It is the year twenty-fifteen and the horror is over. It has been two years since the last keg stand on American soil. The last bottle of hair gel now resides in the Smithsonian, and all of our collars are safely un-popped. But how did it happen? Find out in this special edition of: BROpocalypse Now.
"Go Rice! ... duuuude."
Band enters the field.
B R O
Scientists soon identified Patient Zero, the first "Bros": eighteen to twenty-four year-old males, recognizable by their popped collars and the pungent smell of Axe™. These "bros" would compete in their most sacred ritual: icing — the act of sacrificing a Smirnoff to the god of bro-dom: Seth Rogen.
Carry On (my) Wayward Son
Band members get iced; Show Assistants™ play Frisbee™, compare muscles, and try to pick up chicks.
Dude wearing a cap (with brim)
As foretold in prophecy, Earth was visited by the Four Horsemen of the bro-pocalypse:
- Judd Apatow
- Dane Cook
- and that guy from that party.
They could have been stopped, but everyone was simply too chill. Instead, our leaders raised the threat level to "party foul".
(the hat brim switches from facing forward to facing backward)
Show Assistants™, "T-Pain", and others act like Bros. They get arrested by the police while trying to "bro out."
B R O
At Rice, our darkest hour came when our President revealed himself to be, in fact, Lee–bro. Bro-stein Pavilion became a bro-tastic hangout. Baker Shake put on Bro-meo and Juliet, and the Marching Owl Bros used auto-tune for two entire years.
"Colla' Pop" by Ray T.
Band changes out of uniform, leaving piles of clothing in the current "BRO" form and reveals themselves to be wearing visors and Polo shirts with popped collars. They move lower on the field to...
M O B
Popped collars and natty ice had arrived. It would take only one more item to form the bro-ly trinity and end the bro-tastrophe that had made the world so... so... chill. Who could've known that our savior would be Dave Matthews?
What Would You Say
In the end, Rice was spared from the worst of the bro-tamination. Rice has no varsity lacrosse team. Without fraternities, there was no shelter for the bro-mosapiens. At our worst, we could only be tools, objectify underage girls, and lower our intellectual horizons.
But that wouldn't make us bros, just your average student at S-M-U.
Ladies and gentlemen, the two-thousand ten Marching Owl Bros... We suggest that you go run and tell that, homeboy.
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