#138 Wingbros

It’s Friday night and you’re ready to fucking celebrate. It was tough as shit, but this past week you tied your personal record by attending exactly 0 of your classes. You deserve this fucking victory lap. As you order another pitcher from “#28 The Pencil Sharpener” aka the waitress who gave you a toothy BJ last week, you debate with your bros whether you should subject your Yellow #2 to another shaving. Just as your bros start a “We Want Blood” #4 chant you see them: Two fucking hotties in a booth by the door. Normally, since you’re a bro, all you’d need to do is walk by them and they’d be begging to bang you – but you can tell these girls are different. You give your bro a tap to the chest and announce, “It’s fucking on.”

While normal guys might fear rejection, that’s the last thing on your mind. You immediately engage them in conversation – taking turns to talk each other up and making sure to tell them about how #1 fucked up you get, just so they know how fucking awesome you are. After about 5 minutes of getting to know each other, it’s time to hit that fucking dance floor for some high class romance aka #29 grinding to whatever rap song the shitty DJ has on his iPod. Within minutes it’s clear that no fucking lecture class could ever teach you the skills necessary for tonight’s profession: Conductor of the Pound Town Express. While you could have accomplished this slaying alone, having your Wingbro there locked that shit up. One bro fucking dominates shit, but put two together and slam pieces don’t even have a chance. Bros fucking love Wingbros.

“But NYB, I think you spelled that wrong, don’t you mean Wingmen?” Fuck no. First of all, outside of Indian Middle-Schoolers, bros are the best fucking spellers on the planet. But more importantly, I’m not talking about what bro-haters refer to as “Wingmen.” That’s a term those “Pickup Artist” bullshitters tell fucking virgin losers. Speaking of which, have you ever seen those “Pickup Artist” guys? They dress like they’re in some Tim Burton movie that you need to be on fucking drugs to enjoy. If that dude “Mystery” ever set foot in a bar he would get a fucking #121 beatdown.

Wingbros are different – they’re not trying to help some guy get laid for the first time in his life – they’re trying to help him get laid faster. I think we’ve made it perfectly clear that bros #75 don’t go on dates, but unfortunately there are still some girls out there that won’t immediately submit to their animalistic instincts telling them that banging bros is the reason they were put on this Earth. Therefore, bros have to be creative. Bros don’t like to ask for help because, quite frankly, we never fucking need it. But in times like these, there’s no better place to turn than the greatest resource a bro could ever find: his bro. Here’s a few ways to use a Wingbro to guarantee you get laid.

To Be The Asshole – Now everyone’s heard of this game before – one guy goes up and starts hitting on some girl and his friend comes in to “save the day,” saying some shit like, “Excuse me Ma’am, is this Gentleman bothering you?” Well bros do basically the same thing but we take that shit to the next level. Bros don’t just merely get “fresh” with girls, we fucking offend the shit out of them. By sending your Asshole Wingbro over to a group of slam pieces to put them on the #44 verge of tears by pointing out all their deepest insecurities, you put yourself in the perfect position to swoop in there to provide a reassuring ride on the Pound Town Express.

To Build You Up – Fact: Bros are the fucking shit. Everyone should know it, but sometimes you can’t be 100% sure they do. So how do you properly let slam pieces know just how awesome you are without appearing as what the bro-hater that is society calls “conceited.” You get your bro to do that shit for you. Once your bro starts telling your potential slam piece about how much #135 money your parents have or your ability to #130 bong 7 beers in two minutes, you might as well get out that “Caution: Slippery When Wet” sign. Not to mention the fact that slam pieces are by definition dumb as shit, so it really doesn’t matter what you tell them. It’s always fun to test the limits and say some shit like, “Did you know Tommy is actually related to Jesus?” It really doesn’t matter what the fuck you tell them, the bigger the lie the better, they’ll believe anything because they want to be able to tell people they banged a celebrity.

To Jump On The Grenade – I fucking hate that everyone thinks that those Jersey Shore #100 Guidos are responsible for coming up with the term “Grenades.” Bros have been saying that shit since the beginning of time. We should seriously be getting royalties. Anyways, there’s nothing worse (including AIDS) than a hot girl who goes out alone with her fat friend. Luckily every bro’s got that one buddy who either has no standards or is on the biggest #78 cold streak of his fucking life. Depending on how fat the grenade is you might have to make some concessions to get your bro to pounce on that shit. This might entail promising you’ll bang the fat one next time, buying his beers for the rest of the night, or just giving him cash. Whatever it takes, make sure you get that done, because let’s be honest, there’s no greater sacrifice than banging the fat girl.    

Bros never have a problem getting laid, but sometimes they need help. When bros combine forces it’s like the Ghostbusters crossing streams on their Proton Packs - not even a fucking "Stay Puft Marshmallow Man" aka fat girl can get in their way. By teaming up and working together it’s truly scary to think about what bros can accomplish. Take care of your Wingbro and he’ll take care of you.

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