The 7 Drinking Habits of Highly Obnoxious Bros

As you already know, bros go to college. There, they learn how to wear their hats backwards and lie to girls about how they totally could have played semi-pro lacrosse but chose banking instead, because they’d rather win at life. But somewhere along the way, bros -- all bros -- also pick up an intangible ideology that dictates every intellectual, social, and moral facet of their very (upper-middle class) existence. Of course, we’re talking about dangerously reductive Randian libertarianism. Kidding! We’re talking about the Seven Drinking Habits of Highly Obnoxious Bros.

Practiced across the nation by 20-somethings who go by “Joseph” at the office and “J-Bone” on the weekends, these tenets assist every privileged buffoon in his never-ending quest to get totally faded on light beers & grind killer butt. If you ever see one or more of these habits in the wild, vacate the area immediately and hide in a bar without TVs until the shotgunning is over and the threat has passed.

Without further ado, here are the Seven Drinking Habits of Highly Obnoxious Bros. Godspeed.

The enthusiasm and vigor with which The Highly Obnoxious Bro approaches drinking cannot be overstated. Go ahead -- just try to state it overly! See? You can't. Where the average citizen enjoys boozing in moderation & with discretion, he is concerned only with housing infinity drinks. Alcohol does not complement his lifestyle; it is his lifestyle. As such, The Highly Obnoxious Bro simply must have shots.

"SHOTS!" He'll scream it into his friend's face with equal parts mischief and aggression. Girls are at your table, and they want to get to know you. "SHOTS?!" The Highly Obnoxious Bro will pose it as a question even if he's already ordered them. Which, of course, he has, because these girls are here to talk, and he is here to Go Hard™. "SHOTS!!!" He'll exclaim it with joy as he watches his coworker open up a tab. Shots are tough & brooding, light & fun, magnetic & contagious. Shots are everything The Highly Obnoxious Bro wants to be, and isn't.

(Well, maybe contagious. But not the other ones.)

More generally, The Highly Obnoxious Bro puts drinking first. "My life is a drinking game," he will say as he Jerseys his tallboy of light beer and adjusts his beach tank. And so it is: from haircuts, to funerals, to solitary Tuesday lunches, there is no moment in his life that is not spent drinking, thinking about drinking, or recovering from a previous round of drinking. For The Highly Obnoxious Bro, the game is the game.
 

The Highly Obnoxious Bro always speaks his mind. After all, a man who chooses JBone_da_GAWD as his Instagram handle has neither time, patience, nor use for a filter. He is not cocky, he is confident. He will speak truth to power. Of course, in this context, "power" means "anyone with slightly different opinions than me," and "speak truth" is more accurately described as "hurl epithets without real threat of consequence." But these are semantics, and The Highly Obnoxious Bro is not here for those. He is here to tell women that they are a number, and that the number is "six at best, don't kid yourself." He is Just Telling It Like It Is™.

It's a well-known secret that The Highly Obnoxious Bro selects his going-out wardrobe with equal consideration for his sexual appetite and his social stock. Put another way: he wants chicks to think he dresses OK, but he also wants dudes to think, "Holy sh*t, where did he get that vintage country club hat? Swag." Though he does not shop per se (shopping is something girls do), The Highly Obnoxious Bro will go to great lengths to find the sneakers he wants, or the Croakies he likes, or the pornographically expensive blank tee he needs. "Look good, feel good, play good, kid," he will explain, swigging from the 40oz of Olde English he brought to the pool party. Does he even like drinking Olde English at pool parties? Does he even like wearing flatbrims & Timbs to nice bars? The answer to both questions is: it doesn't matter. If it expresses even one iota of individuality within his safely defined reality, he will drink it, wear it, or drink it while wearing it.
 

By day, The Highly Obnoxious Bro may truly wish well upon his fellow man, and considering his OKCupid profile characterizes him as "one of the chillest, most laid-back dudes you'll ever meet," he may even help others, as long as it helps him. Need a spot? J-Brizzle's got you, but can he work in-between sets? Thanks. 

But by night? By night, J-Brizzle keeps score. "If winning wasn't everything, then why would they...?" Sports, you know? He will ask the question with enough evaluative faculty to know it's a cliche thing to say, but not enough evaluative faculty to not say it. No matter. To the scoreboard: has he taken the most shots ("SHOTS")? Danced with the most girls ("Nothing lower than an eight")? Does he care the very least in a group of bros that value apathy as inflation-resistant currency? These are important questions, because he is Playing For Keeps™. After all, if you ain't first, you're last, and by the way, he knows more Will Ferrell quotes than you. Now shut up and change the channel on the sports bar TV, because there's a replay of the Long Island Lizards vs. the Boston Cannons on, and when he's drinking, he doesn't care what anyone else in the entire world might think. Thinking is for losers, and he is not one of those.

The Highly Obnoxious Bro is not interested in moderation. Limits are for people who won't live forever, and 'Murica-'Murica-longstick-middee, he actually thinks he might. The music must be louder, the bottle service must sparkle brighter, the drinks must flow faster. Order one of everything, then make 'em all doubles. Nothing Exceeds Like Excess™. He swigs an imported beer and gulps down a thought. "People who say stuff like 'money doesn't buy happiness' probably don't have any," he muses. The Highly Obnoxious Bro doesn't say stuff like that. He doesn't say much of anything, really, for he is too busy wagging his credit card in the bartender's face ("Seven if I'm sloppy") and ordering a Night of Happiness on the rocks. "I don't know what that is," she yells impatiently. Peasant. He settles for a vodka-soda.

Properly unburdened of his inhibitions, The Highly Obnoxious Bro will prowl the scene in search of someone to do sex with. J-Bone is here to bone. He and his bros have all manner of inventive names for their sexual partners, but none of them appear on birth certificates. No, these are nicknames, caricatures in a sexual drama that will play out on crowded dance floors and in bar bathrooms. Chick. "Seven." Babe. "Five and a half." Dime. "9-point-nine-nine-nine." The Highly Obnoxious Bro doesn't award perfect 10s -- not even when he's been drinking. He keeps score, remember? He's here to win. Winners don't get lovestruck, or make love. Winners scope, then slay. Winners just win.

In the quiet eye of the storm between drinks, or songs, or women, the average citizen might pause to ponder. How did I get so bombed? Do my friends even like me? Is it all downhill from here? The Highly Obnoxious Bro fights against this swelling current of cogent thought. For really, what's to think about? J-Bone is Playing For Keeps™ and Telling It Like It Is™. Nothing Exceeds Like Excess™, you see, and as long as he Goes Hard™, he will be just fine. He orders one of everything, turns back his vintage country club hat, and pushes self-reflection aside. After all, thinking is for losers, and The Highly Obnoxious Bro is not one of those.

Dave Infante is a senior writer for Thrillist Food & Drink. Though he is a recovering bro, he remains highly obnoxious. Follow @dinfontay on Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat.