Bros and Bro Hos are a social plague — a global
pandemic. They are everywhere today, and if you have ever felt the bile
in your stomach rise while in the presence of them, you are not alone.
Western “Civilization” is sliding back down the evolutionary ladder as
scores of mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging, peckerwoods fill the
public with cat-piss cologne, flip flops, puka shell necklaces,
matching jock haircuts, pedophile facial hair and sunglasses only a
seven-year-old could wear with a straight face. Anyone who doesn’t yet
know what a Bro is should just walk outside and take a look at the guy
wearing shorts in 44 degree weather. He’s probably also got a baseball
hat on backwards or to the side, maybe a tribal tattoo, or maybe even a
full sleeve he got with his tax refund. Oh, and he voted with pleasure
for George W. Bush. Why? Because someone else told him to. You
think he came up with that getup on his own? Think again, he belongs to
a class of human John Updike once called “Sheeple“.
Bros ruin everything they touch. They are deeply racist, yet
vulture-ize black culture with attempts to be “down”, while living as
far from any ghetto as humanly possible. It’s because they seek danger,
or the illusion of it. Through their economic power, Bros are able to
affect every aspect of the media and popular culture — in a larger
sense, our entire waking environment. A member of the Bro subgroup
always loves music made by artists that can tap into their own inner
tough guy or rebel, and their kind funnels money into the pockets of
artists like The Kottonmouth Kings, Pennywise and 50 Cent.
Somehow, Bros have even made being drunk uncool, since they always need
to pose with a can or a bottle of liquor in their hands, or be seen
chugging the s**t out of some watered down Miller Genuine Draft, or any kind of beer from which it takes several twelve-packs to cop a slight buzz.
But Bros aren’t solely an American phenomenon, oh, no. In England they’re known as Chavs, Chavettes and Essex Girls (the feminine counterparts), in Scotland these types are called Neds (Non Educated Delinquents), Iceland has Chocos, and they have also been referred to as Billys, Thicknecks, Flatbillers, Chads, Chachis, Joeys, Tonys and Frosties
elsewhere. But, in the end it’s all the same — grown men and women
locked in a brotherhood of willful ignorance and poor personal style.
We could refer to them as “The Bro-therhood”, but they’re simply Bros and Bro Hos to me.
A Bro Ho? What is a Bro Ho, you might be wondering. Emma, a member from
Long Beach, California, tells us a Bro Ho is also known as a Blouser: “Those girls with blonde hair with dark streaks in it, ugg boot wearing, mini skirt flaunting, too much makeup from Nordstroms,
a wife-beater in 30 degree weather, a trucker hat while wearing the
above-stated outfit…and they’re passed out after two drinks.” The Bro
Ho is the favorite target of the Bro, and when he finds this target he
is able to reproduce rapidly, in much the same way as a layer of scum
on the underside of a rowboat.
But as important as sex is, his transpo is always a Bro’s number-one
priority. The Bromobile is central to one’s sense of Bro-ness, and that
mode of transport is always a truck. A monstrously inefficient,
raised and modified American pickup that is in inverse proportion to
its owner’s penis. And speaking of penises, Bros have also brought the
concept of homophobia to a new level. You see, they love play
fighting, tackling their mates, and joke incessantly about each other’s
wieners. But they will claim that there is no connection whatsoever
between their overuse of the term “faggot”, their intense desires for
close physical kinship with their pals, and their own closeted Bromosexuality.
A substantial portion of the Bro population enjoys daydreaming too, and
often these daydreams influence the way they speak and act. Bros
everywhere can identify with Marshall Mathers, someone who committed
identity theft and made millions as the fantasy rapper “Eminem“.
Members of the Bro tribe like to think that they will also be looked
upon with as much respect if they not only act hostile and indifferent
toward everyone around them, but take it one step beyond as
full-fledged gangstaz in their own tree-lined suburbs. And if
they live life in the fast lane, the way Eminem appears to, they’ll
achieve immortality — or at least get more action. Some members of the
Bro subspecies find Eminem a bit soft though, and prefer the more
street-oriented sounds of The Kottonmouth Kings, who grew up —
like their fans — in the lily white suburbs on a strict diet of the
kind of sickening violence rampant in nearly every white, middle-class
household. When a Bro pops a KMK cd in his truck stereo he instantly
feels as though his entire “ghetto” is riding shotgun and watching his
back. So, cruising down the street with a cell phone in one hand,
ringing up a bootie call, eating beef jerky, and trying to stay in one
lane, a Bro is determined to leave his mark on society. Unfortunately,
that mark seems less significant than “DGAF” smeared on a bathroom wall in poo.
Speaking of which, have you ever seen an beautiful statue absolutely
covered in bird s**t? That’s the best analogy I can come up with for
what the Bros do to our waking environment — our world. But at least
we can laugh about it sometimes. Charles Darwin might have had a point. Join us if you can understand.