Febroary 11, 2017
Hares: Falsetbro, NoShowBro, Erin the Side of Caution, and TFI (in absentia)
Pubic Cervix announcement: add your name to this link if you'd had lepto from a trail. We're making a shirt:
Huge honor to our haberdash Where's the Lube. If you haven't already figured it out, girl is on top of her shit. Seriously, the habdash is often a thankless job, but she's killing it behind the table.
Box: your mom
On-home all over your face! Burn!
Rope swing. Fireball shots. Pushups. Hot Chicks wanting to rip off your shorts. Fist-pumping to EDM. Pretty much like mad real. Like Cancun spring break mad real yo. Like being at the gym and doing curls while shooting up and jizzing all over some babe while tea-bagging your boy all at the same time real. Pretty much like...okay I can't anymore.
For the 5th rendition of the Bro run, we hares took a slightly circuitous route to the Tarzan rope swing that maybe a couple people actually followed. We knew the flyers would be thinking circle jerk, and they'd be sitting back by the on-home circle-jerking it out with each other waiting to catch us. Two Buck was breaking box to try to scout, and even worse, Fucking Rebar was hiding like a bitch instead of coming to get us. Weak Sauce brah. Instead, the hares wanted to reward the FRBs, so we ran down ahead to the rope swing to hang out and wait for the pack. NoShowBro had speakers jamming EDM, we brought beers and Fireball, and we all had a sacrificial pair of shorts ready sitting next to a TOFTBx2 in flour (that's Tits Out for the Boys x2 that literally no one got). But then a weird thing happened. Viagra showed up. Then Bambi. Then Chili and Barbie. Then loads and loads of hounds. And no one wanted our shorts. #unintentional reverse psychology. Grundle and Drip Lip had a conversation right in front of me where they discussed getting my shorts. I didn't even have them on, they were just there for the taking, but neither of them wanted them. Let that be a lesson to you future hares: as soon as the thrill of the chase is gone, the hounds sorta just give up.
Eventually, it was 3 walkie-talkie ladies who grabbed the shorts. But, PC got Erin's because she wanted to put more elastic in them, Cow Whisperer got iced when she took mine, and Tube Top almost begrudgingly took NoShow's.
Another yuge surprise was that 2 of my co-Bros actually hate rope swings. We found this out on a scout when Erin (the side of caution) took over 15 minutes to do it. NoShow filmed 80% of the waiting time, which was funny at the time but dumb later because his batteries ran out and our ability to map our route went to shit. NoShowBro himself also hates ropes swings, but, if there are hot chicks around, he puts on his gameface and fucking DBAPs. We put this to the test with Just Lisa watching, and, sure enough, as long as a hottie was around and "Wrecking Ball" was playing, NoShow killed it on the rope swing.
Religion featured transferrers, middle-deec FNGs, and even a visiting bro who I don't think realized that this run was not worth a flight over from Saipan. It's just a regular run with a couple more popped collars. Brovaltine did one-armed pushups while holding the vessel and smoking a cigarette, which was pretty damn impressive. Who cares if he has a tiny penis. We did have one FNG who was white-girl wasted, wearing jesus sandals, and generally just loitering uncomfortably close to Drip Lip all night. Don't we have Tyrant security details lined up? The BroRun shirt was once again a big hit. Thanks to Blowhole for saving our ass with a last minute assist on the design and for Mana Montana for quoting snatch in front of me and TFI and giving us the idea. The back, which has a dressed up rabbit, says, "proper fucked" below it. Guarantee 96% of the dudes got that quote instantly, then immediately turned to their girlfriends and were shocked to find out they'd never seen the movie "Snatch". The on-on-on was at TFIs even though he wasn't here, and the solid crowd broed out til the wee hours with pool flip cup relay races, beer pong, slap cup, and eventually splitting headaches.
One last thing: the 1809 is my 200th hash trash written by me or my stable of sexy and talented guest-writers (Trampoline, Minstrel, BBY, Cow Whisperer, Grundle Bundle, Likes Cock, and whoever else I missed). Thanks for reading along with me.
"Remember, you might be cool, but you're not four popped collars cool."