It’s separation time. All of you fucking bro wannabes who are living at home with Mommy and Daddy or much worse – with your girlfriend/wife, time to change the website. Go ahead, go back to TMZ and find out what Brangelina is up to. You gone? Good. Now it’s time to talk about the staple of any bro’s life. His fucking pad. “Oh this post is about bachelor pads!” If you just said that to yourself, get the fuck out of here, better yet, go pull a “Carradine.” The difference between bachelors and bros is that bachelors plan to marry. Bros on the other hand are smart enough to recognize that marriage is a violent crime against nature and it will not be tolerated. There are three defining characteristics to any solid bro pad, and guess what? I’m about to fucking write about them.
The Name – Back in the 80’s bros would name their cars. These days their prized possession has become the house they rent. Back in college I lived in “The Yellow House” which was actually brown (how ridiculous is that?!?!) and the Funeral Home, which was named that because it actually used to be a funeral home. You could still see the red stains on the blood drains in the basement/embalming room/beer pong room. The conversation which actually sparked this website came from what we should call our house. There was some banter back and forth between me and my two bro-mates, Ginger Bro and Brony. We strongly considered "Hot Guys Who Like to Fuck house" but we thought that might have too many bad connotations. We finally figured it out. The Brotel. Since then, our other bros in Arlington have renamed their houses the Brostel and the Brolaggio. Obviously, we contend that the Brotel is better than any of these shitty houses and call them the Bro Roof Inn and the Brocono Lodge, respectively. But anyways, the point is, bros fucking love giving their place a title.
Guests – Most people my age wake up on Sunday morning to go for a run or to go get a paper and read about what’s going on in the world. Bros, on the other hand, wake up to see who was too fucked up to make it home last night. We have three couches in our living room and if it’s a good night aka every night we go out to get fucked up they will be filled. Bros will then immediately start calling/texting their other bros to tell them just how many bros stayed at their place. They will also add, “What can I say bro, we fucking threw down last night!” If you are ever able to honestly say that you have over ten bros crashing at your house, you have the potential to become the Bro Mahal.
Destruction – Much like Black people have a tough time getting a cab, Bros suffer bro-cism from renters. For some reason, owners of nice houses don’t want to rent to a group of young men. This is because the owners are smart. If for some reason the owners actually agree to rent to bros, they will be sorry. Bros like to treat the bro pad like a fun house, destroying everything in sight. No one did this better than my Fordham bros. They lived in a classic bro pad their senior year only in the Bronx. Pretty rough neighborhood but that didn’t stop them from pissing on their neighbors doors. Anyways, they decided the grass in their backyard wasn’t good enough so they cut a chunk out of the 50 yard line of the artificial turf football field and put it back there. That was nice, but not as nice as their moving out party. For the party they brought in a hose and covered the apartment with water, presumably trying to make an indoor pool. It didn’t work, instead, they just had to settle for a slip and slide. At this point they also had quite the build up of dirty dishes. But why would you clean them if you were just going to move out? Instead they just threw all the dirty dishes in the backyard, along with any trash they might have. By move out day there were some new pet rats hanging out in the backyard. The day after they left their bro-pad it was condemned. Bros are the shit.
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46 comments:
Ned's Younger Brother-
I know the next 10 comments will all be about how awesome so and so's (bro and bro's?) bro pad is/was, but here goes anway. My bro pad was located on 50th and Charles and was aptly name "The Chuck". It consisted of a three staples that have been previously discussed by you.
#1 Keg Room- We were too lazy to take back our Kegs so we used to just place them in the back room. We guarded those things like Fort Knox. You basically needed fucking ID to get back there. Bros love kegs.
#2 Beer Pong Table- Every Bro has or knows someone who has a sick beer pong table. The longer it took you to create it the sicker it is. Conversations such as this are common: "Bro it took me 4 months to make this fucking table. I missed my mid-terms because I was so focused." Bronus Points for having stenciled in places for the cups and having point systems painted somewhere on the table.
#3 Condom Drawer- Oh wait this didn't exist. Bros hate condoms. Bros are the shit.
Very good point about the beer pong table - this is an absolute must in any bro pad. Also, extra bro points are awarded to having bottle caps under the glass top of the table spelling out your fraternity letters.
My Bro Pad is a freakin dump and i don't pay squat for it. However, it's located in the vicinity of about 12 bars. Location, location, location...
Any Bro that got security back from a place isn't a real Bro. That is your pre-payment for fucking shit up. Forget your key? Kick in the door. Pissed off? Punch a wall. Bro pads rule.
And it shouldn't stop you from getting laid, no matter how fucking gross and fucked up you place is. Real Bros seal the deal.
In college me and the bros rocked our pad, The Thunderdome. 4 couches, 3 recliners, we still had people crashing on the floor due to a lack of room. No believe. Also not only did we name the house, but rooms had names, we had a beer pong room (Beirut), and the bro hater landlord used to run a business out of the back room, so we turned the would be office into the hookah lounge/pot room aptly called the Drev. And as for playing with fire? Well we burned it down back in '07 after we graduated. If you don't believe me http://www.kold.com/Global/story.asp?S=7417261&nav=menu86_2
Theres nothing more bro than having a bro pad out in the suburbs post college life. Me and the bros acquired a house with a fucking pool and hottub right outside DC. How much more fucking bro can it get, seriously?
Dom - I just want to say it takes a lot of courage to get on here and confess to a felony arson, but you are a much better bro because of it.
Josh - your bro pad sounds like its the shit. I seriously don't think its possible not to get laid constantly when you have a hot tub. Usually we just lie to slam pieces and tell them we have a hot tub to lure them home when in actuality it is a mosquito ridden baby pool.
My Bro Pad in college was "The Dungeon". The place was huge, located in the basement floor of a building full of bro-haters. Very little natural sunlight, cinder block walls, insects that have yet to be discovered... the works.
We had a room called "the bar" because that's what it was, complete with TV, stolen bar signs and a dedicated beer pong table. Our living room was the "Illinois Room" because it was nothing but IL flags (I went to school at Illinois). It had 3 couches which got regularly filled with passed out bros.
Best of all we had spaces which became masturbation hub, makeout cove, and the bros-only fuckpit.
Oh, and I forgot that The Dungeon also had a fucking hot tub which was "casually" dropped to slam pieces at the bars.
Much like many of you, my roommate and I have had the pleasure of living in several different Bropads during and after college. This is because every said Bropad has been borderline uninhabitable after a year or has burned to the ground (not arson though - Dom, you are the shit). Our new bropad might take the cake over all of them though. We live no more than 5 feet from one of the best bars in Bmore, Magerks, which is on a street full of bars that are regularly packed with slam pieces. We have dubbed this place 'The Stabbin Cabin', cuz chicks get slayed there on the regular. Oh, and in order to get to my front door you need to walk down our own personal rape-alley that is the creepiest shit on earth for chicks to walk down at night time, but they still do because they are whores. Also, we regularly wake up to trails of puke on my doorstep, and have twice had a human deuce in the walkway to grace us in the morning.
Favorite house names from college past:
the pablo
the beach house
the mouse house
balls and shaft (duplex)
the stupid room in either house being the highlight
nothing says retarded like a bunch of cds, and dead row tess nailed to the walls
Me and my bros live in Brotopia on Broberry Blvd. Our other bros have places and on a map, we form a triangle. On that faithful night, the Bromuda Triangle was born.
you bros all have nothing on my bro pad, Chilligan's Island
North chapel playhouse?? at UD?? i lived across the street from there back in my college days - me and my bros used to rip shit up over there - and to the bro who posted about living 5 feet away from mcgerks - my old roomate from college lives right there too and probably lives in the same lil complex that you do because he has a rape alley too!! haha small world bro
Wouldn't your "guests" have driven home drunk if they were true bros?
Josh
My bros and I just got kicked out of Berkeley co-ops for calling girls bitches to their faces. We therefore got a house and have named it the Bro-op.
Sounds like some psychotic bitches in these co-ops. Sounds like they don't know what bros are all about - slam pieces and all. You bros will show the co-ops what bros can really do.
I wish the house still stood, but no bro pad ever lasts long. They’re like strippers… Sure they’re awesome for a few months, but give it (‘it’ applies to both bro pads and strippers, strippers aren’t people, they’re things) about a year of use and abuse by bros and they’re shriveled, disease ridden shells of themselves. Luckily the former Soviet Union sends us a constant supply of new 17 year old girls who are ready to make it big in America. I knew there was a reason we didn’t nuke those Commi bastards.
Yes indoor slip-and-slide is a great idea, yes some poor prick had to clean up a backyard of shit; but you’re missing one of the most important pieces of the story, the good old NYPD. These are Bronx cops, which means they’ve seen some shit; these are guys who just finished getting hooker blood out of their upholstery. Some fucking bro hater decided that we were making too much noise – enter the fuzz. And what did they find? – A smoke filled, booze trenched house filled with bros and slam pieces covered in slim (for anyone who doesn’t know the physics of indoor slip-and-slid water alone doesn’t do the trick. For maximum slipperiness add cooking oil, detergent and Astroglide). One look at us and you would have though they just saw their mothers in a donkey show. As they backed away to the door they could only manage to utter four words “Please just stay inside.” You got it pig; why the fuck would we want to be anywhere else???
P.S. Take comment monitoring off. How the fuck are brosers and skanks suppose to know how useless they are and that they should just end their lives if we can’t tell them.
Sorry this shit is anonymous Im too lazy to sign up. We royally fucked up the house I lived in junior year beyond belief. When we were pissed off while playing beer pong or flip cup we'd simply kick/punch out a stair banister or tear up another floorboard. We broke literally every window on the first floor although none were on purpose except for one. We started many controlled indoor fires some of which became uncontrolled and did some damage. We got around $1,100 in tickets from parties during the second semester. Our biggest party had 12 kegs but 3-5 kegs was the average. At least once a week. We were planning a 17 kegger but it never happened simply because we knew for a fact we would receive hundreds upon hundreds of dollars in tickets that night if it did and we didn't have money to blow on that shit at the time and 2 of my roommates would have been arrested if they got another "operating an open saloon" ticket . The entire house smelled like stale beer from the second you walked in the front door. None of the bathrooms had doors. Studying was unheard of. We had a 12 foot Budweiser banner hanging on our porch. Binge drinking took place every night. Needless to say we did not do well in school that year, but we did enough to pass simply because we constantly cheated and had friends in frats who hooked up exams. We didn't care though, we were literally legends on campus. Everyone knew us. The Budweiser house.
Fratcave
one night in our house at school we decided to pregame by pounding some brews at around 2 pm. pure bro status right there. by the end of the night, we had thrown knives and cups threw our windows, set off a fire extinguisher in our kitchen, and jumped through our 52 inch tv just cuz we thought it'd be funny. 3 of us ended up driving wasted to campus for some slam piece. solid bro night
bro hate to point it out but you forgot to mention the necessity of shitty sofas. nothing is more brotacular then being able to party on your shitty sofa and then go out the next day and pick up some new sweet lounge machines for free from craiglist.
also, since bras don't know that you're smart enough to figure out how to get them for free, they think that you're constantly paying for your upgrades, fooling them into thinking you're loaded, and therefore someone for whom they should offer multiple lapdances and/or blowjobs.
just sayin.
a bro's home is his castle
wtf is beer pong? i'm starting to think you went to public school
Bro's must have an HD TV somewhere in their bropad. I mean come on Bros..it's almost 2010. Also t's not like we can't afford it.
Mount Brolympus, home of the Bro Gods in Ithaca. Along with our other Bros in the Bromansion, we form the Axis of Bro.
NYB: Natty Ice and 30 racks aren't bottled, so I would have to disagree that bro points are awarded for drinking pricey beer at a rager and saving the bottle caps.
If you don't know what beer pong is, you're not a bro, you're a retard
Sophomore year of college on Halloween, in Madison WI so obviously all our bros that were too stupid/poor to go to school here came up for the weekend, we had 42 people pass-out at our 5 person bropad. Shit was epic.
27 N. Congress Business Club of Athens, Ohio; residing 9 bro-tastic bros that successfully had a familly of 6-8 inch rats living within 3 months of living in our new bro-pad. We are the fucking shit. Oh yea, we get so hammered drunk on weekends running after slam pieces.
there's no bro pad like the BROthel, period.
you guys have some pretty lame ass names for your pads. The hurt locker, greatest pad ever established.
uhh anonymous, are you serious? you got your bro pad name from a fuckin movie that came out like 2 months ago. take a hike bro. it's a fuckin tight movie nonetheless.
You bros might have rooms and shit named but I think me and my bros at Penn State are the only ones with the "Bro Wall." On the front wall of our living room we have 4 tv's with HD; 2 of which are 50 inchers, a dual keg kegerator, ps2, xbox 360, sega genesis, n64, a 550 watt stereo system and a fathead of Marisa Miller. Worthy of a Bro-King
Come Fiesta is my favorite, and for some fucking reason there are three Red, White, and Boozes on campus.
Me and my Bros pad was the Chill factory. We came up with this name after we found a factory that was being renovated downtown then proceeded to steal everything from that place from signs to the motherfucking gas meter in a series of daring bro-heists. This was made even more fun because the police station was right across the street and by the fact we regularly scared away dumbass hipsters who would go there to smoke and attempt to score. One of the best moments was when we had two of these fucking pussies so scared they were literally in tears. What a bitch, bros rule
IH
Bros are fucking awesome nothing like stealing turf for your living room. Cheers to all who get fucked up
The Country Club. Named after our first epic theme party.
Brotopia. Complete with a custom beer pong table built by one of my bros.
There's a house at my school called the Brodeo.
I like that dudes are talking about have 3 or 4 couches. That's child's play. We had the biggest house at the school - 3 floors plus a basement, 5 couches, 5 recliners, wrap-around porch that was literally falling down, and 1 unbelievably disgusting shower. We also lived in the ghetto and had bums hanging around all the time. But nobody messed with us because we're bros.
this is what me and my bros call my crib..
1)The Stabbin' Cabin (house)
2) The Bone Yard (garden)
3) The CockPit (kithcen)
4) The Pound (my room)
5) The Whoredatorium (TV room)
My crib, the Stabbin' Cabin, has a big jar near the TV that says PIMP and in it are all the GymHats (rubbers)...
our pad was called the Drunk Tank for obvious reasons... essentially we'd have parties with 200-300 ppl (8 person townhouse with a big parking lot, we had lots of room) and we had 4 other houses connected to ours... open doors parties got huge, on block party we had 400+... it was a shithole that we paid out the ass for but it was completely worth it. our 2 broken couches occassionally had up to 4 ppl sleeping on each until we moved them outside to sit on while we day drank and heckled hot freshman chicks walking by and chucked water balloons at bro-haters like Laser.
Some fellow bros have called their pads
The Glory Hole
The G-spot
Taco Bell (for all the slam pieces slayed there)
why the fuck are guys crashing at your place?
Moved into our house, had no pong table. Went into our dungeon of a basement, saw a random wood dresser left by the landlord. We deemed one of the two giant slabs of wood holding up the basement stairs unnecessary, plopped it on the dresser, added a few nails, done.
Great post NYB. We names our house the Bromasion, the cockpit, and headquarters.
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