Stock Up, Bros

Hi, I'm Vic Mackey. And I'm a bro.

Bronest very eloquently summarized the virtues of bro-living. After reading his post, I ran out of my apartment, took off all my clothes, and brutally slaughtered a fully-grown steer and drank its blood.

I don't really want to dwell too long on introducing myself; lengthy diatribes are something I'm going to strive to avoid on this blogging go-round. I'll just say this, however: if you're not a clueless moron, you know there is a veritable glut of sites extolling the virtues of not giving a fuck, drinking tons, and banging hot chicks. I'm not sure how or if this site will be different or better; but in the hands of true-blue bros, there's no doubt it will still be great one way or another.
So, with that said, let's get into it.
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The Federal Government is shut down after another weekend storm. There are piles of snow stacked 6, 7, 8 feet high outside. The city has already exhausted its snow removal budget for the winter season. And guess what, there's another storm prepared to dump more than a foot of snow on top of that. Honestly, God is just fucking with us now. But in any event, hurricane-like winds, driving snow, ice, and bitter-cold temperatures are on the horizon. When all is said and done, society as we know it will ground to a deafening halt. We're about to get snowed in. And we're bros, so you know we've gotta stock up.



For guys in the know, what I'm talking about is already clear. But for aspiring bros, and closet bros, you might be a bit confused. I clearly am not talking about buying gallons of water, canned foods, and other non-perishable food products; I can honestly live without any of those things for days, weeks, and even months. But the one thing I can honestly not live without during a snow storm... is booze.



Yesterday, still feeling crippled by the side effects of a 4 day bender (because of the storm, you see, followed by the Super Bowl, followed by having work canceled on both Friday and Monday), I made the uncharacteristic mistake of choosing a visit to the grocery store before a visit to the Liquor Store. Well, as you can imagine, I immediately regretted my momentary slip in judgment. Because when I walked into the grocery store, dozens of non-bros, closet bros, and women (clueless as always) were "stocking up" with cheese, butter, milk, and other food products. I was disgusted with myself, immediately turned around, was heard to utter "fuck this", and took a B-line to the bro haven that is the liquor store.

Now, what I purchased there was not important. There are several guidelines I follow for snow-storm booze compiling. 1) Too much is ALWAYS better than not enough. I think one of my worst nightmares is being stuck somewhere without any booze. When I die, I'm pretty sure my punishment will be an eternity stuck inside with no booze. 2) Depending on how long you're going to be stuck, variety is of utmost importance. Sure, I love smashing through case after case of swilly light beers, but some bros like to watch calories and/or prefer the finer drinks in life, like whiskey, gin, and vodka. And honestly, that's pretty much what you need to know when you "stock up".

But let's say for a second that the storm you get caught in is particularly epic and exceeds all forecasts for damage. In spite of all proper planning ahead, you and your bros might find yourselves exhausting your goods more quickly than you had expected. Uh oh. For losers with a confidence problem, this might be an issue. But you're a bro, so you've got this covered. Should you find yourself snowed-in without booze or beers, under no circumstance should you accept your lot in life. After all, when you get numerous bros in a confined area without booze, all they're going to do is fight each other and destroy things (which is what we do anyways, but at least when we're drunk we forget large details). Strap on your snow shoes, toss on some ridiculous animal skin hat, and fucking make as our ancestors did and brave the elements to reach a new frontier. A new frontier of drunkenness.

So with that said, pour one out for the snow... down your throat that is. Because you don't want to waste a perfectly good beer.

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.