Ok, I see I have calmed your seething anger; now, prepare for another admission of guilt. This post isn’t so much about my weekend ski trip with the bros as it is about the very bro-activity of skiing. Well, actually THIS post is. But I’m splitting it into 2 parts. Today will be part 1, which is my weekend recap. It isn’t anything hugely epic, but it has some entertaining elements. Part 2 is the real gem, where I outline how exactly to be a ski bro. Because, believe it or not, strapping on a couple faggy Dynastar skis does not in and of itself make you a bro, Bro.
With that bullshit out of the way, let’s get into it, shall we?
Vic’s Ski/Boozecation Part One
The first thing I had to do to ensure an enjoyable time for me (because it’s always all about me, me, ME) was to take an EXTRA long weekend (meaning taking both Friday and Monday off). Because I am a savvy vet at this point, I know that taking the Monday off is absolutely clutch because, whether I booze or not on the Sunday of my trip, I know I will still be recovering from the punishment of at least the previous 2 days.
You don’t need to know a whole lot about the travelling, but we were heading to the New England area and there was a crippling weather system standing in our way. But we’re bros, and we fucking planned this trip 2 months ago, so fuck mother nature in her loose snatch… we’re going skiing. I kid you not bros, God himself, the biggest bro of all, must have had a boner for watching us shred and booze, because there was (no joke) a penis shaped strip of calm weather that sliced through the pussy lips of this so-called crippling storm. I know this paragraph had a sensory overload of sexual imagery and innuendo, but I don’t give a shit. You’re a bro, so you can handle it.
In any event, we got up to the mountain on Friday morning, much earlier than even our most optimistic goals would have placed us, and there was only one thing to do: ski. Just kidding, there were 2 things to do. 1) Ski, but before that, 2) buy an obnoxious amount of booze for afterwards. Bros don’t subscribe to societal norms for when it’s acceptable to buy beer and liquor, so you have to believe we weren’t flinching as me and my bro stepped into the booze store at 9:30 AM to buy 2 racks and 2 jugs of wine. We also didn’t flinch when we asked for directions to the liquor store. At 9:45, we were purchasing vodka, whiskey, rum… you know, survival fuel.
We were joined shortly thereafter by 2 Boston Bros, and we were on the slopes by 11. I’m not going to lie, bros, lesser men would have folded under the conditions we were skiing in. Blowing ice pellets to the face, 18 inch powder, visibility of about 20 feet. But we are not normal humans. We are demi-gods. Therefore we were skiing through the snow with jousts sticking out of our ski pants, because this fucking weather would make any bro excited.
Let’s fast forward to the post-skiing festivities. I will get into this a little bit more later, but part of the allure for ski bros is that drinking is so much a part of the culture that it is just naturally assumed that if you’re a dude (who likes nailing chicks) under the age of 30, who likes to ski, you’re going to do as much drinking as skiing on your trip. Now, it just so happened that we got a very bro condo for this trip, complete with an absolute staple for any fratty trip: a hot tub and sauna. As I discovered the next day, slamming frat sodas in the sauna will get you absolutely MANGLED in half the time because you are doubling up the dehydration process. BRO.
But in any event, we started smashing beers by 4, and by 7, we were all pretty drunk. Now, even the most drunktaceous bro needs to put some solid food in his system in order to avoid death, so we realized we needed to eat. But, because there was a fucking blizzard outside and we were, you know, in the mountains, we couldn’t just be lazy assholes and order delivery (OF COURSE we didn’t plan ahead by buying food with our booze. What do you think we are, gay?) So we did what any self-respecting bro would do. We piled into a car and had our friend DUI to a very bro restaurant. In the blizzard. Drunk decisions=infallible decisions.
Afterwards, we came back to the cond-bro. Because there was a blizzard outside, the bars weren’t exactly going to be hopping tonight, and the other half of the bros that would be on the trip were still trying to make it that night. They clearly hadn’t planned ahead like the dudes that had already completed the trip. One of the bros, let’s just label him as the “Asshole Most Likely to Get Stuck in a Blizzard and Die” drove up by himself. Well, he’s a bro, but he’s a foolish bro, so he completely relied on his GPS (one of the many reasons bros should rely on their own instincts instead of a stupid machine). This GPS took the shortest route, mileage-wise, possible. A road that, in the middle of the Summer, would have shaved off maybe 3 minutes from his trip. A road that, in the winter, is nothing more than a garbage chute into getting your car jammed into a snow bank. Long story short, he did end up getting stuck in a snow bank with no cell phone reception. My friends, once again God was smiling on a bro, because luckily for my friend, there just so happened to be a guardian bro-angel that lived on that street.
This guardian bro-angel, we’ll call him “Kevin” (because that’s actually his name), was a fucking BRO. My friend walked about a mile in the snow and knocked on his front door. Kevin opened the door and was visibly drunk. Our friend entered and asked to use his phone to call us. He called us, and once he assured us that he wasn’t going to die in a snowpile and that we shouldn’t come get him because we’d just get stuck too, we immediately went back to drinking and making fun of him on our email chain. Once the option that our bro will die is gone, it’s like a trigger goes off to absolutely tear him a new asshole… because kicking a bro while he’s down is one of the broiest things you can do. Like sharks smelling blood. Time for a feeding frenzy.
But in any event, Kevin recognized that our friend was a bro and that, most likely, if he drove our friend home, we’d reward him with Bro-mana… aka beerzzzz. So he took our friend in his big man-truck and drove him through the blizzard. Now, what I’ve forgotten to mention is that 1) Kevin was drunk when our friend met him, 2) had dozens of empty Molson cans in his truck, and 3) drank as he drove our friend back. When we met Kevin, we suspected he was even drunker than we were. So naturally we kept feeding him beers. He had about 6 more beers in the hour that he shot the shit with us. And then we sent him back out into the elements, wishing him safety in his journey home.
Was Kevin indeed blacked out? Yes, he sure was. For you see, Kevin worked at the resort we were skiing at and we saw him in the lodge the next day. Naturally, we greeted him with fist pumps and high-5s. And he definitely didn’t recognize us for a good 15 seconds. Clearly, this was a man who went through the night before with vague images of what was going on and eventually pieced together some semblance of what happened; he did ask if our friend ended up getting his car towed, to which we answered “Fuck if we know”. Bottom line is I doubt Kevin can even read. But Kevin, if you are out there and find this site, I have something to tell you: We salute you, bro, because we didn’t have to stop drinking to pick up and bail out our bro. THANK YOU.
Well, I’m only one day into this trip, and this post has already gotten rather hefty. So therefore, I’m going to stop here and finish recapping the trip tomorrow. I’d actually say the second day highlights trump the first day’s, so prepare to be entertained. Turns out this is actually going to be a 3 day post.
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