wife they met on Match.com, there is one that always surfaces: “Bros are nothing but alcoholics.” Fuck that – the only diseases that a bro should ever worry about catching from drinking come from slam pieces, not 30 packs.

Alcoholics are 60-year-old homeless men who hold up signs on the side of the road begging for money so they can “feed their family.” Alcoholics fucking drink alone in their one bedroom apartment and call their estranged kids at like 2am asking how their Little League team is doing, only to realize their kids are like 30 years old. Bros aren’t fucking alcoholics. Sure bros abuse alcohol – but they don’t do it to kill their depression. Why would a bro ever be depressed – he’s one of the smartest and #109 best looking people on the fucking planet? Bros abuse alcohol to get fucked up with their bros and bang slam pieces.

Who the fuck even came up with the rules as to what makes you an alcoholic? A fucking bro-hater, that’s who. I always love hearing all that shit about how having more than three alcoholic drinks over the course of a night means you are binge drinking. Since bros aren’t fucking #111 High School girls raiding their parents’ fridge at a slumber party, they’re going need more than three drinks to even get a buzz going. And what’s all this bullshit about having a high tolerance making you more of an alcoholic? Bros take pride in their high tolerance. Bros get fucked up like five nights a week. Sure that might seem like a lot to people who consider a “night out drinking” is having a white zinfandel at the fucking opera, but please, bros are a genetically superior being. Our DNA is fucking modeled to be able to drink like Andre the Giant on a #58 bender. But honestly, does being able to down a case of Natty before even #35 going to the bar mean that we have a fucking “disease?” Fuck no.

I’m pretty sure every bro has had that sit down with their parents warning them about Alcoholism being in their family. This is all fucking bullshit. I don’t think I would want to be in a family where there wasn’t at least one person who loved to drink. Drinking is fucking awesome. Out of the top 25 greatest moments in my life, I would have to say 24 of them came when I was fucked up, with being born as the only one happening sober (probably). Any great story a bro will ever tell you will undoubtedly start with not only “We were so fucked up,” but also an explanation of just #1 how fucked up you were. Why should some Witch Doctor-like diagnosis stop us from our good times?

Even after all our hard work and contributions to society, it still gives us shit. Do bros deserve it? No. Will upper-middle class white males between the ages of 18-35 ever catch a fucking break? We can only hope. We don’t know what the future holds for bros or if we will ever be accepted for who we are, but we do know one thing for certain: no matter what the World thinks of them, bros will never submit to their degrading labels. Hello World, my name is Ned’s Younger Brother, and I’m not a fucking Alcoholic - I'm a bro.

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2010-06-25T17:40:00.011-04:00

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#123 Hating Periods

2010-06-22T11:33:00.003-04:00

It’s Saturday night and you’re fucking hammered. After a long day of bonging beers through vuvuzelas, #4 chanting U-S-A, and arguing with your bros about who was the hottest girl on “Step by Step,” you really don’t think it could get any better. That is until you see her. At the corner of the bar some hot blond chick is staring at you and quite honestly, why the fuck wouldn’t she be? You’re a fucking bro, by definition one of the #109 best looking people on the planet. It shouldn’t be any surprise that she wants buy her One-Way ticket to Pound Town.

As you make your approach and lay down your ‘A’ game aka tell her about the time you scored six goals in the #111 High School Lacrosse championship, there’s one thing that becomes immediately clear: She wants to bang you. Within five minutes you’re out the door and heading back to your #32 Bro Pad for some good old fashioned #24 unprotected sex with a stranger.

You get home and immediately start making out and just as you are ready to put another notch on your belt she stops and says: “I want to take it slow – I just think we should really get to know each other.” You’re fucked. After trying to convince her that you get to know girls best by banging them, she’s not buying it. As a last ditch effort to try to salvage the night, you decide to go against every bro-bone in your body and violate everything you believe in. You go down on her.

After what seems like four hours but in reality is three minutes of her thinking, “Wow, I wonder if we’ll get married!” and you thinking, “This better at least get me a blowjob,” you come up looking for your reward. But instead, you see a look of horror on the girl’s face. “You really need to go to the bathroom!” she screams.

As you enter the bathroom and turn on the light you cry out, “WHAT THE FUCK!!” You look like one of those fucking zombies in “28 Days Later.” After the initial hesitation due to shock you realize what just happened: she just perioded on your fucking face.

At first you try to wash it off, but you’re barely able to turn the water on before you start projectile #48 vomiting all over the bathroom. You start screaming at the girl but she’s already left. After your fourth heave into the toilet, you get a #122 text. It’s from #28 Period Slut. “Sry bout that!! Hope we can still hang out!!” No fucking chance in hell. There’s nothing that she could ever do to come back from this fucking atrocity. After all – you’re a bro and you fucking hate periods.

Periods are one of the biggest fucking bro-haters of all time. Not only does it mean you can’t bang your slam piece, but it’s seriously one of the most disgusting things on the planet. It’s fucking bro-kryptonite. While a bro will readily pop his own dislocated shoulder back in place without hesitation, the mere sight of period blood is enough to make him faint. Now sure there are people out there who will say periods don’t bother them and that they have no problem “riding the Crimson Tide,” but those people are fucking psychopaths and I wouldn’t be surprised if they tortured fucking guinea pigs as children.

I really don’t understand why it’s acceptable for tampons to be advertised on TV and in magazines. It’s fucking obscene. Seriously, what would happen if a company started running commercials for “The Incredible Super-Absorbent Jack-Off Rag?” People would flip their shit. But for some reason it’s cool to have commercials talking about repulsive unnatural shit like “heavy flow?”

Unfortunately, we live in a Bro-partheid World and sadly periods aren’t going away anytime soon. As bros, we’re not like fucking #89 Hipsters who bitch and moan about pointless shit like Health Care reform, #57 Oil Spills, or how much we hate our parents – we offer fucking solutions. While it would be preferable for bros that girls never leave the house while on their period, we realize this is a bit harsh. Since bros are compassionate I offer this compromise: Any girl on their period should be required to wear a giant “P” on their chest to let all bros know that, “I’m on my period – talking to me is a waste of time.” And for all you fucking Femi-nazis out there complaining that this would be setting the Women’s Movement back thousands of years, I have one thing to say: Fuck You. If you honestly think that wearing a letter on your chest broadcasting that you’re on your fucking period is degrading, then it’s about time you get off your fucking high horse. Not only would this save so much time, but it would avoid any awkward, “Umm, It’s that time of the month,” conversations later on when bros are trying to bang you. Talk about a win-win!

The World is a fucked up place. There are haters around every corner trying to punish bros just for being bros. There’s always questions about who a bro should trust. While I’ll never trust anyone that bleeds for a week straight every month and doesn’t die, there’s one group of people that I’ll always trust: my bros. Be safe. Be prepared. Avoid the period.

#122 Texting

2010-06-09T12:19:00.002-04:00

Throughout the history of time, there have been certain technological and scientific advances that have benefited bros more than any other group in society. The Red Zone Channel, Internet porn, and #24 the morning after aka "murder pill" immediately come to mind. But above all these incredible innovations lies something that would have made our Great-Grandparents threaten to burn us at the stake like all those slut witches back in the day. The idea of “typing into a phone” would have sounded fucking insane just 10 years ago, but thankfully, unlike society, technological developers are dedicated to Bro Rights. Through hard work and determination and no doubt many lives lost, tech geeks put aside the fact that they will die a virgin to help out a group much-overlooked by society’s brocist reign of terror: the bros. Thank you Techie nerds for all your hard work and “holding out for marriage to avoid STDs” because bros fucking love Texting.

Texting is the fucking shit. I still remember the first time I discovered texting. I sent one to my buddy saying something really important along the lines of, “Fuck you,” or “I banged your Mom.” Over the years texting has evolved and you better fucking believe bros are taking advantage of that shit. Let’s take a look at a few of the things that bros fucking love about texting.

No Conversations: Have you ever seen a girl get out of class or work? Immediately she gets on the phone and starts fucking yammering away, most likely about how awesome bros are or which Twilight character’s “team” she’s on. Bros don’t have time for that bullshit. We have much more important shit to take care of – like getting fucking wasted and banging slam pieces. Texting lets bros get the message across quickly without any fucking fanfare. “Where you at?” “What time you getting there?” or “Did you end up banging that #3 slut?” are all common bro texts that not only get the point across, but also avoid time wasting bullshit like “Hello,” “How are you?” or “Goodbye.”

Funny as Shit – Fact: Bros are fucking hilarious. Bros have been sending funny texts about all the shit they do to one another way before bro haters started writing fake shit and submitting it to Texts From Last Night. Unlike all those fucking #80 losers praying that their area code gets on the mainpage of a website, bros actually live that shit. Say there’s something that absolutely has to be shared with all your bros – like that you just #97 took a massive dump on a car windshield – you better believe you’re sending out a mass text. Or what happens when you finally bang “#28 Big Tits Bartender” – you immediately have to let your bros know about that shit. Thanks to texts – your bros won’t have to wait to hear that you banged her in an #52 alley while some homeless man slept nearby.

Effortless Sex – When a bro gets a girl’s phone number, he doesn’t wait three days to #49 call just so the girl doesn’t think he’s “too into her.” He doesn’t get all nervous and practice what he’s going to say to ask her out on a #75 date. Fuck that. When a bro gets a number he uses it for one thing and one thing only: late night booty-texts. Now, under normal circumstances a girl might be offended if a guy didn’t call for a week and the first contact made (other than a facebook friendship to check out bikini pics) is a 2am Saturday night text saying: “Want to hang out?” but please, we’re not taking about normal guys here – we’re talking about fucking bros. Bros might as well just text “All Aboard” to slam pieces, because there’s only one thing that a late night text from a bro means: the Pound Town Express is about to leave the fucking station.

So, this weekend, as the bartenders scream “Last Call for Alcohol!” and you start sifting through your phone to find who you can Text-for-Sex, think back to all those hard working Techie nerds who made the sacrifices to protect and foster the Bro Rights that you fucking deserve. Give them a nod, because while Lord knows they won’t be getting laid tonight, you better fucking believe you will. All Hail, Texting. All Hail, Bros.

#121 Fighting

2010-06-03T12:02:00.002-04:00

So it was your typical Friday night last week at Dewey Beach. After about 10 hours of drinking in the sun, doing the John Wall dance for half that time and finishing the day off by destroying a trash can and putting a hole in the wall of our rental house it was finally time to hit the bar.

As I made my way through the crowded bar, just minding my own business, I heard someone yell in my ear, “Capitals fucking suck!” At first I wondered how this douchebag actually knew I liked the Capitals, then I remembered in fact, I was wearing a Capitals shirt. Since I have been a diehard Capitals fan for the past two years aka since they've been good, I couldn’t let that shit slide.

I got into this fucker’s face trying to gain some information, “Who the fuck do you like anyways?”
“Flyers,” he yelled as he struggled to speak due to his mouth-breathing limitations.

I glanced to my right to spot my 6’3’’ 265 King Kong sized bro standing next to me. It was fucking on. As I reminded him about how much of a #26 cess-pool of a town he lives in along with the fact that the greatest sports figure his town ever had was a fake boxer, all he had for me was “You’re a faggot.” Fucking clever.

While I was doing my best “Rocky” impression by holding one hand in the air and screaming, “Getting Strong Now!!” one of the guy’s 5’7’’ friends tried to get in my 6’4’’ grill. I pushed him away telling him to “go back to sucking off Papa Smurf.” That’s when they threw in the fucking towel aka when one of their girlfriends got involved. “Why don’t you just walk away!” she said with a sound in her voice that made me knew she was still dealing with the emotional after-effects of her most recent #24 abortion. I told her what I thought of her – that she was a whore, and told her that maybe her fucking boyfriend shouldn’t have started shit. At this point my big guy was pushing me away, letting me know that they had been defeated, and I agreed. Although no punches were thrown, I had won the fucking fight. And more importantly, my t-shirt’s honor was safe. Bros fucking love fights.

Fighting is the motherfucking shit, although before everyone jumps on me saying bullshit, like “Fighting is #100 Guido!!” or “Bros are peaceful!!” let’s make a clarification. Guidos go out with the pure intention of starting fights just because someone stepped on their $300 shoes or ruined their hair by touching it. Bros fight about important shit – like whose High school, College, Fraternity, or Sports Team is better. Bros fight for honor – like fucking Samurais. Let’s take a look at some of the reasons bros love fights.

Watching a Fight Unfold – Much like #69 fake tits, bros just have a sixth sense for a developing fight. Anytime there is even a hint of a fight nearby, you better fucking believe that bros are going to want to watch that shit. Bros fucking love starting “Fight! Fight! Fight!” #4 chants and then #77 heckling the fuck out of any bro-hater bouncer who tries to break that shit up.

The Rush – If anyone has ever been in a fight, you know what I’m fucking talking about. It really doesn’t get any better that finding a weakness and exploiting the shit out of until your opponent has to submit and agree with you that, in fact Honey Nut Cheerios are better than that Apple Cinnamon bullshit. After winning a fight, you feel like you can do anything. You’re fucking invincible. So what do bros do? They go start punching tickets in the bar for the final destination: Pound Town.

It Turns Girls On – Have you ever seen how fucking impressed girls are with the winner of a fight? You’re like a fucking hero. Anytime there is a fight at a bar the bartenders should put up those “Caution: Wet Floor” signs just to deal with all the excess moisture. Anytime a bro gets into a fight, he immediately has like ten girls surrounding him begging him to protect them…with his dick.

While girls use primitive techniques such as talking it out, using a mediator, or sleeping with their enemy’s boyfriend, bro do the responsible thing to settle disputes. Whether its over the starting pitching rotation for the ’92 Braves or when you get to rack for #6 Beer Pong, the point is there are important issues amongst the bromunnity that need to be settled and need to be settled that minute. Thank God we have fights. Thank God we have bros.

#120 Icing Bros

2010-05-26T12:03:00.000-04:00

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.

You think nothing of it and get back to what you really came to do: eye-fuck girls that you might be related to. As the ceremony concludes and a line forms to view the body, you slowly make your way down the aisle. When it’s your turn, you kneel down and open your eyes, but Granny’s wrinkly old face has some company. Lying next to her head is a red-capped bottle full of white liquid and a note reading, “Ice In Peace, bitch.” Fucking Rich. You’ve just been iced.

Sure it’s your Grandmother’s wake but rules are rules – it’s time to take your fucking medicine. You grab the bottle, raise it in the air right in front of the coffin as your entire stunned family looks on. “This one’s for you Granny!” you scream as you drop to one knee. As Rich tears up the the aisle, laughing hysterically, all your bros who were hiding in the confessionals storm the casket #13 high fiving, chestbumping, and #4 chanting “You Got Iced!” At first you think everyone is in on it, but at second glance, Granny is definitely dead and your entire family is shaking their heads in slow disappointment. Fuck those bro-haters – if they didn’t want to see you chug a Smirnoff Ice on one knee in front of your dead Grandmother, then they shouldn’t have forced you to come. After all, you’re a bro – and you fucking love icing bros.

I don’t really know how this phenomenon came to sweep our country, but bros fucking love it. With the possible exception of ordering a drink just because “the girls were drinking it on Sex and the City,” Bros realize there is nothing less bro than drinking a Smirnoff Ice. Therefore, forcing your bro to drink an Ice is by far the ultimate insult. Adding to this insult is the fact that according to sacred bylaws, the Smirnoff Ice must be consumed while on a single knee aka “handicapped slam piece formation.” Bros can fight back though. By having an Ice on hand at all times, you can deflect the attack and force the Icer to become the motherfucking Icee.

Sure it’s fun as shit to force your bro to chug a drink normally used to provide teenage girls with the courage to give it up, but that’s not the point of Icing. Icing is fucking warfare. You need to hit your bros at the time they least suspect it in the place they least suspect it. Your bro about to take a final exam? Boom – Ice that bro. He in the middle off a Marathon? Ice his ass. Is he on his way to a court-ordered Alcohol class? You better fucking believe he’s getting Iced. Since bros are the smartest people on the planet, you fucking know they come up with some crazy ass places to Ice their bros.

Throughout the history of time, there have been certain social trends and ideals that when you hear of them, you laugh to yourself wondering how anyone could ever think they would work. Prime examples of this include Prohibition, monogamy, and that whole Women’s Rights Movement. But every once in awhile a cause comes along – a cause that gives people hope. I give you Icing - something that we can all finally believe in. Let’s Ice this fucking summer, bros.

#119 Midgets

2010-05-19T16:41:00.002-04:00

You can’t get over how shitty this fucking cover band is. Not only do they not even know “Scotty Doesn’t Know,” but they insist on playing their original songs. Fuck that - save your Indie Rock for a fucking #89 hipster convention. You and your bros decide you have to put an end to this and start #77 heckling the shit out of the band. After a good 20 minutes of telling the band they’re fucking losers that should stick to their day jobs of performing in the activity room at nursing homes, they finally stop playing. Mission accomplished.

Just when you think this night couldn’t get any better, you see her. Dressed in what looks like the clothes off a Cabbage Patch doll, she’s jumping up and down to whatever shitty ass Black Eyed Peas song the DJ is playing. It’s a fucking midget. While everyone is the bar is trying to pretend that there’s nothing out of the ordinary going on, you and your bros are on the floor pointing and laughing your fucking asses off. Just as one of your bros sprints out of the bar to try to buy some Reese’s Pieces so he can “feed ET,” your bro turns to you and says, “How much to get you to dance with her?”

While you would do that shit for free just for the story, a couple extra bucks never hurt anyone. Your bros decide the going rate for a midget-grind is $33. You make your way over to the target and break through the wall of her “friends” aka girls who think they are better than everyone else because they hang out with a midget and let the grind begin. After about four minutes of dancing on your knees and making innocent small talk like, “Do you even know what it’s like to ride a roller coaster?” you jump up and run over to your bros who are waving the money and giving #13 high fives and fist pounds. That was fucking awesome. After all, you’re a fucking bro and you fucking love midgets.

Honestly, what the fuck’s not to love about midgets. They’re fucking hilarious. I always love it when they try to pretend that they’re real people and lead productive lives. Yeah fucking right – midgets were put on Earth to do one thing and one thing alone: make me laugh. Let’s take a look at some of the great things that bros love about these little freakshows.

Tossing – Although it’s technically illegal in some states, there are bars across the country where for a few bucks, you can throw a midget across the bar. How fucking amazing is that? Sure they have padding on and shit, but who gives a fuck. Imagine getting fucked up at the bar and just watching a fucking midget fly through the air every five minutes. Does life ever get any better than that? Bros should seriously write their Congressmen to stop the inbromane laws that ban midget tossing.

Midgets in Hollywood – Now I’m not talking about all those midgets on TLC who whine about how hard life is for them or that little piece of shit Simon Birch, I’m talking about the midgets that represent some of the greatest actors and entertainers of our time. Midgets such as Wee Man and Verne Troyer are not only hilarious, but they spend their lives getting constantly fucked up and banging hot slam pieces. Fucking Bro Kings.

Strippers – I don’t know who came up with the idea of having midget strippers, but whoever it was deserves a fucking Nobel Prize. You will never see bros go wilder than when a midget stripper makes her way to the stage. Midget strippers also make for great gag gifts at #50 bachelor parties. Seeing the look of disappointment on the bachelor’s face when he realizes he’s going to have a midget crawling all over him instead of a real woman is fucking priceless. All those bro-hater feminists that claim that midget strippers are being exploited can go to fucking hell. They’re just fucking jealous that even a midget has a better body than they do.

While the bro-hater that is society looks down their long nose of judgment at making fun of most handicapped people, it makes a rare exception with midgets. This is most likely because midgets are in fact an integral part of society itself. Without midgets, there’d be no Oompa Loompas. There’d be no Joe C. And most importantly, there’d be no midget porn. So, let’s hear it for the midgets – by far the funniest handicap you can ever hope to achieve.

#118 Hating Graduation

2010-05-12T12:15:00.002-04:00

Since finishing your last exam aka #65 copying every fucking answer from the nerd sitting next to you, you’ve devoted the entire past week to one of the greatest #58 benders and #103 hot streaks of your fucking life. After four years of doing everything in their power to not become slam pieces, every single girl on the campus fell victim to the inevitable: their slutty DNA. In the past week alone, you’ve #52 banged a girl in a classroom, on the conveyor belt at the Caf, and by far the most romantic spot on campus: the dance floor at a Fraternity party.

To top this legendary week off came yesterday’s festivities. After five years of screaming at you for “wasting their money” by taking #102 Introduction to Canoe twice and drinking six nights a week, your parents finally came to their senses and threw you and all your bros a party. After an afternoon of screaming at your Mom for sucking at #6 beer pong and impressing your parents by showing them how many beers you could bong in at once, you and your bros hit the bar for one last time. As all the girls huddle in the corner crying, you take shots on one of your bros’ recently divorced Dad’s tab who’s trying to hook up with a slam piece. Things start to get hazy and you try to talk, but the only thing coming out of your mouth sounds like quotes from kids at the Ronald McDonald House. The last thing you see is your bro’s Dad talking to some fat chick your bros call “#28 Hungry Hungry Hippo” about how his #24 tubes are tied so they wouldn’t even need a condom before the night goes to black.

In one of the biggest bro-miracles since Jesus turned water into wine, you wake up in your own fucking bed. Immediately, you get excited to find out if your bro’s dad had “Fun Fun Fun by the Ton Ton Ton,” but the elation about the prospects of your bro having a future stepmother who could star in her own TLC show is quickly eliminated when you glance out the window to see them. A shitload of bro-haters all dressed in black robes and dumbass hats. To this point, you’d been in denial that this day would ever happen, but now it’s here. Graduation day: the worst fucking day in any bro’s life.

While most people aka bro-haters consider graduation day to be their crowning achievement and the proudest day of their life, bros fucking hate it. Seriously, no fucking human is meant to be up at the ass crack of dawn to stand around in some big fucking black robe all day listening to some no-name speaker talk for like an hour about how we need to “Be the Change.” Nobody fucking cares what the speaker says anyways. What did my graduation speaker talk about? I have no fucking clue. My bros and I were busy making fun of the Chinese graduate students’ names in the program (Can you believe that someone is actually named Ding-Ding Wan??)

Even worse than the speakers are all individual awards that are given out. Whenever these fucking nerds go up to accept their awards, I love to #77 heckle the shit out of them, just to remind them how much of a loser they are for trying in school. Honestly, what the fuck does 4 years of long nights of studying, going to all their classes, and working hard get them? That’s right, an extra fucking tassel to wear around their shoulders during graduation and their name in the program. And seriously, after your #14 Dad gets you your first job, no one is going to care what your GPA was in College or the fact that your only extracurricular activity was, “Assistant Social Chair in Fraternity.” Sure, graduating with honors or distinction may mean you studied for four years at a University – but you didn’t fucking go to College.

While the Graduation ceremony itself fucking blows, it pails in comparison to what graduation really means: the end of College. It means an end to the Tuesday night best of seven games of beer pong just because you feel like it. It means the end of setting your alarm for 3pm so you can get food before the cafeteria closes. It means going separate ways from the bros you’ve made a lifetime of memories with. It means the end of a fucking era. While graduation day seems like the end of the parties, good times, and banging strange, I’ve got a secret for you: it isn’t. If there’s one thing that post-graduation life has taught me it’s this: You can take the bro out of College, but you can never take the College out of the bro.

So as they call your name to receive your diploma on that hot May Day, remember the good times you had on that campus. Remember the girls you banged. Remember the shit you stole. But most of all, remember that no fucking piece of paper can ever change who you are: a bro.

#117 Having A Bitch

2010-05-05T12:25:00.003-04:00

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.

#116 Horse Races

2010-04-28T14:23:00.002-04:00

Bros love Sports. Bros love #1 getting fucked up. Bros love taking slam pieces to Pound Town. In a perfect world, bros would be going to games, getting blackout drunk, and taking home some random girl you met waiting in line for the bathroom named “#28 Toilet Slut” every fucking day of the year. Unfortunately, we are not yet to the point of bro-quality with society so we have to settle on a few days in Spring to get us by. Race days. Bros fucking love Horse Racing because it combines three of the most bro pastimes, gambling, drunkenness, and sluttiness, and brings them together into the perfect Saturday package.

Bros love horse races because it gives them a chance to get fucked up outdoors all day and bang slam pieces wearing sundresses. While they may love horse racing, bros don’t give a shit about getting a good seat in the grandstand or how horse racing is “so cruel.” To be honest, outside of making bets on the horses, bros don’t give a fuck about the actual races at all. Being able to honestly say you never once saw a horse at a horse race is about as bro as it fucking gets.

For "a day at the races" some bros, typically Southern Preppy ones, will dress up in bowties, seersucker suits, top siders, and croakies, but most will wear whatever the fuck they want. Bros aren’t there to impress anyone – being a fucking bro is impressive enough. Girls on the other hand eat that shit up. Girls fucking love wearing those bigass hats, not so much because it’s a tradition, but more because they saw fucking Kendra wearing one in an episode of “The Girls Next Door.” Much like little kids love to play “make believe” by dressing up like a firefighter, slam pieces love dressing classy to pretend they deserve respect.

Sure, bros can place bets any fucking time they want on their iPhone with their Bodog account, but betting on the ponies at the track is still fun as shit. Bros know everything there is to fucking know about betting on horses. Bros love talking about how they made like 2 grand on a $4 bet last year, then blew it all at the bar that night. Bros also love making fun of anyone who doesn’t know horse racing betting lingo. By calling someone a dumb fuck retard for not knowing what a Superfecta box is, not only do you look smart as shit, but you’re guaranteed to get dome from any girl that hears. Fucking sluts.

Even though many claim the main attraction at a Horse Race is the racing horses, bros realize what it’s really all about – getting fucking hammered. The great thing about most races is that they’re BYOB events, meaning bros are lugging like six 30 packs and a case of #43 red bull with them. While many horse races across the country will try to compete, nothing will ever compare to a bro event so huge, it can only be described as Woodstock, the Super Bowl, and the World Cup all rolled into one. Of course I’m talking about the BYOB Preakness. I’m proud to report that I was able to attend two of these, and I can honestly say that at these events I’ve never been more proud to be a bro. Only good things can come from tens of thousands of people on a hot day drinking as much as humanly possible with no laws whatsoever.

As bros would race on top of port-o-potties with full beer cans being thrown at them as hard as possible from every angle, I truly discovered what it means to be a hero. You’d see bros doing belly flops into baby pools filled will beer cans. You’d see a bro, with blood (probably from a fight) streaming down his face, pounding a beer bong and screaming “PREAKNESS!!” You’d see a girl flashing a shit load of bros just because they #4 chanted the three magic words to any true slam piece’s heart: “Show your tits.” The Preakness infield had it all. It stood for everything pure in this world. It was a playground for bros to be bros. Unfortunately, society won’t even allow bros one day a year in a caged in area to flourish.

While Preakness is bringing back the all you can drink – they have disallowed BYOB. Sure, it’s great to drink as much as you want, but honestly – what the fuck are we supposed to throw at guys running across Port-o-Potties? Are they just supposed to run their races without any obstacles? Where’s the fucking challenge in that? Fucking Bullshit.

The start of the Triple Crown means a time for Bros to celebrate. After surviving a long rough winter it’s time to head down to the racetrack for boozing, gambling, and some old fashion slam piece pounding. If you think that sundress looks good on that girl just wait until you see it lying on your bedroom floor. After all, even if their Trifectas and Superfectas all come up empty, there’s always one box that bros are guaranteed to hit: a slam piece’s.

#115 420

2010-04-20T21:43:00.002-04:00

Nearly every group in society has a number of great significance. Some common examples include Red Necks with the number of their favorite NASCAR driver or White teenagers who think they're Black with 187. While these groups may be content in worshiping just one number, bros never settle.

Throughout the years, Scholars and theologians alike have constantly and violently debated which number is in fact the most bro. On one hand, you have 69. Whenever 69 is mentioned in any context bros immediately unleash #13 high fives and fist pounds and start laughing about how awesome it was that someone said “69.” Bros also love putting 69 into everyday activities. For example, anytime I get some hot slam piece for a waitress, no matter what the bill is, I always leave her a 69 cent tip along with my phone number. A lot of times she’ll say some shit like, “Wow, thanks for the 2 percent tip,” and act all mad, but I really know she's just hiding her excitement after receiving the invitation to take a ride on the Pound Town Express. Fucking slut.

While 69 is without a doubt a fucking amazing number, there’s only so far that you can take it. I mean honestly, how truly bro is a 69? Why would a bro ever need to go down on a girl? Everyone knows girls get off by giving BJs. Why else would they say they love it so much in porn? Besides, bros should never be worried about "taking care" of a girl. Isn’t it reward enough just to be hooking up with a bro? Can you say selfish? Anyways, while 69 is a truly inspiring number, I present to you an alternative. A number that can be enjoyed by bros multiple times each and every day. A number that symbolizes our need to hide from the brocially charged oppression that sweeps our streets. A number whose mere mention causes bros everywhere to drop what they are doing and start telling the story about their #108 Spring Break trip to Jamaica where they smoked the dankest shit with a couple of the resort workers. That number is 420.

Smoking #70 weed is a fucking bro pastime. However, bro-haters realize this and make bullshit laws to keep bros down. That's where 420 comes into play. Not only do all bros know exactly what someone is talking about when they say 420, but stupid bro-haters have no fucking clue. April 20th is by far the greatest day of the year because it’s literally 4/20. Bros love to get together and have huge ass smoking parties outside on 420, just to say fuck you to the pigs and anyone else trying to uphold all their fucking bro-hater laws. Bros can get away with this shit by telling all the cops that they are just smoking #74 tobacco in their bongs, but the stupid fucking pigs have no clue that there’s definitely some buds in there.

Bros "Wake and Bake" every fucking day, but it doesn’t get much better than waking up on 420 knowing that you’re going to be high all day long. Being so high that little kids would think you are literally retarded is the fucking shit. After smoking so much you can’t even talk, it’s usually a good idea to pop in some entertainment. Movies like Dazed and Confused, Half Baked, and pretty much any Cheech and Chong movie are mandatory viewing for a successful 420. You also better believe that bros will be smoking anytime the word “weed” is mentioned onscreen. Smoking games are fucking 420 staples.

Unlike made up Hallmark Holidays like Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day or Easter, you can celebrate 420 every fucking day of the year. While bros will go entire semesters without stepping foot in a classroom, there’s no fucking chance they’re going to miss that 4:20 appointment with their homemade gravity bong. Bros also love celebrating #63 America's time zones by smoking at 4:20 in each of them every fucking day.

While bros don’t really know exactly where 420 came from, they don’t give a shit. It’s a fucking symbol of our eternal struggle to live in a world that refuses to accept us for who we are. 420 is a secret society allowing bros to gather and recognize bro pioneers such Woody Harrelson, Bob Marley, and the stoner guy from “Road Trip,” who spent their lives working to make it a more tolerant world for bros. So as you pack that bowl in anticipation for the clock striking the sacred time of 4:20, remember to give a nod to those that fought so hard for your rights. While 69 may be an incredibly bro number – 420 will always be king.

#114 Rioting

2010-04-14T12:16:00.001-04:00

This isn’t your typical #35 pregame. From the outside looking in it would look typical. It’s you and ten of your bros absolutely punishing 2 #19 kegs and a fucking hugeass gin bucket. It’s only 11am, but honestly, it’s warm outside, of course you’re gonna get fucked up all day. But, today is different. Today is the "First Day of Spring" party at your school and there is a buzz in the air. This past winter has been fucking horrible. Sure the blizzards killed 13 old people, but the even bigger tragedy was that you only got laid twice. This cold streak is finally going to end. Much like rage turns Bruce Banner into the Hulk, warm weather turns girls into #3 sluts. Today is going to be a good day.

As you and your bros make your way down to the park where the DJs are spinning aka pressing the “next” button on their iPods, you get the same feeling you had back in high school just before a food fight. There’s electricity in the air. After a tense 10 minutes of screaming and chanting all kinds of inaudible shit, you see it. An empty 40 bottle making its way towards the parking lot. As the bottle smashes, bros everywhere cheer and immediately start chucking all kinds of shit into the air. Within minutes bros everywhere are bringing all the kindling aka park benches and plywood from houses to the middle of the park and lighting that shit on fire. People start swarming parked cars, shaking them, and putting dents in the hoods by treating them like trampolines. Before you know it a streak of blood crawls down your face – you have no idea how it got there. You turn to your bro, dab your finger on the blood, and take a taste.

“Ahh,” you tell your bro, “tastes like Victory!”
Bros fucking love rioting.

Now when I talk about riots, I’m not talking about all those protesting riots bullshit over Rodney King or human rights. Bros don’t give a shit about that. Bros riot over much more important things – like winning a basketball game or because they’re drunk. Bros don’t celebrate big wins by having a fucking tea party and talking about if they take lemons or honey in their tea – they break as much shit they can find and burn all their fucking furniture.

Whenever bros get together to have a good time, there are always those people who are jealous of them. These people are obviously the bro-haters. Shockingly enough, even during an all-out riot where literally everyone is invited to participate these haters still exist. The fucking police. I mean, honestly, what the fuck is wrong with a little innocent mischief? Are bros hurting anyone? Probably, but that’s beside the point. If you step foot onto a college campus, you should expect to get hurt. Do the fires ever get out of control? Yes, but that’s why you have the fire department. Besides, even retards know how to “Stop, Drop, and Roll” so what’s the big fucking deal?

Even with all this hatred coming from the people who are supposedly there to “protect” their rights, bros don’t stop partying. In fact they party even harder. Immediately it becomes us vs. them. The good (bros) vs. the evil (the cops.) Bros quickly forget the real reason they are rioting (because it’s warm out) and focus on the new cause: letting the cops know how much better we are than them.

While all we have is our #4 chants of “Fuck the Police” and our #14 father’s law firm to protect us – the cops have weapons. Little do they know, bros are fucking immune to that shit. Please what the fuck are the cops going to do? Tear gas us? Don’t they realize who they’re dealing with? What are we? Hormonal women? Everyone and their fucking mother knows bros are physically unable to cry. Stupid fucking pigs.

Once the cops figure out they aren’t dealing with girls on their period, they might turn to more drastic measures, like rubber bullets. Sure this shit could sting, but let’s be realistic – bros might as well have Adamantium injected inside their bones because they're that genetically perfect. Shooting rubber bullets at a bro is like a power walk for fat girls – it doesn’t do shit. Besides, being able to tell people at the party later that night that you got shot with a rubber bullet will definitely get you laid. Slam pieces fucking love brave heroes.

Facts: #1 Getting wasted is fucking awesome. #55 Destroying other people’s shit is fucking awesome. #33 Burning shit is fucking awesome. Sure you might get hurt in the process, but seriously, who gives a fuck? You’ve earned this day. Riot on, bros. Riot on.

#113 Tiger Woods

2010-04-07T11:26:00.003-04:00

Bros don’t give a shit about the news. Have you ever tried to watch CNN? It’s fucking boring as shit. All they ever talk about is bombs going off in some country that no one has ever fucking heard of or a bunch of bullshit about how the economy sucks. Fucking please. If the economy is so bad then why the fuck do I still have like 200 thousand dollars in my trust fund? Some day bros will control the media. Then we'll finally be able to report on stories that are actually worth reporting – like when the record for most beers funneled at one time is broken or Youtube videos of people getting hurt. In the meantime, bros must accept that 90% of every newscast is just a bunch of bullshit, with the other 10% of course being Sports. While this may be the case, there are some news stories that rise above all the bullshit filler. On November 27, 2009 bros hit the fucking jackpot. It was on this day that one of our favorite athletes, video games, and Gatorade flavors became so much more. It was on this day that Tiger Woods became the fucking man. As news emerged about the porn stars, reality TV sluts, and waitresses from shitty restaurants that Tiger had banged, bro-haters across the world decided to judge him by spewing brocial slurs such as “sinner,” “sexual deviant,” “liar,” “creep,” or “pervert.” While all these hateful words emerged across the country, there were only two words that came to any true bro’s mind: “Bro. King.” Bros fucking love Tiger Woods.

Over the past few months, while earthquakes and disasters have swept the globe, the media has been focused on one thing: Bro-Hating. You can't go to the fucking grocery store these days without walking by a magazine proclaiming Elin Nordegren or Sandra Bullock to be a fucking victim after their “savage and asshole husbands” cheated on them. Give me a fucking break. What the fuck did you think he was going to do? When a guy's last wife was a fucking tatted up porn star, do you really think that he's going to remain faithful to you just because you saved the day in "Speed?" Hell fucking no. And when Tiger Woods got caught did one athlete come forward to condemn him for his actions other than Jesper "I pimp out my nanny to get in with Tiger's sponsors" Parnevik? Nope. And why do you think that is? That's right - because every fucking athlete cheats on his wife. It doesn't matter who you are, if you are a straight man and some hot slam piece throws herself at you, you better believe you’re gonna book those one way tickets on Orbitz to Pound Town. It's called nature, bitches.

"But NYB, what about the commitment they make to their wives by getting married?" First - shut the fuck up and get back on that elliptical you fat bitch.The last thing the shore needs this summer is another fucking beached whale. Secondly, bros realize that marriage, much like #75 dating, is part of society's plan to control us. Why the fuck would Tiger Woods get married? Because society said he had to. What do you think people would say if Tiger was single at age 33? Sure its worked for Derek Jeter, but honestly I feel as though Jeter has a little classier taste than Tiger. How would it look if Tiger sank a putt on the 72nd hole to win at Augusta only to have the breakout star of "Annie's Anal Adventures, Vol. 26" sprinting on the green to congratulate him?

I’m fucking tired of all the bullshit saying how Elin’s heart is broken. Yeah, fucking right. Is she seriously saying she would have “fallen in love” with Tiger had he not been worth a fucking billion dollars. Tiger’s the real victim here. Just because he got caught acting like the Bro King that he is, he’s probably going to have to pay his wife millions of dollars. For what? What the fuck did she do to earn that shit? Nothing. Not to mention the whole thing about her trying to kill him and Tiger covering her ass. Bottom line – Elin is a menace to society and should be fucking deported.

Now, I don’t think anyone would disagree with the fact that society hates bros. So in society’s quest to eliminate the bro population, it has developed a type of therapy to try to change bros’ ways, breaking down everything that makes them who they are so they can fit in better with exactly what society thinks they should be. They call it Sex Rehab. To me, Sex Rehab is nothing different than those gay conversion camps that hardcore Christians send their kids to. It's all fucking bullshit. Seriously, what the fuck goes on there? Do they show them porn and shock their balls whenever they sprout wood so they learn to hate sex? What really pisses me off is when people say Tiger is such "an animal" because he cheated on his wife when she was six months pregnant. I mean, come on, what the fuck was he supposed to do? Who the fuck wants to bang a pregnant lady? That’s some seriously deviant shit. If you ask me the people who are banging the six-month pregnant women are the ones who should be in rehab. Fucking sickos.

Bros have always supported Tiger Woods, but it took a late night Ambien and Vicodin fueled car crash to truly open every bros’ eyes. This weekend as he makes a comeback against all odds with society constantly judging his every move, bro everywhere will be there to support their fallen Bro King. For years, only the #94 Token Black Bro wearing the Nike hat and red shirt on #Halloween for the sixth straight year were able to make the claim. But now, thanks to his sacrifice for the rights of his fellow bros everywhere, we are all now able to honestly declare: “I am Tiger Woods.” Your throne awaits, Tiger. Fire away.

#112 Theme Parties

2010-03-31T16:21:00.001-04:00

It’s Tuesday morning. For the first time all semester, you’re up before one. But unlike some fucking bro-hater the reason you’re up isn’t to go to class. You want to see the carnage. Last night got a little fucking crazy. After four solid hours of taking shots and debating whether the 300 pound redneck waitress had ever seen a penis that wasn’t her incestuous father’s, one of your bros decided it would be a good idea to challenge some big ass black dude to a break dancing contest. Everything was going well until Round 3 where your bro had to compensate for his whiteness and obvious break dancing disadvantage by pulling of the impossible: sliding across the floor using ONLY the top of his head. It was a bold move – and he nearly pulled that shit off. Much like most shitty bars – this particular establishment had a shitload of broken glass all over the fucking floor, which lodged itself into your bro’s scalp. It was hard to tell if he didn’t want to lose the contest or if he was just too drunk to feel feelings, but god damn it if he didn’t want to finish that competition. He hopped up from the floor only to meet his opponent’s glare or horror and disbelief. Your bro asked, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Did Tyler Perry die or something?” That’s when he finally felt the blood streaming down his face. After laughing maniacally and screaming “I’M HAVING A HEAD PERIOD!!!” for about 20 minutes, you and your bros #83 turned against every bro bone in your body and sent him to the hospital.

For some reason the bro-haters at the hospital kept him all night. Some bullshit about “hospital policy” and that they were “scared for his mental well-being” or something. You don’t give a fuck. Only thing you care about is seeing that fucking scar on his head. As your bro finally gets home just in time to watch some new hilarious Youtube clip you found, he stops everyone and demands to be heard.

“Bros – last night was one of the craziest times of my fucking life. When you are lying in that hospital bed bleeding all over the bed because of a drunken break-dancing accident, you really learn a lot about yourself. About life. About being a hero. But honestly, if there’s one thing I can take away from this experience it’s this: dudes, nurses are fucking hot as shit.”

As you and your bros all #13 high five each other and start #4 chanting “NUR-SES! NUR-SES!” you all immediately know what has to be done. This weekend it’s time to celebrate your bro’s release from the hospital the only way you know how: it’s time for a “Bro-B-GYNs and Naughty Nurses” party. Bros fucking love theme parties.

To be honest, a bro doesn’t need anything to party other than a cold #19 keg, a couple bros, and some slam pieces to bang. Bros definitely don’t need decorations or any shit like that to have a good time. But every once in a while bros like to mix shit up. That’s where theme parties come into the picture. Now, when I say theme parties I’m not talking about some bullshit like, “everyone get dressed up as your favorite character from ‘Fern Gully’ and come reenact the movie!” And bros definitely don’t have anything to do with any science fiction type “theme parties.” As a matter of fact, if you have even been in a debate involving Star Trek and Star Wars, please leave this website and get back to saving your virginity for marriage. Bros have practical theme parties, like “Anything but Clothes,” “Golf Pros and Tennis Hos” or parties making fun of lesser life forms, like a #100 Guido theme. While you’ll never see a bro send out an evite with some Sex and the City quote inviting you over for a “Few Martini’s with the Girls,” you will see this shit at a bro’s theme party.

Specialty Drinks – Over the past several months we have developed a pretty constant theme: drinking is fucking awesome. But much like a bro could never be expected to settle for just one woman, he’s got to have some variety in what he drinks. While bros fucking love pounding Natty and Bud Light, it’s nice every once in awhile to kick back with a White Russian, and what better place to do that than at a “Big Lebowski” party? While girls and fucking bro-haters might “decorate” their party with balloons and streamers, bros know the only thing they need to make their party legit is special drinks and whatever shit that might be lying around the house that you #2 stole last night.

Girls in Slutty Outfits – Perhaps the only group of people in the world who love theme parties more than bros is the slam pieces that are invited to them. While #86 Halloween is truly the only day that it is socially acceptable for a girl to wear next to nothing and claim to be “in costume,” Theme Parties come in a close second. Much like on Halloween, no matter what the theme of the party, girls will find a way to make that shit slutty as hell. For example, one time I went to a “Barn” party thinking everyone would be dressed up like farmers and shit, only to find out all the girls there decided they would cut up their $200 jeans to give themselves Daisy Dukes just to show off the fact that they eliminated their cellulite over the Winter. While it was nice to see those legs in high heels, it really is a shame that with all our technological advances scientists haven’t developed a treadmill for girls’ faces. If that shit’s not in the new health care plan, it fucking should be.

When making your guest list, it’s important for bros to realize that some fat ugly girls might try to sneak into your party dressed just as slutty as the hot ones. The last thing you need is some fat bitch showing up to your “Superheroes” theme party stuffed into a Catwoman suit. If she does happen to find her way into the party, make sure she knows she’s not welcome by chasing her around the house attempting to “save the pet population” by using your Superhuman powers to spay her. If she #44 cries and yells at you asking why you’re such an asshole, just respond, “Ask Bob Barker, bitch.”

For all you fucking bro-haters out there saying that bros are selfish and don’t care about anyone but themselves, I ask you to look no further to a Theme Party. Bros realize there is nothing a girl loves to do more than dress up as slutty as humanly possible. It’s in their DNA.

Throw the Theme Party. Let them be sluts. You’re welcome, ladies.

#111 High School

2010-03-24T12:15:00.002-04:00

Bros take pride. Bros take pride in the fact that they drank for like 13 hours straight last Saturday and were still able to seal the deal with that tall bitch they met at the bar. Bros take pride in the fact that they’ve been able to slay like 25 girls so far this semester. Bros take pride in the fact that they woke up this morning only to see thirteen jars of Hellman’s Mayonnaise they #2 stole from Wawa last night nestled in bed with them. Bros take pride in a whole lot of shit that they do, and honestly, who the fuck is going to blame them? I mean, when it’s been scientifically proven that you are one of the smartest people on the fucking planet, it’s hard not to take pride in everything you do. Say you beer bonged like 6 beers at once and even threw in a couple old birth control pills just to get really fucked up. Of course you’re going to tell people about that shit. It’s an accomplishment. You need to be recognized and honored for your greatness. While these moments of heroism come and go and usually are overlooked by the Liberal media, much like everything bros do, there is one thing about bros that everyone and their fucking mother needs to know: they were fucking awesome in high school.

I always love all those TV shows and moviesportraying high school as being a time where kids are going through an awkward stage where they can’t even get a date to the school dance, much less have their first kiss. What kind of fucking science-fiction is this shit? It’s definitely not about bros. Bros fucking dominated high school. And first kiss? Yeah fucking right – bros were getting handies during recess back in 7th grade on the tetherball court from girls like 3 years older than them. Bros don’t even remember what it was like to be a virgin because they lost that shit so long ago.

A lot of times, after a classic night of bros being bros aka getting fucking wasted and #97 taking a dump in your random freshman roommate’s hamper to get back at him for yelling at you because you #36 pissed all over his laptop when you were blacked out, you might be met with questions such as, “What happened to you along the way that made you into this animal.” After calling him a fucking bro-hater and telling him he got what he deserved for raising his voice to a fucking bro, it’s time to explain exactly how fucking awesome you were in high school. Here are a few things that bros fucking love about their high school careers.

Drinking – I always love all those kids who come to College and have never drank before in their lives, then have like two beers and start pretending they’re fucking Legolas and re-enacting scenes from “Lord of The Rings.” Since bros are smart as shit, they realized from a young age that your ability to drink determines the amount of respect you are given, so you better fucking believe they have high tolerances. Bros were always the freshmen that were invited to the senior parties in high school. Bros love calling people who never drank before “lightweights.” Being a lightweight automatically makes you a fucking loser.

Sports – You better fucking believe bros dominated in every sport back in high school. Whether it was basketball, wrestling, football, or lacrosse, it doesn’t really matter – one thing is for sure though, bros were always All-State or All-District. At some point in their career, bros played against some #67 big name College or Pro player and you better fucking believe they shut him down. Bros will then finish their claim to fame by talking about how some of the big name programs were recruiting them but then they blew out their knee so they lost their scholarship. Bros will then tell you it’s much better this way because if they played D-1 ball they wouldn’t be able to get fucked up as much.

Friends – No matter how fucking crazy you and your bros are at College, every bro will always claim, “Bro, you need to hang out with my bros from home. Those mother fuckers are fucking insane.” Bros love talking about all the crazy shit they used to do with their high school friends and whenever they are coming to visit, they will have a countdown going. Bros will then put out a warning to the entire fucking campus via facebook status telling everyone that the fucking wrecking crew is coming to town and that they better watch the fuck out. Once the wrecking crew shows up they will immediately start pounding brews and looking at facebook pictures of the sluts that they’ll be banging on their stay.

Bros don’t transform into the perfect people that they are overnight. While their #109 good looks may have been with them for their entire life, other parts of their greatness need to be developed. The first day of College marks the beginning of your epic bro career. For the next 5+ years you will be the fucking Gods of campus – but this is nothing new. After all, you just spent the past four years sitting atop your throne.

#110 March Madness

2010-03-17T12:49:00.003-04:00

There are certain pastimes that only bros truly know how to enjoy. Such events include having sex with complete strangers, drinking to the point of blacking out, and making sure that girls know that they are in fact the inferior gender. While all of these actions are incredibly important not only to bros, but to the livelihood of the entire country – the fact that they can be done on a daily basis doesn’t make them special.

Apparently March is Women’s History Month, which seems odd to me. What the fuck do they do to honor that? Just get together and watch old episodes of “Supermarket Sweep,” and talk for like two hours about how much cheaper Brillo pads used to be? Anyways, while Women are busy honoring the great kitchen trashbags of our time, bros have other plans. Starting at noon on Thursday, bros across the nation will gather at bars everywhere to honor one of the greatest traditions in history. Clutching their crumpled up sheet of paper with a filled out bracket inside and a pen to circle every team that wins – bros are set for four straight days of 12 hour sessions at the bar watching amateur basketball players and the University of Kentucky. Bros fucking love March Madness.

Honestly, does it get any better than that half an hour leading up to the first tip-off of the first game? While Greg Gumbel and Seth Davis talk some bullshit to fill up time, all you can think about is the huge fucking payout you’re going to win once you get that perfect fucking bracket. "Perfect bracket? Is that even possible?" Shut the fuck up bro-hater, of course it’s fucking possible. Bros know everything there is to know about every fucking team in the tournament. This is most likely because bros have been making money all season long by betting on games. While everyone else was sleeping - you better fucking believe bros were throwing cash at the Midnight Monday WAC games on ESPN.

Bros also know all about the mid-major teams and you better believe bros know who the major upsets are going to be. The beauty of picking an upset, is that say you pick a 14 over a 3 and that shit actually happens – for the rest of your life you can always rub that shit in your bros’ faces because it proves that you are smarter than them. A true bro will also never put all #1 seeds in the Final Four – by doing so, you lose the right to your name for the rest of the tournament and will be known only by your real name: bitch.

When you ask a bro how his bracket is looking, you will never get an answer of “It’s looking good.” That’s because bros have like five different brackets going at once. Bros always have that one “big money” bracket which they care most about, but there are always like 5 or 6 other pools they're in. For bros out of College, one of the brackets is always in the “office pool.” Even though it’s probably for the lowest amount of money, they're always the most frustrating for any working bro. This is because no matter how much research they do for each team, some little old woman who picks all chalk pretty much always wins. The worst is that she’ll never admit that she just picked the higher seeds, but will instead do like 3 minutes of research after winning to defend her picks by saying some shit like, “I just knew Coach Calipinarian could do it!” Fucking please – go back home to your ten cats you fucking psycho.

While bros can pretty much gamble on anything these days, the beauty of March Madness is that it makes you care about games that you wouldn’t give two shits about. Honestly, would anyone in their right mind ever want to see Purdue and Siena square off? Fuck no. But in that first round of games, everyone’s bracket is alive and every fucking point matters. Will you decide with 3 minutes left that you don’t care about your bracket anymore if this 16 seed can knock off the 1? Hell yeah. When the squad you picked to go to the Elite 8 hits a last second 3-pointer to escape in the first round, will you celebrate like you would if your slam piece just agreed to get the abortion? Fuck yeah you will.

With #108 Spring Break in the rear view mirror, and summer still a few months away, bros desperately need something to keep the momentum of the party going. For the next two weeks bros will enjoy one of the greatest pastime of all where #4 chanting, drinking heavily, and gambling are all encouraged. Welcome to March Madness.

#109 Being Good Looking

2010-03-10T14:21:00.001-05:00

Tonight’s been a fucking shit show. After #35 pregaming at your spot for like six hours watching College basketball and complaining about how it's taking forever for the next season of #27 Eastbound and Down to come out, you and your bros are about to #8 roll out to the bars. Just before you walk out the door, you realize that it was going to be a sloppy night. You just took like 10 shots in a fucking row, and the concept of having thoughts was starting to leave your mind. You told that girl from Econ class with the big cans to meet you at the bar, and if you want to bang her you’re going to have to keep it together. As you and your bros stumble to the bars, you sift through the numbers in your phone to finally find #28 “Econ Slut.” You text her, “Hey – can’t wait to hang out tonight!” Foundation fucking laid. She immediately texts back and says she’ll be there in like a hour – thank God – one less hour of wasting time talking to her before Pound Town. You finally get to the bar and while the bro-hater bouncer tries to say “you’re too drunk to come in, blah blah blah, last time you were here you tried to steal the fountain soda machine, blah blah blah,” you just remind him that #14 your father could have him fired tomorrow. Scared as shit because you’re the fucking man, he finally lets you in. After entering, one of your bros has a great idea: shot contest. It doesn’t get much better than proving your manhood by drinking as many fucking shots as possible. After throwing back like five you tap out. Time to put on the charm. You turn to your boy to tell him that your slut is coming soon, but he just shakes his head at you, “What did you say?” You repeat yourself but this dumb-fuck obviously doesn’t understand English. You tell him he’s a fucking terrorist, but he just shakes his head and says, “You’re wasted man.”

Oh fuck – you’ve drank yourself into the dreaded Helen Keller alcohol coma. You can see everything going on around you but your brain has decided to call it a night. As you scream out incoherent words like you’re Mr. Holland’s son, you see her walk in. Wearing the top she probably spent an hour deciding on wearing so she could send the perfect message of “I’m only a slut for you,” you try to put yourself together. As you approach her things go black. The next morning you wake up amazed to actually be in your own bed.

You whisper to yourself: “How the fuck did I get home last night?”
“You were sooo drunk!!” some strange voice calls out.
“Who the fuck was that!?!” you scream.
“It’s me, (name not important),” as a girl emerges from underneath the covers.
It’s Econ slut – you guys banged. But wait a minute! You couldn’t even talk, much less “spit game.” How the fuck did this hot slut end up in your bed? That’s when you remember: I’m a fucking bro – by definition #83 genetically perfect in every fucking way. While other fucking losers have to do pointless shit like take girls out on #75 dates or hold doors open for them, all you have to do is smile and nod your head. Being one of the best looking people on the fucking planet will take care of the rest. God, its so good to be a fucking bro.

It’s not our fault. Ever since the third grade when like half the girls in the class passed us notes asking if we “like-like” them we knew: we are the cream of the crop. As time passed this shit grew to the point where effortless sex is just a fucking given. Now I know someone is out there, probably toggling between online dating websites and animal porn, yelling at his computer – “NYB you’re a hypocrite!! You care about how good you look just like the fucking #100 Guidos!!” First of all: fuck you – second, bros are nothing like Guidos. Unlike Guidos who have to spend five hours a day getting ready to go out, so they can hit on some “woman” who will probably die of skin cancer in like a year from all her fake tanning, bros take like 2 minutes to get ready. This is because God created us perfect. God obviously wanted bros to be the most attractive people on the pIanet because we’re the smartest and he knew our seed must survive. Unfortunately for God – we have #24 other plans.

Bros also like being tall as shit. I’m 6’4’’ and so are most of my bros. We always love making fun of all the fucking midgets that hang out with us who are only like 6 feet tall. We pretend we can’t even see them when we’re standing and any time they get angry we tell them to “take it easy, Napoleon.” I’ll never understand why they chose to be so short, but whatever, its their own fault. Fucking short losers.

Now to all you fucking haters out there calling me made up words like “shallow,” I can tell one thing about you right off the bat: you are ugly. Please – who in the world is not shallow? Outside of a ridiculously drunk bro on the worst cold streak of his life, who in his right mind would want to bang some #78 fat ugly bitch? I seriously can’t stand all those people who say, “True beauty is on the inside.” Give me a fucking break. I don’t care how “good” of a heart she has – I don’t really think she’ll be finding her Prince Charming anytime soon if she has a face that looks like one of Jigsaw’s victims.

There’s a lot of haters in the world. They hate all the things we’ve earned over our lives. Whether it’s the jobs our fathers got us, the BMW we got for graduation, or even our trust fund, society finds something wrong with it. But when society calls us “ugly” for things we say or do, we have to draw the line. Next time this happens – make sure you tell society who the real ugly one is. Because there’s only one place that true beauty matters: the outside.

#108 Spring Break

2010-03-03T12:52:00.006-05:00

It’s early March and this fucking snow isn’t going anywhere. After spending pretty much the entire month of February off of school due to “dangerous campus conditions,” getting wasted with your bros and smashing snow men that all those fucking #80 losers made around campus, you’re sick of this shit. If you hear one more “yellow snow” joke you’re going to fucking lose it. You even heard some rumor that there might actually be make-up classes. Fuck that shit. The only make-up that a bro ever should have to deal with shows up on their pillowcase the mornings after a midnight ride to Pound Town. Not only is all this snow about to make you lose your fucking mind, but you’re on a cold streak of epic proportions. Sure it’s only been like three weeks since getting dome from that chick with the weird eyebrows in a bathroom two dudes had already #48 puked in, but it might as well have been three fucking years ago. Just when you’re thinking that even that Olympic luger had better luck than you do, you stop yourself. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel. After struggling through a month and a half of sleeping through classes, getting wasted five nights a week, and #65 cheating your way to a C on your midterm, it’s time for some “Me” time. That's right - it's motherfucking Spring Break.

I have no idea who invented Spring Break, probably Jesus or something, but whoever it was, he was definitely a fucking bro. Honestly, I dare anyone out there to bring up Spring Break with a group of bros. There is no fucking way that some sort of “SPRING BREAK” #4 chant doesn’t immediately break out. Bros plan all year long for Spring Break to get here, and when it arrives bros are as excited as Daniel Snyder the night before the first day of free agency. I mean seriously, who could blame them, Spring Break is the fucking bro Mecca. So why do bros love Spring Break so much? Let’s take a look.

Constant Drunkenness – In a perfect world, a bro would get fucking hammered nonstop every fucking day. Unfortunately, we don’t live in a perfect world. There are bro haters everywhere using bigoted words such as “alcoholics” to put us down. That’s why Spring Break is so fucking amazing. All those fucking bro bigots are nowhere to be seen. They’re carrying on their fucking loser ways of Interning, applying to grad school, or worst of all, participating in some community service trip. Spring Break brings together bros and slam pieces alike who share one goal – not being able to remember a fucking thing about the entire week. Spring Break is like the Triple Crown of drinking with your liver being the horse. The entire week you are beating the shit out of your liver to keep up with the rest of the bros, and just like in horse racing, if your “horse” pulls a Barbaro, you still go down as a fucking legend. Anyone that drinks himself to death on Spring Break is a definitely a fucking Bro King.

Cheap – Everyone fucking knows bros are rich as shit. But please, the point of Spring Break is not to drop like 10K from your fucking trust fund on some tropical resort in Bali. The point of Spring Break is to go to some shitty ass resort in some town that only caters to College Students so there’s no chance so seeing anyone over the age of 30. Have you ever heard of people going to South Padre Island or Panama City on a family vacation even though they are cheap as shit? No. Because they're fucking shitholes. Bros also will throw like 10 guys into a fucking room because let’s be honest, there’s no fucking chance you’ll be sleeping in the room anyways. You’re a bro - your dick doesn’t have a chance in hell of staying dry one night, much less an entire fucking week.

Slam Pieces Everywhere – Unlike our Parents and Grandparents who grew up with movies telling them Spring Break involved some shitty band playing on the beach while a bunch of women in horned-rimmed glasses and one-piece bikinis that went down to their knees did “The Swim” dance and screamed like fucking banshees, we were told the truth. Thanks to MTV’s Spring Break and perhaps the greatest series of film that has ever been passed over for awards by The Academy, “Girls Gone Wild,” bros and slam pieces alike know exactly what is expected at Spring Break: meaningless anonymous sex. Honestly, if you can’t get laid at Spring Break, you seriously might want to think about joining the priesthood, because there’s no hope for you. I always love to hear girls talk about how they “met someone special on Spring Break” and “hope to make it work even though we’re 10 hours apart.” Yeah fucking right – newsflash - the only reason he even accepted your facebook friendship is so he can show people pictures of the girl he banged next to the #52 Senor Frogs dumpster.

While bros have contributed much to society over the years (beer bongs, the backwards cap, etc.), society gives little back. Spring Break is one of the few handouts that society provides us with and you better believe we take that shit. Drink until you puke in the pool. Pull off that upper-decker. Throw chairs off the hotel balcony in a drunken rage. Bang that girl you met 10 minutes ago #24 without the condom. It’s your Spring Break. You’ve earned it.

#107 Studying Abroad

2010-02-24T12:02:00.004-05:00

Bros are smart as shit. They realize that without a doubt, College is the best fucking time of your life. Why else would they make their parents pay for like six years of education? To become a fucking dentist? Fuck no. Bros realize that after the bro-hater that is graduation they're not going to be able to sleep until noon everyday while living in a constant state of drunkenness and/or clouded haze of weed. They won't be able to walk across campus and literally see girls slip in puddles of their own wetness just by seeing your face. They won't have all those #80 fucking nerds scatter out of fear due to the story they heard about you and your bros shaving the eyebrows off that loser last year for trying to be your friend. During their 4+ years on a College Campus, a bro is a fucking celebrity. He does whatever he wants, whenever he fucking wants. So why the fuck would any bro ever want to leave this hallowed ground for anything more than a weekend #79 road trip? To be honest, no matter how big of a party town you are in, you need a change of scenery. I don’t care if you are on notoriously crazy campuses such as Austin, Tempe, Gainesville, or even the wildest of them all - Williamsburg, VA. Over the course of four years, a bro is going to get tired of doing the same old shit every night. Don’t worry bros - there’s a fucking cure. It’s called studying abroad.

Most fucking bro-haters will save up all their summer job money and even work during the school year just so they can get the opportunity to enrich their minds and possibly even use the studying abroad experience to do some community service in some third world country. Fucking losers. Bros realize the real reason why the study abroad program was invented: to get fucked up in a different country. I mean seriously, when was the last time that a bro told you they were studying abroad did they ever follow it with, “Oh yeah, I hope to learn so much about the Ancient Ruins during my excavation expedition.” Fucking never. Bros realize that every class they have to take while abroad is a fucking #102 joke. A semester abroad is nothing more than an overpriced vacation from the stress of skipping class and drinking your fucking ass off in College. Let’s take a look at a few things that bros love the most about studying abroad.

Slamming Bitches: Much like girls in America go down on pretty much anything with a European accent, you better believe that shit works the other way around when bros go abroad. If you can get past the whole armpit hair bullshit, then you should be ready for a nice foreign pounding. It really doesn’t get more bro than slaying some girl, who doesn’t speak a word of English other then, “Yes, Please,” on the top bunk in some Hostel while 10 other random strangers are in the room trying to cry themselves to sleep.

Getting Fucked Up: This shit starts the minute you get on the fucking plane. Since bros are smart as shit, they realize that International flights mean all you can drink free liquor. Getting blackout drunk on an International flight is a total fucking bro move. I always love getting wasted beyond belief and trying to convince the flight attendants to bang me in the bathroom. For some reason they always pass, so I just call them a #3 slut and talk about how many #24 abortions they’ve probably had with my bros. Fucking bitches.

The plane ride over is just the beginning of your reign of terror on whatever country you’re staying in for the semester. Immediately after meeting your host family aka the people who will be cleaning your #36 piss off the living room floor for the next three months, bros hit the town. While drinking the higher alcohol content brew is amazing, bros love taking place in one of the greatest European traditions - getting fucking #70 high. Smoking weed in Europe is an absolute must for any bro as is the required trip to Amsterdam. No matter how good it really is, bros will always claim that the weed in Europe was "the dankest shit I’ve ever fucking smoked."

Spreading American Pride: For the most part bros don’t even fucking know what country they are studying abroad in. Why would they give a shit? What difference does it make if they are in Belgium or Austria? It’s all fucking Europe and more importantly, not #63 America. Bros realize that America is by far the greatest fucking country in the World and don’t take shit from anyone who says differently. While abroad, bros love getting wasted and #4 chanting “U-S-A,” making fun of the locals' accents or customs, and most importantly telling all those fucking Commies to “Learn some fucking English!” This lets everyone know just how great America truly is.

College is the greatest time in any true bro’s life. It’s a time for banging strangers. It’s a time for peeing in microwaves. It’s a time for bros to be bros. While everyone in their right mind fully understands that this time is best served on the shores of freedom aka America, there comes a time where a bro needs stretch his legs and branch out. Luckily for bros, God invented studying abroad

#106 Mardi Gras

2010-02-16T13:42:00.004-05:00

It’s a Thursday in the dead of winter. You and your bros are playing some ball at the gym trying to sweat out some of the alcohol from last night. Since you’re just fucking around, you’re obviously more concerned with making jokes than actually trying to win. As you grab the ball at the top of the key you start jawing at your bro.

“This is what we call the ‘Jimmy Dolan Shake and Bake.’ First you think I’m moving left, then you think I’m going right, but I just go straight through your motherfucking legs!”

As you slam on the 8 foot rim, you scream, “Game. Winshasa.”

Big mistake. All your bros immediately stop laughing and get stone face serious.
“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you. Everyone knows that Winabi is the motherfucking town in 'The Air Up There.'”
“Yeah, what the fuck are you thinking?”

Since you’re a bro, you don’t back down to anyone. So you snap back, “Fuck off, you don’t know shit. How dare you challenge me. I’ve seen that fucking movie like 20 times, I've even got a fucking Jimmy Dolan St. Joe’s #34 throwback jersey.”

As things start to really heat up and it looks as though punches are about to be thrown one of your bros speaks up, “Shut the fuck up. All of you. Look at yourselves. What are we, fucking #100 Guidos? Are we really going to “throw ‘bows” over this shit? We’re better than that. We’re better than everyone. We’re bros. Look, this fucking winter has got us all a little crazy and I think it’s time we mix this shit up. We need a change of scene. It’s time we get the fuck out of town. It’s time for a #79 road trip. It’s time for fucking Mardi Gras.”

You and your bros are immediately sold. Quickly you start the “Mar-di Gras” #4 chant and within seconds you are all jumping up and down body slamming each other screaming the only French words outside of "Ménage a trois" that a bro should ever know. Twenty minutes later, without even wasting time for a shower, you and your bros are hitting the road for the ultimate bro trip. Next stop – the biggest shit show on the entire fucking planet – Mardi Gras.

New Orleans is one of those cities that was designed specifically for bros. I remember walking down Bourbon Street for the first time at the age of 16 and thinking that I was in fucking heaven. There’s strip clubs and bars everywhere. There’s even people #48 puking all over the streets while others chant their name. One time I saw some woman so fucking drunk that she fell slow-motion into a huge ass puddle of horse shit and vomit. Obviously I just laughed and didn’t help her up because I’m a fucking bro. Also, she was fat and therefore worthless.

New Orleans is basically the bar equivalent of the #61 Vegas club scene. While Guidos are dropping 10 grand on bottle service just so they can say they were at the same fucking #45 club as the fat Kardashian sister, bros can go to New Orleans to drop $2.50 on a 32 ounce beer and just scream shit in the street. While this shit happens pretty much all year round, there’s no better time than Mardi Gras.

When bros go on road trips to Mardi Gras, they rarely even have a place to stay. Maybe they have a friend of a friend who goes to Tulane or some shit who said they could shower at their place, but that’s about it. Sure it might not seem so smart right off the bat to #8 roll deep to an unfamiliar town with no place to stay, but you are forgetting – bros are the smartest people on the planet. First of all, bros don’t’ fucking need to sleep when they are at Mardi Gras. Sleep just sobers you up and therefore is a waste of money. But say you want to get a little sleep somewhere that isn’t your car. What ever are you going to do??? That’s right find some slam piece and just use-bang her for her bed. Problem fucking solved.

While New Orleans is known for it’s food, music, and water park, the aspect of life that bros identify with best is the exchange rate. Of course I’m talking about how giving girls beads means you get to see some fucking #69 titties. This is by far the greatest invention that God ever created. Just get a handful of cheap ass beads for like $5 and you can literally negotiate what you want some random stranger on the street to do for one of your beads. I always love the fucking self-righteous girls who demand “high quality beads.” Please, it doesn’t fucking matter what beads you get, it’s not going change the fact that you’re a whore.

Bros realize the genius in this system, so you better believe they try to bring the traditions to their house parties. I don’t think it’s possible to go through College without going to at least one Mardi Gras party where there is some prize for whatever girl gets the most amount of beads at the end of the party. The night usually starts with bros going around to all the slam pieces and testing them by half-jokingly asking them what they would do to earn the beads. By about hour two it’s clear who is going to take home the prize. Usually it’s the girl who’s been passed around by all your bros. She’s usually standing in the corner, drunk as shit, surrounded by bros who have been chanting, “SHOW YOUR TITS” for the past half hour. Of course, she does, and of course every time those #5 nipples get broken out there’s a huge “YEAAAHHHHH!!!!” and #13 high fives all around.

While for most of the World, Mardi Gras means the last day of partying before Lent, bros don’t give a fuck about all that shit. All it really means is that bros are going out on a fucking Tuesday with a shitload of beads and pretty much a 100% chance of seeing some titties. Will you have to take these girls out on a #75 date to see their knockers? No. Will you have to #49 call her or even know her name? Fuck no. Just give her about 10 cents worth of plastic and let the magic happen. God I fucking love Mardi Gras.

Bros Like All This Shit - Full List

2010-02-12T12:44:00.048-05:00

#1 Talking About How Wasted They Got
#2 Stealing Shit
#3 Calling Girls Sluts
#4 Chanting
#5 Nipples
#6 Beer Pong
#7 Stories about College Parties
#8 Rolling Deep
#9 Talking about Lifting
#10 Sweet Caroline

#11 Facebook picture with your Bros
#12 Pretending you don’t know people you met while drunk
#13 Slappin' Skin
#14 Talking About How Important Their Father Is
#15 Ultimate Fighting
#16 Thrift Store T-Shirts
#17 Swingers
#18 The Shocker
#19 Kegs
#20 Quoting Movies

#21 Bros Only Vacations
#22 Ankle Socks
#23 Drinking and Driving
#24 Birth Control Not Involving Condoms
#25 Talking About Their Dumps
#26 Blindly Hating Opposing Fans
#27 Eastbound & Down
#28 Giving Girls Nicknames
#29 Grinding
#30 Poker

#31 One Night Stands
#32 Bro Pads
#33 Playing With Fire
#34 Throwback Jerseys
#35 Pregaming
#36 Peeing Places That Aren't The Toilet
#37 Designated Obnoxious Fat Friend (DOFF)
#38 Being Better Than Poor People
#39 Cougars
#40 Getting Kicked Out

#41 Joey Chestnut
#42 Wearing Fraternity Letters
#43 Energy Drinks
#44 Making Girls Cry
#45 Hating Clubs
#46 Events Created Solely For Drinking Purposes
#47 Entourage
#48 Throwing Up
#49 Not Calling Girls When You Say You Will
#50 Bachelor Parties

#51 Taking Coed Sports Seriously
#52 Banging Places That Are Not A Bed
#53 Hazing
#54 Hooters
#55 Breaking Shit
#56 It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia
#57 Not Caring About the Environment
#58 Benders
#59 Sororities
#60 Busting Ass

#61 Vegas
#62 Fantasy Football
#63 Loving America
#64 Weddings
#65 Cheating
#66 Arguing About Whether A Girl Is Hot
#67 Famous Athletes
#68 Tailgating
#69 Fake Tits
#70 Weed

#71 Eating Meat
#72 Erin Andrews
#73 The Wire
#74 Tobacco
#75 Not Going On Dates
#76 Crashing Parties
#77 Heckling
#78 Slump Busters
#79 Road Trips
#80 Giving Losers Shit

#81 Birthdays
#82 After Parties
#83 Not Going To The Doctor
#84 Homecoming
#85 Aggressive Driving
#86 Halloween
#87 Not Voting
#88 Getting Wasted At Inappropriate Times
#89 Hating Hipsters
#90 Wasting Money

#91 Cursing
#92 Bar Crawls
#93 Blackout Wednesday
#94 The Token Black Bro
#95 Models
#96 Out of Towners
#97 Taking Dumps In Places That Aren't The Toilet
#98 Lesbians
#99 New Years Eve
#100 Hating Guidos

#101 Younger Chicks
#102 Joke Classes
#103 Hot Streaks
#104 Super Bowl Sunday
#105 Lying
#106 Mardi Gras
#107 Studying Abroad
#108 Spring Break
#109 Being Good Looking
#110 March Madness

#111 High School
#112 Theme Parties
#113 Tiger Woods
#114 Rioting
#115 420
#116 Horse Races
#117 Having A Bitch
#118 Hating Graduation
#119 Midgets
#120 Icing Bros

#121 Fighting
#122 Texting
#123 Hating Periods
#124 Not Being Alcoholics
#125 Rebounds
#126 Peer Pressure
#127 Fake IDs
#128 Bikinis

Bro Breakdowns
The Masshole
The Snowoard Bum
The Baltimore Bro
The Southern Preppy Bro
The Surfer Bro
The Jersey Bro
The Main Line Bro
The DC Bro
The Chicago Bro
The Texas Bro