Bros vs. Hoes

So since I was sober and boring all weekend I spent an embarrassing amount of time on brobible.com. This site is absolutely horrible, made for bros, by bros. I literally could smell the Axe just by reading it. Anyway, in one entry, written by Waffles McButter (wonder if that's his real name?) He discusses the top 10 reasons why bros should go out on Thanksgiving Eve. He literally says "Younger women love older men. They always will. These chicks will forever see you as the same upperclassmen they swooned over in the hallway. You were Johnny fuckin' Touchdown back then; the upperclassman who had it all going for him — big-dick rumors and all. So if you haven't lost a step or drastically changed, the odds are in your favor that you can still stuff one of these birds."

Now, the feminist in me was disgusted when I read this. My date rape radar went off, and I became hyper aware of all the cargo shorts in my immediate area (luckily I'm in London, which means there were no cargo shorts nearby). Who was this toddler preying on underaged girls he knew back in high school? Does his mother still wipe his ass and how much time does he spend playing xbox? Nevertheless, I continued to surf through random bro bible entries, simultaneously intrigued and disgusted.

After a few hours reading about pick-up lines and how to score with girls who have daddy issues, I decided to do some counter-research. I swallowed my pride and went against everything I believed in. I bought the December issue of Cosmo. Katy Perry was even on the cover, next to the subtitle "21 secrets to make him fall in love." As I thumbed through the brightly colored pages about clothes, blowjobs, how to flirt, I had an epiphany, Hoes are just as bad as Bros. In fact, I reckon that one can't exist without the other, they are codependent. Waffles McButter and Cosmo columnists not only create balance in the universe, they are actually soulmates. The ying and yang of the 21st century.

Sorority girls and their Fraternity counterparts do not die after graduation, they live on. Finally, they stop trying to figure each other out, they find each other, get married, live in the suburbs and buy minivans, not that there is anything wrong with that.

After completing my counter-intelligence, I was no longer grossed out by Mr. McButter, I was just happy knowing that "Johnny fuckin' Touchdown" would eventually find his Cosmo cheerleader.