First Brolio

Just last week, after world-renowned Shakespeare scholar Professor Steven Gallblatter was trampled to death at a Renaissance fair, the following manuscript was discovered amongst his files. It has recently been confirmed to be a missing page from one of William Shakespeare’s unpublished plays.

“Bromeo and Juliet—working title”

Juliet:
Pray drunken eyes do not deceive me now.
Must thou weaken these knees, my dear Lax Bro,
To point of wilt? Mine field is free to plow
Despite thine freshman rank—my, such soft flow!

Bromeo:
‘Tis true my flow is free beyond its years…
But halt, old hag. Your moves without a phase
Have near movéd these [handsome] loins to tears.
With one more shot we’ll end within East Grays.

Juliet:
I ascertain you play long-pole attack—
Oh my, out goes my nucleus of nip!

Bromeo:
Dost thou not see the messages? Alack!
I dare not battle that mad Herped lip.

Juliet:
I need the play! Why don’t we, Sweetie, Eff?

Bromeo:
Hell, smashed am I; God knows you’re DTF.
[Bromeo and Juliet exit]

Bros in Space

Alright bros, pop some Stouffer's in the microwave and get comfortable - shit's about to get real.

Someone just designed a suit specifically for the purpose of having sex in space. Zero gravity boning. Laying pipe among the stars. The cosmic bork.

Imagine that.

Keep going.

Okay, cut it the fuck out bro. Danny DeVito. Rosie O'Donnell. Alright, we cool? Cool. Don't worry, same thing happened to me. Anyway, if your ass doesn't grip leather like a cowboy when you read the words "space sex," this blog isn't for you.

In 800 BC, the poet Bromer tells us that the Greeks pulled a clutch move and just decided everyone was gonna take baths together naked. In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue and found out that there were islands full of chicks who dug his maneuvs and didn't spend the next 4 centuries being like the Bronte sisters. Space is the next frontier on the eternal prowl. Infinity is a long ways, bros, and now it's prime territory to get your looks in. Blast off.

Some perspective, fools

So to take a short break from Bonerfest ’10, I figured I’d share some words on the blogbrosphere. First off, good hunting to all my dudes out there trying to get laid tonight. I realize that once the weekend starts, and you and your boys embark on your impromptu bar crawls or killer party hops, it becomes a war out there, and war is hell. But while you’re struggling to number close and get rejected by back to back 7s, remember that it is your duty, and always has been since your bro mitzvah, to soldier on and Stand and Deliver, bro to speak.

With that said, even if you don’t get any buns tonight, or if you do (yea boi!), as a faithful bro, you know you’ll be able to sleep peacefully tonight because we bros always got your back. To find comfort, I often remind myself of some knowledge that ThéBroden, a great king of Brohan, once imparted upon me: “Ayo Dinodude,” The legendary rider said, “No matter how good or bad the home runs are, at some point or another you’ll inexorably make your journey back to the beloved kingdom of Wankalot, which has, without fail, been a haven for you and all your bros since your boyhood days when you couldn’t even imagine the prospects of streaming videos online.”

So if there’s anything to take away from this, remember to keep things in perspective, especially on a day like Bonerfest. Good luck in your headhunting, fools.

-DinoDude

P.S. Major congratulations are in order for our boy Apolo Anton Brohno for securing his sixth Brolympic medal last night. Keep it up, son.

Huddle up, do what I say, then get the fuck out there.

Hey dudebros, G.I. Bro here. Listen up and keep your heads on a swivel. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, my favorite day of the year. Why? I'll tell you why: with the exception of a fat girl's wedding, never does a single girl feel her body's disgusting biological parade towards sexless middle-age quite so much than on Valentine's Day. And what does that mean for a dudeman brohan?

BONEFEST 2010. I'm talking serious D's in V's, D's on T's, C's in A's, J's in E's, and P's on C's. I mean, I'm almost positive that I will blow my load as soon as I wake up based solely on the smell of self-loathing and desperation in the air. But how to ensure that your Valentine's Lay is suckcess? Eyes on me broners. I'm going to share with you, right now, the holy grail of getting it on: my exact play-by-play from Muffday '09, straight from my autobiography's manuscript. I like to teach by example. You're welcome.

Compiled from "G.I. Bro: You're Fucking a Legend part XXII"

10:00 am: Woke up to the sound of knocking on my door. Opened it to find my neighbor Alice complaining of loud sounds last night. Said it sounded like "a rooster being strangled." Answered there are no cocks in here, just HUGE DICKS. Porked her.

10:46 am: Showered, put on lucky "fuckmonster" boxers. Went to eat breakfast but no orange juice, left for store.

11:13 am: Asked cashier if she knew where I could get some O.J. She said aisle 2. Asked her if she knew where I could get some B.J.. Boned on crate of chex mix.

12:02 pm: Drank my orange juice (hydration is key), invited Vanessa for lunch. Walked to meet her in the square. Ran into girl selling roses. Flexed.

12:39 pm: Called Vanessa, apologized for being late.

1:05 pm: Met Vanessa.

1:06 pm: Pork Sandwich.

1:48 pm: Ordered meatball sub. Complimented waitress on her ability to balance so many hot meats in her hand. Asked her if she'd ever played find the sausage.

2:37 pm: Complimented waitress on her ability to find the sausage.

3:23 pm: Went over to local high school. Asked receptionist where the workshop for "recently widowed fathers looking to date" was. Mentioned fear of physical intimacy. Bonersauraus Rex.

4:03 pm: Delivered Valentines to numerous female acquaintances. Described each as "inspirational." Subsequently invited into 4/5 rooms where generous fucking was applied.

6:52 pm: Returned to remaining room with DVD of "When Harry Met Sally." Exacted retribution for her initial hesitation by lying about intention of money shot.

7:28 pm: $$$

8:05 pm: Ate a powerbar. Congratulated self, by sending Dinodude choice nudes pics.

8:36 pm: Sat down for reservation at "Teresa's Tables" with large box of chocolates. Pretended to be stood up. Asked hostess if she ever thought I would "trust again." Wheelbarrow-styled in bathroom.

10:03 pm: Ran into girl selling roses again at a bar. Told her the hilarious pun I made up about "rose beds." Flirted with anal play.

11:20 pm: Acoustic set with Bromeo and Disco Pony at Milkwood's. Debuted "Erotic Time-Bomb."

12:05 am-1:30 am: Groupies.

2:22 am: Impersonated Ewan McGregor with drunk hoodrat. Asked me to sing a song from "Moulin Rouge." Cum what may.

3:07 am: Found Alice in my room. Kicked her out. Went to sleep as the fucking man.

Happy Humping. G.I. Bro out.

I'm In Need of A Bromance, not a Bad Bromance

Hey there my fellow bros and bro-elles. I'm writing to inform you of the mystical canon of bro-mantic music that is well suited for the everyday purposes of brohans everywhere.

Category One: Bro-ing Out

Bro-ing out is a practice that has been indulged in by members of the human race since time immemorial. There are texts that date back to the time of cave bros who chadbrochilled around fires and discussed the nature of law, politics, and chicks. During this sacred ritual that has been sternly preserved by the ABA (American Bro Association) and IBOW (International Bros of the World) as culturally significant and socially necessary, music must be chill and conducive to the conversation. The following artists are highly recommended:

Belle & Sebastian

Bishop Allen

Dispatch

Coconut Records

Islands

Jack Johnson

Low vs. Diamond

The National

Ra Ra Riot

Spoon

Stars

Voxtrot

Category Two: Pregame "The Bro Edition"

Every good bro and bro-elle knows that there is a magical concept of pregaming that occurs before the adventures of the weekend nights. This is when bonding occurs, but also where all the brohemians get the rhapsody going to get pumped for the night. Music during this period of brohood must enable festive dancing while still retaining a degree of chadbrochillness so brohans can still enjoy broments of excellent conversation.

Kid Cudi (Make Her Say - very motivational)

Kanye

Passion Pit

Phoenix

The New Pornographers

Matt & Kim (Just Daylight, trust my bro-telligence on this one)

Spoon

Stars (Just "Take Me To The Riot," but only on Saturday nights. This is a cardinal bro-rule.)

Vampire Weekend

I highly encourage all bros with distinguished taste to add to the canon that I have posted. However, stay tuned for "Category 3: Bromancing" tomorrow night to set all my bros (with excellent bromantic skills) to give eargasms to the bro-elles of the world. Chadbrochill Forever. Bromeo out.

Why porn doesn't get me hard anymore...

just kidding, it totally does!

~the fiBROnacci series

Great Moments in Bro-History: Bronicle I

G.I. Bro here. I thought for my first post, I'd start by serving up a hot plate of brotastic moments in HIStory. With so many steak sauce bros out there, it's tough choosing just one, so I thought I'd kick off it off with one of my personal favorites from way back in the day. Check it:

When you hear about the "Trojan War," the first things that come to mind are usually that big wooden horse and the cartons of magnum-sized condoms my bros blow through daily like a serious set of crunches (YEA BOI). But did you know that it all began with some serious bro-loyalty? Everyone knows that Helen of Troy had the face that launched a thousand shits, but she also had some wank footwear- I mean she was FLIP-FLOPPING. Dudebro, after years of kicking it with her sugar-daddy, King Meneleus, she ups and leaves him for a serious boner, Paris. This shepherd-turned-judge, who never even slew a hoodrat before had the bricks in his pants to go after a married woman, not to mention the hottest broad in the ancient world. I mean we're talking about some serious swerve, just like Aphbrodite. So this slampiece gives our bro Meneleus the hard-goodbye, thinking she'd just go off and ride this sissy's Eiffel Tower back in T-Town. Sounds good right? Well guess the-fuck-what...???

BIG MISTAKE. Cause what's this? Aww sheeet, watch out Helen Keller of Troy cause here comes the BROmageddon in the shape of the baddest bromo sapien of all: Aga-fucking-memnon. Brother to Meneleus, this prince of bros and High King of Greece comes down like a god from Mt. Brolympus, swearing to his bro that he will not rest until he flushes this sissy-ass Paris down the drain like bad bro-itto. Chadbro sent messengers across the seas, collecting the illest fighters of the time: Achilles, Ajax, Brotroclus, Bromedes, you name it they were there, just to settle the score for his little bro. Agamemnon even sacrificed his own daughter, Iphigena, just to get the winds to blow toward Troy. Of course his wife didn't like that too much, but that's just how it goes: bros before hos. Agamemnon's flow was like amBROsia of the gods, picking the reins up on this operation and opening up a monumental can of whoop-ass on these trickers Trojans. Once the troops assembled and the ships set sail, the promise of bromance was nearly complete between baby bro and Aga-Hard-On. It was only a matter of time before the most epic brolection of ancient bros ever crushed the seven walls of Troy (with the help of Brodysseus of course, but thats a story for another post). In the end, Agamemnon's skank-ass wife jumped this king of bros in the bathtub for the ridiculous reason of avenging the murder of their daughter. Guess she just didn't understand the bro code. Although this Bropollo among men met an early death at the hands of a bitchy-whore, we take the time today to salute you Agamemnon for bailing your bro out of trouble like a true stud. An avid broponent and bromoter of bro rights, Agamemnon's assist sets him up as an exbrotentially brilliant bro. Congratulations Agamemnon for this great moment in bro-history. You are truly a lord among bros.

G.I. Bro out.