If Beyonce Were a Bro…

12 02 2009

beyonce8Some of you may remember the fad of call and response hip-hop from the late 90’s, one of the best examples was TLC’s ‘No Scrubs’ followed up in even stronger fashion by their eminences the Sporty Thievz with ‘No Pigeons.’ Well we are fortunate that yet another fantastic spoof of a stupid pop song has emerged to while the day away at work. Our friends at College Humor have created one of the best music videos of the year. The only weird thing about this, however, is that the sadness of bro-dom sort of finally dawns when you see the female version in real life. Somehow its all fun and games to be a bro when you’re a lazy slob of a man, but the deeper darker side emerges when projected onto the female visage. Enjoy.

The Linguistics of Hipster

5 02 2009

hipster-scumIt seems that the Hipster ball just keeps on rolling, making it harder and harder to tell who is/isn’t a hipster and whether it is even an applicable term anymore. There’s a great post over at laughingsquid that attempts to address this ever-important question.

Bro-Peds Piss Us Off

3 09 2008

This one may not have reached your hood yet, but just like skinny jeans and graphic T’s its on its way. San Frooklyn has been overrun recently by gangs of loud, stupid-looking moto-cycles ridden by yipster trash on their way to the organic coffee house. Yes these Bros are riding Mopeds, those half-bike half-motorcycle hybrids that scream you’re an idiot.

We’re sure that when Ripcord Q. Hipster jumps on his Puch Maxi moped he instantly believes that this little act is their big step towards curbing climate change! Unfortunately these sores upon our roads are unsafe (for other drivers and cyclists, the Hipsters are on their own) and pollute especially noxious gases that don’t pass emissions standards. Therefore its likely that instead of just riding a motorcycle like real people these greenies are actually doing more damage to the environment than those capitalist pigs they so admonish. “But it has pedals! I can ride it like a bicycle with NO emissions!” Riiiiiight, you’re going to ride that 400 pound piece of crap all over town?

So next time you see one of these pieces of crap locked to a parking meter, be sure to kick it over and do mother earth some good.

Nothing But Brocktails

3 09 2008

You’ve seen it many times, the group of graphic-t adorned young bucks bellying up to the bar with that one particular order in mind. It usually goes something like: “hey bro, I need 6 jaag-bombs for my boys, an RBV for me and a Vod Tonic for my lady. make em strong!” While we can all decry the poor taste involved in selecting these beverages, and even more strongly debate the merits of heart attack-in-a-glass, there is an unfortunate side effect emerging as a result of this widespread brohavior.

Yes, that’s right, your neighborhood corner bar has been taken over by the bromunity, they’ve fired all the bartenders, and now you have Katie and Starr tending bar to a bunch of morons. The bar is supposed to be whatever a patron needs on a given night, so we can’t lay blame at the proprietors feet for this tragedy. But we can implore our friends and bros to get more creative when ordering drinks. Because no one ever orders anything but Vodka and… these days, bartenders no longer need any skill or ability to create what used to be passionately referred to as ‘the cocktail’.

It is beyond us why bros are so happy to fork over 11 of their hardly-earned dollars for what amounts to about 10 seconds of effort and $0.25 of liquor, we can’t do much about the price but please just order a Gimlet! Order a Manhattan, a whiskey sour, an americano, a fizz, an old fashioned, even a silly drink like a mai tai or colada for god sakes but if you continue to only order the cliche three (jaag bomb, RBV, G/V&T/S) the art of the bar will be forever lost.

Sure we will always be able to find those magical few outposts of elixir heaven, but its just such a pain to have to trapse all over town to find a good cocktail. It’s even worse to run into the now-common comment from behind the bar that “we don’t make those” or “that takes too long” or “I don’t know how to make that”. You don’t know how to make a god-damn gimlet????? WTF. Supply and demand folks, simple as that, get some taste and the tenders will follow.

Get some ideas here and here.

Slip Me a Fitty-Spot and Your Glass Can Have Ice

23 07 2008

It was long ago time for a stern scolding of our good friends in the nightclub industry along with those of us who continue to patronize their houses of sin and immorality. We have all certainly shared the warm and fuzzy experience that waits for us behind the glorious velvet rope of the discotecas found in LA, Vegas, NYC, SF and Miami. We have slipped the doorman who still lives with his mom a benjamin just to get in and find the table we paid $2000 to get some bottle “service” at for two hours is next to the kitchen while every employee in the house requires more three figure payments just to do their job. Let’s be clear that we’re jealous of these club-trepreneurs, no one has made so much money for doing so little since Enron and those guys are in jail. Regardless of our jealousy though, these houses of bro must be reined in before their practice spreads into places we actually like.

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Sweet Laxin’ Brah!

30 05 2008

We won’t even get started on the whole Lax controversy over the last couple of years, while it does speak to some Broficient behavior we choose to ignore it for the purposes of this site. What we can’t ignore, however, is the strict bromunity of laxers that dominates our prep schools and northeastern colleges.

Dare we say that Lacrosse may take the title as the most BROtherly sport around? Bromance does seem to float around your average Laxer party, not to mention a good number of chest bumps and beer-forehead collisions. In fact, if you have seen Indiana Jones and the Legend of the Crystal Skull (don’t get us started) laxers are pretty much the opposite of those creepy aliens. Meaning put 13 laxers in a room together and communal IQ plummets, while one may very well lose their skull.

Let’s not forget where the lax nation is headquartered either, the land of plentiful middies and GB’s galore: Long Island and Maryland. It is from this hot-bed of brotastic meatheads that the bulk of our collegiate lax bros emanate. They must put something in the Muscle Milk out there. CREATINE! HGH! BRO!


New York Bro of Mind

30 05 2008

A big part of our frustration here at Bromunity is that BROs can be such complex and confusing creatures. For example, why is it that the typical BROutfit always includes a New York Yankees hat? We understand the need to identify with a winner (not this year though) as standard operating BROcedure, but this alone does not explain it. Maybe the Bros just love America and see the Yankees cap as the best way to prove to their Republican colleagues that they are patriots at heart? Though that doesn’t really explain Tom Brady , who along with Lebron recently stirred up a lot of shit by wearing Yankees hats out in public. This action alone landed them in the tabloids and cost them significant cred with their fans on the street (Brady has also been seen in Red Sox and SF Giants hats complicating things further). Why is it so vital to sport that NY wool even if it means  disappointing the people who idolize you most?

Its possible that the hat is just a snazzy looking hat, nothing more, and we should leave it at that. But by taking a representative sample, there does not appear to be a single unifying thread among likely cap-sporters. You have rappers, gangsters, sports fans, athletes, New Yorkers, foreigners, movie stars, politicians and even Californians. This single blue hat must be the most adaptable piece of clothing known to mankind, because we’re not sure if there’s anything else Rudy Giuliani and Nas have in common.

There must be some unspoken bond among those lucky enough to own a little part of that yankee mystique, that subtle sign that you stand among brothers, brothers with little or no sense of individuality. Why fight it? Why swim upstream against such a powerful current of conformity?

Here’s $30, guy, we’re a 7 3/8.

Can You Hear Me Now, Bro?

30 05 2008

JawBroVigilante justice can be oh so sweet, and few things make us consider it more seriously than the epidemic of bluetooths and jawbones drooping out of earlobes everywhere.

We’ll admit the plethora of private conversations over these devices have confused us on more than a few occasions, as we respond to conversation someone is having with their own ear. In fact, it has always seemed surprising that if this mistake is made the offending bluetoother always stares incredulously like we’re the crazy one talking to ourselves. Instead it’s you, Jawbro, on your ‘tooth that looks the crazy one talking to yourself driving down the 101. Haven’t you seen the guy down on the corner shouting about satan? That’s you if you don’t get that bug out of your ear sometime soon.

Yeah, yeah, we know that states everywhere are passing laws making it ‘illegal’ to talk on anything other than a Jawbro while driving etc., but have you considered just shutting your mouth down for a few minutes even if alone in your car. We can only imagine what would happen to the Buddhists if Motorola shipped a couple ‘tooths out to them, meditative reflection would be all but lost.


Southern Bro: Long Live Dixie

29 05 2008

Bros EverywhereThe South as we love her is a land of tradition, a place where history is alive and old habits never die. Additionally, few will argue that many of our Nation’s best annual events, such as the Derby, the 500, SEC Football, Savannah St. Patty’s or Mardi gras, all occur in the Southland. As such we must admit to a bit of a tempestuous affair with those darn secessionists, but that doesn’t mean we’re beyond calling a spade a spade.

If you’ve been lucky enough to visit in the past 5 years you no doubt noticed a few gentlemen in Croakies and polos. Yes, indeed, we speak of the army of Southern Bros that swarm across that beautifull, but erosion prone, red clay soil. The population of these frattabulous bowtying machines explodes in towns like Athens, Tuscaloosa, Auburn, Lexington, Oxford, Columbia and Knoxville. In fact, Knoxville was the location of the little bro-in pictured above (more brobourine bro, you’re losing the beat!).

These syrupy-accented patrons of the old south are flabbergastingly similar in appearance, so much so that we wonder how anyone but dear mama tells them apart. Let’s do a run down:

  • Croakies and the requisite pair of black plastic sunglasses (Damnit if we haven’t lost many a pair lately and they’ve known the secret all along!)
  • Various printed paraphernalia such as ties, bowties, pastel shorts, polos, caps or even croakies adorned with adorable marlins, bulldogs, cotton, palmettos, azaleas, crocodiles and the like. Oh how those belles may swoon.
  • A well worn pair of docksiders, for sailing.
  • The ubiquitous bro-cut mop-top swoop styled coiffed head of oh-so-flowing hair. Make sure not to get it in your eyes, and the choice between swooping right or swooping left is hightly critical.
  • Frat membership. ‘Nuff Said.
  • Bassmaster stickers on the bro-wagon.
  • Gaggle of sorostitutes in tow.

Should you be lucky enough to share a State with these brotherners make sure to stop into your nearest haberdashery and suit up, lest you be noticed for that carpet bag in your clutches.

Even CNN Gets In On The Fun

28 05 2008

Where bros go to hideA recent CNN article briefly stumbled across bromunities when the author discovered that men sometimes need somewhere to go to get away from it all. This bronomenon was unfortunately referred to as escaping to your man cave, as apparently all things related to men must now have the term Man in front of them. We’re not married, so our man caves are only blueprints on a shelf somewhere, but for some enterprising texans those plans were thrown into action:

During the week Ryan Samuel, 30, is a married man working in the energy market in Richardson, Texas. But on the weekends he lures men away from their homes, wives and children with beer, camaraderie, power tools and “The Ponderosa.”

While we certainly understand the need to go all Southwest Airlines and shit, a shack in the woods without plumbing wouldn’t seem the best way to do it. Let that be a lesson to all you bro-hos out there, be sure your bros have time for some guy love, else you find them shitting in the woods and wiping with a belt sander.