We’re planning another bro-union right now. Version 5.0.1. In doing so, it brought up a ridiculous story that I realized I had to get down in writing! It was Bro-Union II, I believe. Very early on. We were doing the usual shenanigans… hungover from the night before, so start drinking the second you open your eyes, I accidently ate a weed cookie for breakfast and stoned out of my mind, we all went to guads for breakfast burritos. This is where Bro-cipies came to life. Travy and I thought we were on fire, coming up with the most delicious concoctions and bro-isms ever. We thought we had a gold mine. This was entertaining, and will possibly make us rich someday, yet not the hilarious part.
On the way home we decided to stop by our old Anderson house, where a bunch of crew guys still lived. We thought it’d be funny to move all of the furnature to one room of the house, which turned out to be equally parts awesome, funny, and a real life version of tetris. In doing so, we simultaneously discover two jackpots. Gemulla found a pair of rollerblades, and the rest of us found an enormous box of fireworks. Gemulla donned the rollerblades and realized that we had made an indoor dance floor for him, so off he went. With a gay, smug grin on his face he roller danced his overworked heart out. Humming to himself to provide sound track, we all laughed watching, about to pee ourselves at the site of this racially ambiguous guy effortlessly gliding across the hardwood floors. Not to be outdone by our theft a huge amount of bottle rockets, he decided to rollerblade the rest of the day.
After a couple stops at other crew houses and more shenanigans, we start to get ready for the bars… G still has the rollerblades on…
I would tell the beginning of this part of the story, but quite frankly, we went very big very early. All that I remember is that the bartenders at froggies treated us like celebrities, serving us over 21 yr old sorority girls, and Crawford got kicked out no more than 10 minutes into being at the bar for talking shit to Preacher.
Then we time travel to Travy and I walking home after the mandatory Jack in the box. I still have a pocket full of bottle rockets, so it’s logically a good idea to light them off on our walk home. So, I put four bottle rockets in the ground between jack and wells fargo and light them off all at the same time and travy and I take off running, giggling like 8 year olds. Next thing we know, a cop comes flying up and asks us if we heard any loud bangs. Travy is speechless, terrified. He freezes. Luckily there was a bunch of high schoolers over by Jack in the box, so I target them as our scapegoats. I quickly cover up Travy’s incriminating blacked out silence and come up with an excellent, spot on story. “I don’t know about the bangs officer, but there was some yelling and scuffling with those guys over there.” The cop responds with a “thanks gentlemen, be safe tonight.” A “Thank you officer, you too,” sends him on his way to protect and serve. He flies over and we jog home with a little more giggling to pass out on Lobo’s floor.
A week or so later, we get a “I’ve never been prouder of Bro-Union” email from Lobo, who sent us the police briefs from the Davis Enterprise that we unknowingly generated. “Shots fired and young males seen scuffling, then fleeing the scene.” Nice job guys, run from cops when you did nothing wrong.
Point: Travy & Wheeler.
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