Broskienation

Rap Chop

2009-04-30T15:34:00.000-07:00

Thanks Internet.

Real Life Patrick Bateman

2009-04-09T14:00:00.001-07:00

Your business card is crap.

A True American Hero

2009-04-03T16:11:00.001-07:00

A classic. No diluting the joke. 9 seconds and out.

Kenny Powers audio book

2009-04-03T11:14:00.000-07:00

All the clips from "You fucking out, I'm Fucking In"
In one convenient video.

Desert Broski

2008-03-27T12:53:00.000-07:00

This picture was sent to me by the Scottsdale, Arizona chapter of the nation.

The Worst Sundae Ever

2008-01-31T13:56:00.000-08:00

Back in the summer of 2006 I was lucky enough to live on the block where a new Cold Stone Creamery was opening. For those of you who have never been to a Cold Stone, stop reading now and get there. For the rest of us, let me tell you about the first time I took Snake to this lovely establishment.

I had just finished a consecutive streak of 13 days of going to Cold Stone and by this point I was a pro at mixing and matching the various flavors with fresh toppings into an explosion of awesome in a waffle bowl. But for any first timer, it can be intimidating when you see the wide selection of choices and the combinations. Snake and I enter at 9pm on a hot summer night:

Oak--Now take your time when you order.
Snake--What? Why?
Oak--There's a lot of possible combinations. Choose wisely.
Snake--I practically grew up at Friendly's. Watch and learn.

I move through the line and order one of my go-to creations, "Peanut Butter Cup Perfection." I pay the 4 bucks and wait outside for Snake. He walks out a minute later with a horrified look on his face as he takes the spoon out of his mouth.

Oak--What happened?
Snake--I panicked!!!

I look closer at the bowl of ice cream in his hands and realize he has just ordered THE WORST SUNDAE OF ALL TIME. The ingredients: Mango ice cream, peanuts, caramel, graham cracker, and cookie dough. And because it's from Cold Stone, all these things are mashed together in the bowl. Take a minute to picture this or taste these things in your mind.

Awful I know. And to make matters worse, he got overcharged for it:

Snake--How much was yours?
Oak--4.25. How much was yours?
Snake--9.14. Fuck!!!

At this point a small crowd begins to gather on the corner because I can't breathe. I am laughing so hard and in tears from this mango disaster that people have taken notice and think something is wrong. Snake takes his ice cream back into the store to get his 5 bucks back. By the time he comes back I'm done and already on the phone with Yosh:

Oak--.....Yeah dude! With MANGO ICE CREAM!

The moral of this story is you need to be prepared when you go to Cold Stone. It's a magical place where all your wishes can come true if you go in with a plan and execute. Snake was a rookie then. It's taken a few years and there were some bumps along the way but none were as awful as that first night.

THE NIGHT BEFORE (a broskie) CHRISTMAS

2007-12-25T12:37:00.000-08:00

....by Clement Clarke Moore, modified by Yosh

'Twas the night before Christmas, a buzz filled the air
Not a creature was stirring, not even Big Bear;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Stickolas soon would be there;
The Broskies were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of cheetah-hums danced in their heads;
And Oak in his headband, guitar hero rippin',
had just settled down for a quick late night schnippin',
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
And spotted cream soda, it had to be Crash!
I hustled, Oak bustled, Snake scoffed at the thought
But look as we might, no cases were brought
When, what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer!
With a tall slender driver, so lively and quick,
We knew in a moment it must be St. Stick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Bandits! now, Legends! now, Cougars and Bounce!
On, Red Eye! on Wingman! on Suns and Guns out!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
I saw through the glimmer riding shotgun was Guru,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Stickolas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Stickolas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in denim, from his head to his foot,
And his vans and his bluetooth were all tarnished with soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
a true Bandit captain, leader of the pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his shoulders how wide!
His elbows were swollen, scars covered his side!
He held a picture of Broskie he recently swiped,
Shredding a solo while posing with Pipes;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
The no-talk-rub in action; Snake shares the same quirk!
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
Up the chimney he went, he had cougars to close;
He sprang to his sleigh, he and Guru high-fived,
And away they both flew, a tradition revived.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight,
"A Broskie Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.

"Merry Christmas boys. Tremendous, tremendous year. I love you all.-Yosh

The Yellow Jogging Shorts Story

2007-12-14T12:19:00.000-08:00

This story was passed on to me by Crash. It happened to a guy he knows, and no, it DID NOT happen to him. He is not the guy! Here's what he told me:

A pediatrician he knows lives on the upper west side and goes for a jog through central park a few days a week before work. One morning last July, it was above 90 degrees early in the morning, so he went out for his jog shirtless, wearing only sneakers and a pair of yellow jogging shorts. He tosses his keys to his doorman on the way out. Also, and I don't know why, he was freeballing it that day. This would later prove to be a costly mistake. You know where this is headed yet?

Anyway, about a mile into his jog he realizes he's having some stomach problems and he needs to find a bathroom. Finally he spots a small bathroom house in the park and darts in. But he was slightly too late, he takes the yellow shorts off and realizes he didn't quite make it. He needs to wash the shorts off.

He heads to the sink and lifts the faucet handle, but nothing comes out......It's the summer and they're conserving water. Realizing he can't put the shorts back on without cleaning them 1st, he steps back into the stall and puts his shorts in the toilet. The problem was that the still water wasn't really getting them clean. He needs to flush the toilet to get some current running through them.

Yes. Wait for it.....Wait for it.....

Picture what happened next.

He flushes the toilet, but the suction is so fast and powerful that the toilet sucks his shorts right out of his hand. SHORTS---GONE.
MAN---NAKED EXCEPT FOR SNEAKERS.
LOCATION--MIDDLE OF CENTRAL PARK.
TIME---9AM.

Ok, got that picture? So he takes a few steps out the door of the bathroom house and sees a group of kids on a class trip walking by. He can't even think about making a break for it, so he goes back into the bathroom. He tries to do what he can by covering himself in toilet paper, but it's just not happening. After a few minutes a homeless guy cruises into the bathroom.

Doctor---Hey fella, I'm in a bit of a tight spot here. Can you help me out?
Homeless Guy---(sizes up the situation for a minute).....Give me your shoes.

The doctor gives him his sneakers, the homeless guy tries to put them on but they are a size 9 and the homeless guy is about a 15. The homeless guy ties the sneakers to his cart and hands the doctor a plastic bag. The doc fashions himself a plastic grocery bag loin cloth and exits the bathroom. He finally gets back to his building wearing only a pair of socks and plastic bag.

Doorman----WHAT THE?!!!
Doctor----Don't even fucking ask just open the door!!!

The Origin of the KR (Kiss Rape)

2007-12-14T12:09:00.000-08:00

The following story was sent to me by my boy Pipes. I love this story because every guy and every girl can relate to having done something like this or have had something like this done to them. I should also point out that "Tank" is not the same guy as "Tanker" (see The Cream Soda Story for details) Here's to the KR catching on as a new term across the Broskienation. Here's how Pipes saw it:

I know what you’re thinking. “You can’t use the word ‘rape’ as an everyday slang term. It’s just not PC.” In this case we’re throwing PC out the window because no other word can more accurately describe this move.

There are a few schools of thought on the proper technique on making that first and awkward move of lip-to-lip contact. One is the 50/50 rule. In this day and age of equal rights women should be meeting us half way. We lean in half the distance to the goal and they reciprocate. Another school of thought is the more chivalrous 90/10. Guys will do most of the work here and give the target one last moment to pull the ejection handle or go full throttle. The third option is a method made popular by a serious Broski…Tank. He subscribes to the professional athlete mantra of giving 110% all the time aka the KR bomb. Now onto the details…

It was your average summer night out in Long Beach. Beach, Broski’s, beers and Broskettes. Myself and Tank, with my sister and some of her friends in tow, as well as some non-Broski’s, roll into our first and only stop of the night. At this point, we’ve been drinking for a few hours back at our house, which means the Tank’s eyes are only at half-mast. This requires a few more rounds before Tank can bring the house down. 4 or 5 beers and a couple of Jaeger shots later, the Tank and I find ourselves talking up one of my sisters friends at the bar. (Quick side note-her voice is deeper than Barry White’s and I’m suspecting the ‘Finkel is Einhorn tuck’ but that’s another story).

At this point, in the most baritone voice she says.

Girl – “Let’s go dance”
Tank (now with eyes wide shut) – “Ok, let’s do it”

He starts making his way to the dance floor, meanwhile the Silence of the Lambs dude is grabbing me by the wrist trying to get me to the dance floor as well. THIS IS NOT HAPPENING!!! I break his/her kung fu grip and she thankfully continues on her way to density with Tank on the dance floor.

The Tank is like Chris Brown out there, making Broski Nation proud. Then he goes for it…full on “get a room” make-out session in the middle of the dance floor. You know the kind. The night is winding down, we get back to our house and Tank can’t close the deal. The broskette goes home and lives to fight another day. Fast forward to the next day when I call my sister for Tank to see what Androgynous Pat may have said about the situation and boy were we in for a rude awakening.

According to Man Hands, Tank forced his way down her throat. No joke, he was accused of not even giving the poor girl a chance to say ‘no’. Imagine my astonishment when I hear this. I am now supposed to get off the phone and tell my eager friend, waiting to hear good news, that his hairy knuckled lass accused him of forcibly kissing her? This is GREAT!!!

Yosh calls me later on in the day to get the previous night’s run down.

Yosh- “So anything good happen?”
Pipes- “Sort of…somebody finally hooked up with (Man Hands)”
Yosh- “No way, who? Tank?
Pipes- “Yes, sir.”
Yosh-“Wow, it’s about time somebody did.”
Pipes- “Yeah…except she accused him of kiss raping her”
Yosh- (steady stream of laughter for a few minutes)

The rest is history. The term has taken on a life of it’s own within the Broski community. There’s no looking back now!

***DISCLAIMER***
To this day, Tank adamantly denies all kiss raping allegations made by Man Hands. I guess we’ll never know. As for his relationship with the Hands of Man, they haven’t seen or spoken since.

The Cream Soda Story

2007-12-06T14:38:00.000-08:00

At some point everyone in their life drinks a cream soda. I don't know anyone who drinks it regularly, but I distinctly remember drinking it at barbacues growing up, you could always find one in the cooler of ice in the backyard. The whole time I thought I loved it cause it was delicious. Well, according to one guy, it's cause I'm gay.

About a year ago I guy I used to work with named Tanker explained that cream soda as we know it today originated as an alcoholic drink and gained much popularity in the glory days of Studio 54 in the 1970s. The catch was that if you ordered "The Cream Soda", you were basically adverstising that you were gay. Eventually the soda bottling companies caught on, capitalizing on its popularity and made it into a non-alco beverage that they could sell on a large scale. So now more than 30 years later, those people who drink cream soda are doing the same thing: signaling loud and clear that they're gay. I'm not making this up when I say that this guy absolutely believed this to be the truth. I could probably do a whole background story on Tanker that would explain his reasoning much more, but just go with it.

I was so fascinated by his theory that in the weeks that followed I spread the tale of cream soda as if it was fact. This culminated one night when I invited Crash over for pregame at my place one friday night. The doorbell rings and I open:

Oak--hey man, thanks for bringing beer.
Crash--no doubt, broskie.

Crash walks by me and starts unloading the bags and putting cans into the refrigerator. I look a little closer and realize he has just brought me 4 CASES OF CREAM SODA.

Now clearly this move was intentional. I had told him the story and he was just being a joker. What was interesting was in the weeks that followed my roommate Snake and I had a battle to see who could catch the other guy drinking a cream soda. Fast foward to a few months later and there was still 3 cases of cream soda in the fridge. (I would drink a few late at night when he wasn't around. Cream soda is fucking delicious, remember?) Anyway by this point I've told everyone I know about cream soda and its origins. But then it got real.

It's early spring and I'm working on a movie set, on location at a residential home. I'm in the kitchen getting a cup of coffee and I notice The Official Brokeback Mountain 2007 Calender hanging on the fridge. I thought, "maybe the guy who lives here is just a fan of the movie." Or maybe I should open the fridge just to make sure.

I slowly open the door and I shit you not, 3 out of 5 shelves WERE STACKED FULL OF CREAM SODA!!! You can't imagine my level of excitement at this moment. I cruise out of the kitchen and into the living room and take a look at the DVD collection stacked in the entertainment center. Just as I suspected. Queer as Folk DVDs seasons 1-3 stacked neatly on top of the pile.
I can't wait to tell the broskies! Tanker had it right!

A week later Snake takes the cream soda we have leftover to his office and puts a case of it in the common refrigerator. As an experiment, he wanted to see who would take the sodas throughout the day. Sure enough, right around lunch time he sees Tanker take a can and walk out of the kitchen. Snake later confronts Tanker about this in his office:

Snake--I saw you take a cream soda earlier.
Tanker--No you didn't.
Snake--What's that empty can doing in your trash?
Tanker--It's not mine.
Snake--You poured it in a cup and threw the can out.
Tanker--Wasn't me.

Needless to say I've come to appreciate cream soda. As for the origins, there might be another story of where it came from, but I like this one best.

Lucky 13

2007-12-05T08:23:00.000-08:00

Here's a sentence I never thought I'd write. I wish I was 13 again. I know, I know. Junior High sucked. But after hearing this little ditty from my 13 year old sister, I realized I just went at the wrong time...

Sis- Oh my God, did I tell you about the blow job party I was invited to?
Yosh- (violently spits out drink) What?!
Sis- Yeah, my friend Mike Tha Playa (her nickname, not mine) told me his friend BJ was having a party and I should come. He asked my friend Melissa the same thing and she went. When she got there he told her it wasn't exactly BJ's party, it was a BJ PARTY.

Let me just cut to the details. The four male hosts would line the guests up, drop trow at full mast, sit on the couch, and the girls would go down that semi-prepubescent assembly line like underage workers in a Chinese sweatshop.

Yosh- There's no way that happened.
Sis- Actually, it totally did.
Yosh- Why wouldn't the girls just leave?
Sis- Well, the guys were like, the hottest guys in school. So the gross girls would do it so they could say they hooked up with a hot guy. And the popular girls would do it because they're so insecure that they don't want to lose their hot guys to the girls who are putting out.
Yosh- Holy shit. I think that actually makes sense...that's fucking AWESOME! No wait, maybe it's horrifying. If you ever go to one of those party's I'll kill you. Now go watch The Princess Diaries or something.

If you think about it, it DOES make sense. The world is a fucked up place at 13. New social/sexual boundaries are being confronted on a daily basis. These dudes were just ballsy enough to exploit it.

As an addendum, let me add MY SISTER DID NOT GO TO THIS PARTY. While she's not sweet nor innocent, she gets that only shallow, painfully stupid girls who are destined to waitress at Denny's participate in such blatantly absurd acts of whoredome. My sister is an amazing, intelligent, beautiful girl who is destined to a life of awesomeness. It's the only reason why this story is postable/funny.

How to spot a Broskie at the Gym.

2007-11-30T10:29:00.000-08:00

Best thing about a 24-hour gym: the characters you meet at night.

I walk into the Evolution Gym in Astoria at 11pm. Five people in the whole place. Three were your typical self-conscience gym-goers. The type that likes to go at obscure hours so that they don't run into anyone they know.

The other people are a couple of serious workout-warriors. You could tell this was probably their second or even third trip to the gym that day. You know the type. Real meaty dudes pounding protein shakes and grunting after each rep. The only thing they were missing was a sweet pair of Zubaz pants.

I workout for an hour then head to the locker room to shower. There are three stalls with frosted glass doors. I walk over to the only available one, and out of the corner of my eye I see something unusual.

In the first stall was one of the workout-warriors. And he was in the shower WEARING A SWEATSHIRT WITH A T-SHIRT OVER IT... and no pants. At first I thought he was just getting undressed and that he hadn't finished the process yet. But then I looked above him and there was a stream of water coming from the shower head.

Now, still in awe of this, I pass the second stall, and yet again I see something deeply unsettling. The other dude was taking a shower IN A PAIR OF SWEATPANTS, no shirt.

What the fuck is going on here?

As I enter my stall and take my towel off, I gotta say, I felt a little uncomfortable being buck-ass naked in a shower next to these two dudes. A part of me felt that there was the pattern of progression that I was breaking by not wearing a pair of tube socks and sneakers as I showered.

The only explanation, I guess, is these guys are "never-nudes."

Best Overheard Comment Ever..

2007-11-28T18:51:00.000-08:00

I put out a call to some broskies for some absurd stories to include here, and in true broskie fashion, they've come through. Here's the first one I received from my boy Changepiece about a recent trip to Queens...

So I'm on my way to the Astoria Beer Garden one humid night in early September for a Broskie's birthday. I had never been there before, so I was prepared to be confused once I made it onto the street to look for my destination. I get off the subway and upon realizing that I don't know where I am, I spot 2 women sitting on a bench and decide that I was going to ask them for some directions.

As I approached, I got a better look at these women. Both Spanish, early- to mid-30s, dressed similarly wearing t-shirts showed just enough of their pooch to know that they mean business at the dinner table. One other thing - each mamasita was eating her own ear of corn-on-the-cob. That's right. Corn-on-the-cob in one hand and cellphone in the other. I neared their bench and was about to open my mouth when I see this:

Mamacita--(takes a bite of corn then says into her cellphone): "So you wanna eat my ass tonight, Daddy?"

Wh-wha-what?? Needless to say, I was so thrown off course that I didn't ask them for directions and kept walking. After about 10 more paces, I turn around and begin to walk back to 31st Street, having to pass my not-to-be potential local guides once again. You'd think overhearing a slightly-overweight, and hungry woman ask "Daddy" if he wanted to eat her large, sweaty ass out was enough for one night. No, sir. This is Queens.
Apparently "Daddy" had responded to the woman with a satisfactory response because then she says, with a mouth half-full of corn, "Damn, you are dirty," and takes another bite of corn. Her amiga chuckles, though not enough to distract her from her snack and keeps munching away.

I made my way back to 31st Street and asked some less distracted, less entertaining people where the Beer Garden was and they pointed me in the right direction. Eventually I arrived a few minutes late to the party, but it was all good, my life was better for it.
The lesson: getting cultured in NYC does not stop at the museums' doors.

Much thanks to Changepiece for this lovely story. We should probably post that on overheard in New York. What I want to know is what could "Daddy" possibly have said to make her respond "Damn, you are dirty!" I can only hope she reads this one day and writes to me what he said.

Everyone has a story like this..

2007-11-27T12:44:00.000-08:00

..At least if you ride the subway you do. I'm sure you can recall your most abusrd subway story, but a few weeks ago I had one that was simply outstanding.

It's about 2am and I'm heading home on a friday night after some moderate drinking. It's late so there's not too many people on the car. The train stops in the tunnel between stations and I notice a young girl about my age standing by one of the doors looking incredibly antsy.

She walks to the middle pole of the train, back to the door, back to the pole, then back to the door. She looks at me and I wonder if I should ask her if she is ok. She's probably just drunk, on drugs, or both, but she was cute so I'm thinking I might make conversation. I decide against it and bury my head in my hands as I count the stops till I get home.

A few minutes later I see a trail of water start to run by my feet. My eyes slowly trace the stream of water to its source.....

Yep, the stream led all the way back to the girl, now standing at the door with jeans soaked through the ass and down her leg, still pissing herself on the subway. The doors open at the next stop, she waddles off, and even worse, she gets on the next subway car. Sadly it wasn't even her stop, so she thought, "screw it, I'm staying on!"

As people file on to the car at the next stop oblivious to what they are now stepping in, I look around to see if anyone has just seen what I have. I couldn't believe it, but only 1 other guy besides me noticed! You've got to be kidding me! How did so many other people just miss that!! The guy across from me with huge headphones and thick glasses nods back at me as if to say, "Yeah bro, I saw it too, it was awesome."

That alone would have made a great ride, but if you're still reading, it gets even weirder from there.

Five minutes later I'm people watching again in the subway car and I see a guy with an eye patch talking to his girlfriend. But when I say eye patch, I mean like a medical eye patch, not a halloween pirate style. Anyway he's listening to his girl tell some story when I see him lift the patch and start rubbing whatever he's got underneath. He finishes with that---then slides the patch over onto the good eye and continues his conversation as if nothing happened!!! The girlfriend doesn't react.

You need to picture this for a second. A guy with an eye patch just switched eyes right in front of me. My fascination with pirates aside, I have so many questions for this guy! At this point I have so many questions for this night. (i.e. What planet am I on cause I left mine somewhere around 34th street?)

Needless to say I couldn't stop thinking about how great of a subway ride that was in the weeks that follow. Looking back I should have also pissed myself on the subway, then I totally could have talked to that girl. At least we would have something in common.

The Bait and Switch

2007-11-25T17:53:00.000-08:00

You know how I knew 2007 would be a great year? Because it started off with a story so absurd, I knew it could only get better from there. Here's how it went down..

It was early January and a few of the broskies and I were in West Palm Beach on vacation. My boy Snake was flying in from Boston that day so I head to the airport to pick him up. Had I known what was going to happen that night, I would have made him take a cab. He calls me when he hits the ground:

Snake--What kind of car you got?
Oak--I don't know, it's a rental.
Snake--Well take your shirt off so you're easy to spot.
Oak--It's Florida, everyone's got their shirt off.

A few laps around the concourse later I find him and we head right to the beach to meet up with Yosh, Crash, and a few other broskies. Crash explains that a female friend of his from West Palm wants to take us to a bar called Renegades cause they have a mechanical bull and line dancing. For a bunch of jokers from NYC, this is a no brainer. We take an extended happy hour by the pool for good measure and head over to Renegades.

To say we stuck out like a sore thumb at this place would be an understatement. One look at us and you knew we were from out of town. While the boys take their best shot at the mechanical bull, I do a lap to see if I can rally a cheetah crew for us to get drunk with. Sure enough, on my way through the crowd I run into 2 waitresses we met a few days earlier on the trip. We do a few shots and hit the dance floor for some line dancing. I'm sure we looked absolutely ridiculous compared to the locals who knew exactly what they were doing. The standout number of the night was "The Gator" dance, which if you've never seen, I recommend checking out if you're ever in West Palm. That dance alone made it worth the price of admission.

By this point most of the crew is hammered and ready to head home. I pretty much have locked up waitress#1 and I'm trying to get her and her friends to come back with us for a late night pool party.

Waitress#1--I'll go, but I didn't drive, my best friend did.
Oak--which one is she?

She points to a girl that would have to sober up to pass out drunk.

Oak--she doesn't look so good. Fellas, any suggestions?
Waitress#1--she'll be ok once we get her outside. can one of your friends carry her out?

Crash carries waitress#2 outside to her car, she throws up in the parking lot, and he puts her in the backseat. At this point waitress#1 realizes there's no way waitress#2 is driving her home, so she agrees to let Crash drive her car back to our place. I admire that. Even though her girl is out of commission for the night, she wants to continue this adventure. She jumps in the backseat with her friend, and Crash and his girl hop in the front. Yosh, Snake and I follow them in our car and on the way I apologize to the boys for bringing a girl for myself and her passed out friend. I was fired up on this ride back, and the boys were glad for me, but this was the high point of my night. It all went downhill from there.

We get back to our place and as I get out of the car I see Crash carrying a girl from his car inside the house. I take two steps into the house and realize that the girl he's just thrown passed out on the couch was WAITRESS#1. I turn around and look at the front door and see waitress#2, aka formerly passed out girl, walking in, wide awake, ready to party.

FPOG--hey, nice place. where's the pool?
Oak--you've got to be kidding me.

That's right. Between the 20 min ride from Renegades to our house, waitress#1 passes out in the back seat and her friend wakes up ready to go.

I join the pool party anyway even though my virtual lock is now passed out in the bathroom after undrinking the shots I bought her. Meanwhile, a few pool basketball shots later and I notice Snake, who hasn't said more than 10 words the whole night, has slid up next to FPOG. Well welcome to the party asshole! She's now clearly surveyed the scene of who's left, and has decided that the guy who's kept his mouth shut the whole time is just what she needs at this point. 20 minutes later, I'm inside drying off when Snake approaches me.

Snake--hey man, can I have your room tonight?
Oak--of course, I'll just sleep on the living room floor next to the girl I brought home who wanted to hook up with me but passed out on the ride home.
Snake--great. thanks, broskie. do you have a condom?
Oak--I hate you.

I woke up the next morning to find the girls, the car, and my condoms were all gone. Snake was wide awake, smiling like a dude who had just executed the No Talk Rub, the Pool Side Z-Job, and the Blast Off all in the same night. If you don't know what any of these are, think harder. Snake regailed us with the details. They are outstanding.

The OB

2007-11-21T12:48:00.000-08:00

Meet broskie, or Broski, depending on how you're feeling at the time.

Much more to come on this later...