Address me as you will; for the most part I don’t care. Call meKen, Dude, Smitty, Mr. Happy, even Fats, it doesn’t bother me. But Iam not, nor will I ever be, your f**kin’ bro.
Unfortunately,that’s the typical salutation here at San Diego State University andin Southern California in general. Indeed, it seems to have spreadall over the world and become the standard greeting used by young mentoday, which is just another reason I hate my generation.
It’s not the word bro I hate so much, but what it represents –the person delivering the greeting, a type of person so vile as tohave even made their vernacular repulsive.
You know the type. They come in all shapes and sizes, but for themost part favor short, spiky hair, wraparound sunglasses, tribaltattoos and clothing emblazoned with brand names like Hurley andVolcom. I call ’em Bros.
“What’s up bro!”
“Hey bro, lets do some phat bong rips.”
“Bro, hold my legs so I can do another keg stand.”
Bros. Look around — they’re everywhere. Like rats. They’vebastardized California surf culture, once a beautiful thing, intosomething twisted and repulsive. They listen to sh**ty music –whether it’s punk, reggae or hip-hop, it’s always the most watereddown, inane form of it. Bros who say they like punk rock listen toFat Wreck and Epitaph bands, with “Bro Hymn” by Pennywise being theiranthem.
Bros like boobies (“Check out the rack on that one, bro!”). Notthat there’s anything wrong with admiring breasts, but Bros objectifywomen, are generally misogynistic and many are not above committingdate rape.
Not that they always have to resort to that, though. Anyself-respecting Bro need only jump in their tricked-out mini-truck(with a Bad Boy sticker in the back window) and head down to theGaslamp or Pacific Beach, where they’ll be plenty of willing littletarts, anxious to please the virile young Bro. The Bros femalecounterpart — the Bro Ho — is equally abundant in these parts.
Bro Hos like to party. Just check out those Girls Gone Wildvideos. Come to think of it, every time those commercials come onwhen I’m trying to enjoy Jerry Springer I recognize a few girls fromState.
Unfortunately, Bros are not content to stay within set parametersand are constantly stealing parts of other subcultures –Bro-propriation, if you will. I get tears in my eyes when I see someBro Ho dressed in capris and leopard print with Betty Page bangs.Such a get-up used to ensure that a chick was at least halfway cool.Now it just means the little tramp wandered into Hot Topic at somepoint.
There should be some type of test. You should have to have alicense to dress cool.
The Bros sometimes invade my beloved neighborhood bar. Then theyoverrun the jukebox and play Creed all night long. Bastards. Aren’tyou missing a foam party at Tsunami’s or something, Bro? They’rehaving a Pimp and Ho party at Safari’s tonight. Go there instead,Bro, it’ll be sweet. Stay out of my bar.
There’s other examples of Bros latching onto cool stuff and makingit suck. Occasionally a Bro will like a band that is actually cool,and where one Bro goes the masses follow like cattle. Despite alltheir tattoos and hip lingo and penchant for “extreme sports” (screwthat term too, by the way), Bros are merely followers. I can barelytell them apart, to tell the truth.
San Diego being the Bro mecca, it’s not surprising that largeevents in this city suck. Street Scene, Mardi Gras, ShamRock — allcool things that have been completely and utterly ruined by drunken,rampaging Bros who like to fight and chant, “Show your tits!” It’s tothe point I can’t even go downtown on any given weekend. It’s justnot worth it.
In a perfect world the Bro phenomenon would peter out and go away,like all bad fads. But the Bros are here to stay — in fact, it’stheir world, we just live in it. They evolve (or perhaps devolve)over time, but when it boils down to it a Bro is a Bro. In TheOutsiders they called them Socs. In the ’70s, Bros drove Camaros andlistened to the Eagles. In the ’80s they grew mullets and still droveCamaros. The Bro as we know him today was born in the ’90s and hasn’tchanged much since.
And the Bros shall inherit the Earth. A large number of them beingwealthy upper-middle class and white, they’ll move on to becomecaptains of industry and politicians, regardless of how they misspendtheir college years here at SDSU.
But I want no part of it. Don’t high-five me, don’t tell me howsweet something is, and no, Bro, I don’t want to cruise down to P.B.Bar and Grill and do some Jello shots. I don’t want to drink Red Bulland vodka and get your herpes, Bro Ho. I am not your Bro.
–This column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of TheDaily Aztec.
