Excuse me...while I erupt.

Now...I wish this wasn't true, and on some ethereal level it really isn't...but at the end of the day, bros...well, we're human. What does that mean? Well, for most people, (non bros) it means that they have certain needs - like the need for food, or water, or oxygen. For most people, (non bros) it means they experience emotions...love, sadness, longing, etc. But for the bro? Basically our humanity stopped the second we came out of the womb. The moment we gushed out of whatever vagina it was...the very moment we burst forth to frat out the world amid a cascade of blood, mucus and afterbirth...amid painful screams and the nervous chuckles of our more-than-likely fratty fathers...THAT, my friends...my bros...my minions...is when we stopped being human. And thus...bros have a certain affinity for that day. In the same way we fondly remember the first time we crushed pussy back when girls would fake being drunk beforehand so they wouldn't feel so bad about it...we bros look back upon our entrance into the world with a certain, special something, that of course, leads us to booze, profanity, and a general domination of the public at large.

Of course...this is why bros love birthdays. Bros love birthdays because they provide us with an excuse to get truly fratastic, and spew bro goo onto every single face that presents itself. See...the average civilian...they don't even realize that even when to them a bro seems incredibly offensive...that bro...he's still holding back. Not for the good of the civilians, but for the good of his fellow bros a bro will often refrain from, say, boozing from an open container when there's a police officer around, or screaming at field trips from all-girls private schools who aren't even old enough to know what a bro actually is. But on one of their bros birthdays? Not at all.

This past weekend Vic, myself and a whole crew of unnamed bro-heroes descented upon a certain eastern city for a birthday. Now...I originally thought I'd regale you all with the stories from the weekend...I thought I'd describe in specific, epic, and mind-blowing detail the events of the night, so that you may lean back in awe, sigh to yourself and attempt to recreate the weekend for yourself sometime. But then I realized...that this isn't some bullshit blog or website that glorifies the debauch merely for the sake of doing so. No...this blog is about so much more...it's about BROS...it's about why we do the things that we do...it's about how we operate within this world we've been born into...and it's about how we make an attempt everyday to live better than the rest. With that in mind, I will merely focus on why bros love their bros birthdays...why we will go to great lengths to participate in the festivities, and why we truly do not give a fuck when they happen. Because like I said...the true bro...he never really gives a fuck...but honestly? On the average binge...even though the true bro is dilligafing so hard he makes civilians shit themselves - to his fellow bros...he's just being normal.

Bros are strange. Bros are not ordinary. Bros are not one-in-a-million...but I'd say we're at LEAST one in thirty, and that's without any exaggeration whatsoever...which was hard for me to do, haha. So...a bro is at least one in thirty...maybe one in fifty, but that's not what's important. What IS important is that we aren't the average dude you see walking down the street. The important thing is that there's a certain difference between us, the bros, and the average person milling about in the world. Now, most people...well...most bros...well...ALL bros realize they're not ordinary. From there I think that most bros, they probably think that what sets them apart is how hard they booze...how hard they DILLIGAF...how little respect they have for social norms and expectations. Are bros with the stated opinion wrong? Not really...but they're not entirely correct, either. See...those things are SYMPTOMS of brohood - they are not the condition itself.

Everything that bros do...they do it...in a strange way...in a way that may seem nonsensical to an outsider. I'm speaking of the fact that bros do things for the future, regardless of how impulsive the action or sequence of events is. Now, of course, I don't mean that anything bros do while boozey and celebrating is necessarily planned, it is, almost always entirely spontaneous. What I'm talking about is that almost every bro out there is looking to make some kind of impact - we like the idea of having our actions related later, when we're not around. We like the idea of 'legend' ... most bros, they've probably got some kind of favorite famous person or historical figure, (mine's Aaron Burr...I'll let Vic tell you about his sometime) bros have these kinds of idols because, as I said, we like the idea of legends, significant bros who did something people could talk about. And with that in mind...we rock out the hardest birthday celebrations you could imagine...because we're not just boozing in those moments to celebrate a birthday...we're boozing in those moments to show the random people who stare at us aghast on sidewalks and in bars that we're doing something they might not necessarily be capable of: Operating with a total disregard for the onlooker. And in doing so...we affect the onlooker more than anyone else ever really does. Basically...when a normal person, (non bro) goes out on a weekend night...they probably go out to dinner, go to a bar and booze a little, and then go back to their apartment. And even if they get really blacked out, and even if they bring a girl home (both of which are unlikely for the non-bro) they really didn't have an affect on anyone but a couple people.

When a bro goes out...when he decides to let completely loose on an occasion like a birthday, he affects the entire world around him. And when we ride home from bars on metro trains, taxis, or even on foot...bros will laugh out loud and smile, and they'll be laughing about all the people they just dilligafed...and they'll laugh because they know that in a way, they just made history. Bros LOVE relating stories to each other, and our favorite stories are the ones that affected people outside the group:

"Yo...I don't know if you remember this...but when we were waiting for a table at dinner I was standing next to the door way asking people, "hey...you got a reservation?? No?? Well then...you better fuck off...because we all HAVE a goddamn resi...and we're not seated."

or

"Dude, I couldn't stand the way that guy was looking at me...so I leaned into his girlfriend and asked her at what point it was that she realized she dating a bone-smuggler."

or

"When I got to that girl's apartment, I for some reason gave all her roommates the finger and screamed, "DILLIGAF""

So bros love celebrating because it provides us all with yet another occasion to make a little bit of history... anonymously. Really...it's all just preparation...because by the time we bros are getting gray...we'll be, what? Running the world...like bros have always done, and someone's getting the torch passed to them...and I guaran-fucking-tee you all that it's not the guy ordering fruit-tinis and telling random girls they have pretty eyes - no...minions...it's the bros, as always.

-Bronest.

I took Vic's cue from last tuesday and got pretty boozey tonight, except...unlike last wednesday...tomorrow's not going to be a day when the whole world is snowed in...shiiiiiit.

-DILLIGAF.

What you SHOULD have been doing last night, (bro).

Now we all know superbowl Sunday is the best excuse we have in America to binge drink, get sloppy, spill hamburger grease down our shirts and scream loudly and belligerently at the television screen through mastodonic mouthfuls of hot wings and booze. We understand that superbowl Sunday might be the one and only evening in America were it’s relatively acceptable to frat out on sidewalks and DILLIGAF the fucking sober civilians and scream obscenities at their fat girlfriends when they waddle on by to whole foods or some other bullshit, smarmy market she can go to and feel healthy. We get the fact that superbowl Sunday is the ultimate day-drink-booze-fest on the calendar. By that I mean that we understand that superbowl Sunday isn’t your average ‘Sunday-Funday’ (hate that term) – no…on superbowl Sunday, we need to take day-drinking so seriously that we can hardly remember the fourth quarter. Because here’s something we also understand: THE SUPERBOWL IS NOT ABOUT FOOTBALL. Once again: SUPERBOWL SUNDAY IS NOT ABOUT FOOTBALL. “The fuck?” You ask me, “BUT Bronest, what’s it about?” Well, minions, it’s about DRINKING. Superbowl Sunday is about binge drinking so hard you teeter on catatonia, it’s about taking so much goddamn booze to your dome you legitimately think you may have given yourself a stroke. It’s about throwing pizza slices and wing bits at your bro’s wall and screaming ‘DILLIGAF!’ if he takes issue with it. Basically, on supebowl Sunday, you should dilligaf every single thing…EXCEPT, of course binge drinking and dilligafing in itself.

Why??? WHY is binge drinking and dilligafing so important on superbowl Sunday? Why is it more important to get embarrassingly sloppy, drunk, drool-covered and caked with food stains on that day than any other? Because superbowl Sunday is the only true and pure bit of American culture we have. Because superbowl Sunday is quite literally our most favorite national holiday. Because even people who aren’t football fans get out there and watch the game and booze. So if you’re not boozing as hard as your body can…if you’re not dilligafing everyone you see…if you’re not operating with a complete and utter disregard for your responsibilities or your reputation…you’re doing nothing less than cock-slapping uncle sam right across the face. And here’s the point…here’s where it gets really sad…if all this is true, (and obviously it is) why is that so many spineless assholes are out across the country on superbowl Sunday, eating cheetoes out of a wooden bowl in someone’s smarmy living room, drinking sprite, applauding casually when their team scores or tears someone's head off, or saying something infuriating like, 'shoot' or 'frick' when their team fucks up? I'm not sure why some guys end up that way...but I also don't understand why some dude's boners leak when they see little boys, (well...actually I can, but....back to the point) - So I don't get it, but I am sure that some of those douchebags are closet bros, and all they can think about while they nibble on cheetoes with their two front teeth like dickless bunnies is how bad they want to frat out, binge drink, black out, and break at LEAST five of the things they see immediately around them. I KNOW that some dudes are out there with their mediocre girlfriends in their mediocre apartments surrounded by pictures of their mediocre parents and their mediocre friends, and in the back of their heads they just replay the memories from college when they used to get fratty in basements and piss out of windows onto groups of unsuspecting sorostitues on the way back from Planned Parenthood...they probably smile warmly when they remember the times they dilligafed dumb freshman girls and pissed in their beds when they were blacked out. I'd venture a large wager that memories like those are the only things this guy really has left, they might be the only reasons he still has any shreds of self-confidence left. And I KNOW that there are WAY too many closet bros out there, dying to be offensively impulsive, and of course, repulsive, but they're not. Because somewhere along the way they lost their cocks, their balls, their spines and their drinking hands.

So for all those guys...for of all you who performed last night like little, weak bitches with no spine and/or desire to binge drink and scream and break shit, I have these things to say: 'Your picture would make a great ad for birth control.' 'Your lifestyle makes me want to go back in time and abort your grandparents.' 'I guarantee your girlfriends all cheat on you.' 'The way you stand reminds me of back in college when I used to perform discount abortions with my bare hands and a beerbong - those dead babies looked like they had more self-confidence and hope than you douchbaggy assholes.' Get back out there and DRINK. Get back out there and go on a massive bender. Get out there and binge drink for AT LEAST three days straight, and on some early morning/late night you'll never remember, drink a little more, and head into the local waffle house, or denny's, or ihop, or really anywhere else you'd expect to find the lowest, fattest, greasiest people in America and go in there, steal a breakfast plate from a little girl and shovel it into your face...and when she starts crying, and when the egg is dripping down your chin, reach your head up and shout "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!?!? ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED????"

If that reminds you of your superbowl weekend in anyway, good job, (bro). If you had a weekend that resembled that at all, I applaud you; loudly, drunkenly, obnoxiously and genuinely, I applaud you. I applaud your dedication to youth and your dedication to binge drinking and irresponsibility. If not....I just hope to god you understand that that's what you SHOULD HAVE BEEN DOING. And if you're too fucking weak and ass-backwards and dumb to recognize that........DILLIGAF.