Jane Goodall is a world-renowned scientist and conservationist, known for her work studying chimpanzees in Tanzania. Recently, she decided to take a step back and observe an even more primal group of animals: the last remaining pure Bro population.
From behind a wall of Bud Light Lime-A-Rita boxes, she studied them and took notes for this groundbreaking report.
Human evolution is one of the most misunderstood scientific areas due to our lack of understanding of our ancestral species. Who were we? Where did we come from? Where are we going? Where did we come from, Cotton-Eyed Joe? I believe that these questions and many more can be answered by studying a species even more primitive than the chimps we evolved from. That is why I ventured into the heart of Arizona State University to study the last remaining bro tribe.
After having watched for nearly a month, surviving on nothing but beef jerky and “good vibez,” I have begun to understand their culture and how they operate. They remain totally isolated from the world, no external influences; they are completely oblivious to life outside of their ecosystem.
The first thing I noticed was their formalisms in how they address one another. Their society functions on unique nicknames, such as “big dick Nick,” “hung like a horse Harry,” and “cockasaurus Calvin.” I even heard multiple individuals refer to one bro as “the man, the myth, the legend.” Upon further observation, I found out he was nothing more than a guy named Scott with a neck tattoo that reads “property of Scott.”
While crass at first, I cannot help but applaud their positivity. It is so often that we are quick to tear one another down, while these bros provide nothing but praise. Having watched them constantly, I can tell you that Harry's genitalia is nowhere near equine proportions, which supports the hypothesis that these titles are assigned with the goal of instilling confidence in one another.
The bros appear to be creatures of habit, doing the same thing every day, as if it was programmed into their “bromosomes,” or bro chromosomes for the unfamiliar.
The majority of their days are occupied with feeble attempts to, as they put it, “crack a cold one with the boys.” Unlike the chimps, they have not developed the ability to use tools, so I watched as they attempted to twist off a bottle cap that clearly needed a bottle opener. However, I cannot fully criticize their lack of advancement. While technology like the hammer and the wheel remain a mystery to them, they have managed to invent The ESPN RedZone. Without any knowledge of football, they have discovered the optimal way to watch multiple games and not miss any action — it is fascinating.
The question I have to assume most of you have is, “How are they a self-sustaining population?” Females are needed to copulate and produce offspring, so how are these bros reproducing?
The truth is that I have been unable to ascertain this information, but from time to time, I have observed what I hypothesize to be their mating ritual. Two bros approach each other, one usually “peacocking” or displaying their proverbial feathers by dressing in head to toe neon. This is aimed at attracting the attention of the one dressed in dull colors, usually accented with a cloth Vineyard Vines belt or a floral bucket hat. The two touch chests while the one dressed similar to a highlighter declares “let me be your seahorse bro,” announcing not only to his mate but to the tribe that he will carry the child. Days later, this bro is undoubtedly gestating and saying things such as, “Bringing life into this world is TIGHT” and, “It hasn't kicked once, it's already a chiller.”
I have yet to observe one of their birthing rituals, but I have heard it described as “kind of like Jaegerbombing a child out of your ass.” These truly are complex creatures.