Dude Bro Quotes

Jesus Christ, will you quit dictating this conversation to Hannah?' I grumble. 'Bros before hos, dude.' 'Call my girlfriend a ho one more time and you won't have a bro.

An outrageously awesome dude stands before a crater where his favorite record shop stood one day prior. He is prepared for the occasion with a small pair of outrageously awesome shades.

Jesus waited three days to come back to life. It was perfect! If he had only waited one day, a lot of people wouldn't have even heard he died. They'd be all, "Hey Jesus, what up?" and Jesus would probably be like, "What up? I died yesterday!" and they'd be all, "Uh, you look pretty alive to me, dude..." and then Jesus would have to explain how he was resurrected, and how it was a miracle, and the dude'd be like "Uhh okay, whatever you say, bro..." And he's not gonna come back on a Saturday. Everybody's busy, doing chores, workin' the loom, trimmin' the beard, NO. He waited the perfect number of days, three. Plus it's Sunday, so everyone's in church already, and they're all in there like "Oh no, Jesus is dead", and then BAM! He bursts in the back door, runnin' up the aisle, everyone's totally psyched, and FYI, that's when he invented the high five. That's why we wait three days to call a woman, because that's how long Jesus wants us to wait.... True story.

Shane: "Bro," he said, in an injured tone, "I had to go out with a flamethrower, and you weren't there to see it." Michael: "Pics or it didn't happen." Shane: "Dude, little busy for pics. You know, throwing flame.

Libraries are safe but also exciting. Libraries are where nerds like me go to refuel. They are safe-havens where the polluted noise of the outside world, with all the bullies and bro-dudes and anti-feminist rhetoric, is shut out. Libraries have zero tolerance for bullshit. Their walls protect us and keep us safe from all the bastards that have never read a book for fun.

In this room, there is no 'chick music'. There is o 'dude music' or 'bro music'. There is music. Period. There are different musical genres. There are male and female musical artists. But music is music." -Donna

Libraries are safe but also exciting. Libraries are where nerds like me go to refuel. They are safe-havens where the polluted noise of the outside world, with all the bullies and bro-dudes and anti-feminist rhetoric, is shut out. Libraries have zero tolerance for bullshit. Their walls protect us and keep us safe from all the bastards that have never read a book for fun. I

Nooooooooooo!" Screaming the word, Amy and Dan moved as one. Time slowed down, which, Dan knew from experience, often happened when you were in midair. By the time they leaped onto the hood of Fiske's car (oops, dents), and Dan had ripped off a windshield wiper to use as a weapon (probably not the best idea, but hey, he was improvising), Scarey Harley Dude had turned around. He strode off in his motorcycle boots, moving swiftly to his bike without seeming to hurry. His helmet back on, sunglasses adjusted, he roared off straight into the road, weaving through the thick traffic like smoke. Amy's face was squashed against the windshield. Dan held the wiper aloft like a club. And Evan Tolliver stood on the sidewalk, blinking at them. Dan waved the windshield wiper at him. "Hey, bro. We didn't want to miss our ride.

-Bros before hos, dude- -Call my girlfriend a ho one more time and you won't have a bro-

Ted: Barney, the 3 days rule is insane. I mean, who even came up with that? Barney: Jesus. Marshall: Barney, don't do this, not with Jesus. Barney: Seriously, Jesus started the whole wait-three-days thing. He waited three days to come back to life. It was perfect. Barney: If he'd have only waited one day, a lotta people wouldn't have even heard that he died. They'd be all "Hey, Jesus. What up?" And Jesus would probably be like, "What up? I died yesterday." Barney: Then they'd be all, "Uh, look pretty alive to me dude." And then Jesus would have to explain how he was resurrected and how it was a miracle. And then the dude would be like "Ah, oh-kay, whatever you say "bro"." Robin: Wow, ancient dialogue sounds so stilted now. Barney: And you're not gonna come back on a Saturday, everybody's busy! Doin' chores, workin' the loom, trimmin' their beards. No, he waits the exact, right number of days - three. Ted: Ok, I promise, I'll wait 3 days. Just please stop talking. Barney: Plus, it's Sunday, so everyone's in church already. They're all in there - "Oh no, Jesus is dead." Barney: Then BAM! He bursts through the back door, runs up the aisle, everyone's totally psyched and FYI, that's when he invented the high-five. Barney: Three days, Ted. We wait three days to call a woman because that's how long Jesus wants us to wait. True story.

Oh my God, this is terrible. We’re just two dudes meeting to study. Bros. Bros don’t get nervous. Be a bro, Tanner.

I furrow my brow. “And how would that even affect you?” Since I’m not seeing his logic, he slowly spells it out for me. “Sides, dude. People break up, their friends take sides. Dean’s my buddy, so obviously the bro code says I have to side with him. But this one—” He jerks a thumb at Hannah, “is my girlfriend. Girlfriend trumps buddy. Wellsy’ll take Allie’s side, and I’ll have to take Wellsy’s side, vis-à-vis, I’m taking Allie’s side.” “I don’t think you’re using vis-à-vis right,” Morris pipes up. “Yeah, I believe the word you’re looking for is therefore.” Logan’s lips are twitching wildly. “I wouldn’t expect you to take Allie’s side on my behalf,” Hannah protests. “And you’re being such a jackass about this. We’re adults. If they break up, we’ll all still be able to co-exist peacefully.” “Ross and Rachel co-existed,” Logan agrees. Fitzy snorts.

What rhymes with insensitive?” I tap my pen on the kitchen table, beyond frustrated with my current task. Who knew rhyming was so fucking difficult? Garrett, who’s dicing onions at the counter, glances over. “Sensitive,” he says helpfully. “Yes, G, I’ll be sure to rhyme insensitive with sensitive. Gold star for you.” On the other side of the kitchen, Tucker finishes loading the dishwasher and turns to frown at me. “What the hell are you doing over there, anyway? You’ve been scribbling on that notepad for the past hour.” “I’m writing a love poem,” I answer without thinking. Then I slam my lips together, realizing what I’ve done. Dead silence crashes over the kitchen. Garrett and Tucker exchange a look. An extremely long look. Then, perfectly synchronized, their heads shift in my direction, and they stare at me as if I’ve just escaped from a mental institution. I may as well have. There’s no other reason for why I’m voluntarily writing poetry right now. And that’s not even the craziest item on Grace’s list. That’s right. I said it. List. The little brat texted me not one, not two, but six tasks to complete before she agrees to a date. Or maybe gestures is a better way to phrase it... “I just have one question,” Garrett starts. “Really?” Tuck says. “Because I have many.” Sighing, I put my pen down. “Go ahead. Get it out of your systems.” Garrett crosses his arms. “This is for a chick, right? Because if you’re doing it for funsies, then that’s just plain weird.” “It’s for Grace,” I reply through clenched teeth. My best friend nods solemnly. Then he keels over. Asshole. I scowl as he clutches his side, his broad back shuddering with each bellowing laugh. And even while racked with laughter, he manages to pull his phone from his pocket and start typing. “What are you doing?” I demand. “Texting Wellsy. She needs to know this.” “I hate you.” I’m so busy glaring at Garrett that I don’t notice what Tucker’s up to until it’s too late. He snatches the notepad from the table, studies it, and hoots loudly. “Holy shit. G, he rhymed jackass with Cutlass.” “Cutlass?” Garrett wheezes. “Like the sword?” “The car,” I mutter. “I was comparing her lips to this cherry-red Cutlass I fixed up when I was a kid. Drawing on my own experience, that kind of thing.” Tucker shakes his head in exasperation. “You should have compared them to cherries, dumbass.” He’s right. I should have. I’m a terrible poet and I do know it. “Hey,” I say as inspiration strikes. “What if I steal the words to “Amazing Grace”? I can change it to…um…Terrific Grace.” “Yup,” Garrett cracks. “Pure gold right there. Terrific Grace.” I ponder the next line. “How sweet…” “Your ass,” Tucker supplies. Garrett snorts. “Brilliant minds at work. Terrific Grace, how sweet your ass.” He types on his phone again. “Jesus Christ, will you quit dictating this conversation to Hannah?” I grumble. “Bros before hos, dude.” “Call my girlfriend a ho one more time and you won’t have a bro.” Tucker chuckles. “Seriously, why are you writing poetry for this chick?” “Because I’m trying to win her back. This is one of her requirements.” That gets Garrett’s attention. He perks up, phone poised in hand as he asks, “What are the other ones?” “None of your fucking business.” “Golly gee, if you do half as good a job on those as you’re doing with this epic poem, then you’ll get her back in no time!” I give him the finger. “Sarcasm not appreciated.” Then I swipe the notepad from Tuck’s hand and head for the doorway. “PS? Next time either of you need to score points with your ladies? Don’t ask me for help. Jackasses.” Their wild laughter follows me all the way upstairs. I duck into my room and kick the door shut, then spend the next hour typing up the sorriest excuse for poetry on my laptop. Jesus. I’m putting more effort into this damn poem than for my actual classes.

You're a cis-het dude-bro on strike for better conditions.

Sup bro,” Clank said. “Wussahp my dude,” I high fived him.

So Custer’s Indian scouts get him to the village but they’re like “Dude, don’t attack this you will definitely die” and Custer is like “DIE? MORE LIKE . . . NOT DIE” and his translators and his soldiers are like “No bro pretty sure we will actually die if we do this” and Custer is like “I appreciate your concerns but I did not get this far by listening to people. LET’S SPLIT UP, GANG WE’LL COVER MORE GROUND THAT WAY.

For the first time in my life, I have someone I feel like I can’t live without.” “Is it me?” Gabby says suspiciously. “Because if it’s not, this is a weird story.” “Yeah dude,” I say to her. “It’s you.” “Awww, thanks, bro!

Johnette Foltz had hold of the Roy fellow’s coat now with both hands and was trying to pull the fellow off, Keds scrabbling for purchase on the smooth parquet, saying ‘Yo Roy T. man, easy there Dude, Man, Esse, Bro, Posse, Crew, Homes, Jim, Brother, he’s just new is all’; but by this time Erdedy had both arms around the guy’s neck and was hugging him with such vigor Kate Gompert later told Joelle van Dyne it looked like Erdedy was trying to climb him.

Duuuude,” he whispered, turning to Sade. “I think she put something in my drink, I’m sooooo fucking hiiiiiigh.” He took a huge bite again, grunting and smacking loudly. “She’s so fine bro,” he whispered. Sade grinned. “Liberty?” He nodded real big and slowly, making Sade laugh. “I thought you didn’t like her?” “I soooo liiiiied,” he shrilled. “Did you not see her in that red dress?” He lifted the material. “This one?” He put his hand on Sade’s chest, stuffing the rest of his ice cream in his mouth. “Dude,” he mumbled his cheeks full as he shook

I've talked a great deal about the importance of failure as a learning tool, but it's really a privilege to expect people to let us fail over and over again. There are too many dudes in my story in general, and you can still sense my bro-ish excitement when I tell old war stories... It's my truth, which is why I'm leaving them in here, but I wish that some of it were different.

Atheists are spiritual slackers, right? We are the stoners of the cosmos. We think we’re all over-intelligent, free-thinking, free-spirited, uber-cool, hippy-dippy, science-minded, leaning-to-the-left, hedonistic, children of Theodorus the Atheist. We’re all like “Dude, I don’t need no stinkin’ deity” and if we came face-to-face with the Grim Reaper himself we’d say, “No worries, Bro, let’s do this! Game over!

Fuckboys (and Fuckboy Prospects), read this closely: When a woman breaks up with you (usually because she is fed up with your shit) it’s never easy. I understand your ego is bruised, you can’t imagine another dude doing things you used to do with/to her and that shit will eat you up! I understand. That doesn’t mean you should disrespect her – or kill her goddamit! That doesn’t mean you should post revenge porn pictures and videos of her to your 5000 online friends. It does not justify you calling her a hoe to ease your lil battered ego. Doing any of those makes you a certified upper echelon fuckboy bro. Walk away – just go on airplane mode, remove yourself from the situation and allow yourself to heal. If you are one of those social-media love butterflies who advertises every moment with your boo, then log out of all your profiles and go into cocoon mode.

Oz: No, no man, I understood you perfectly the first time, and mad props, bro. It’s been forever since you’ve gotten laid—am I right, or am I right? HIGH FIVE. Me: You are no help at all. Oz: Moving along—was it a fuckfest, or just so you could get the lead out? Me: Fuckfest. Oz: See? Aren’t you glad you’re not living with a dude? How awkward would that have been this morning? Am I right or am I right?! Me: Why do I bother talking to you? Oz: Because I give good advice. Me: No you don’t—but your girlfriend does. Oz: Yeah, that too. Oz: I have to give you mad props—you put your hot dog in Coach’s daughter’s bun.

When we were recording the Ozzmosis album we did a batch of it in New York. There was this occult bookstore...and they had everything in there on Wicca, Catholicism, Satanism, the whole nine yards. I was getting some Aleister Crowley stuff because Jimmy Page owned the castle (Crowley's former home) and the other guys were into him. ...I go to get his poster they had in there, I go "How much for this poster?" and the guy looks at me deadpan and goes "$6.66." I put seven bucks down and say "Keep the goddamn change. I can't take it, dude." So I hang the poster up and the boss man (Ozzy) walks in and he goes "Zakk, who's the guy upon the wall?" . I'm crying laughing and he goes "Zakk, who the fuck is he?!" I said "Ozz, you don't know who that is?" He goes "I don't fucking know, who is it?!" I said "Ozz! It's Aleister Crowley, bro!" He goes "Oh is that what that bald-headed cunt looks like?

Hey,” Sean said as he stretched. “I just took Scout out.” “Thanks,” Cade said. Sean glanced back and noticed me. “Hey, Fallon.” He smirked at Cade. “Well, guess I’ll be heading to my room now.” Scout raised his head and his tail slapped against the couch. “Three’s a crowd, and all that.” Sean ruffled the fur along Scout’s neck. “Unless, of course, you’re a dog.” He stood and stretched again. “Oh, to be a dog in a crate.” Cade rolled his eyes at Sean’s fly-on-a-wall reference. “ ’Night, Sean,” he grumbled. “See you two crazy kids later.” He strolled out of the room but paused and patted the kitchen wall. “Oh, and FYI, the shower in Cade’s room backs to the kitchen.” God, Sean was like a male version of me. Poor Brinley, always having to put up with my crap. She was a damn good sport. Cade just shook his head and muttered, “Jealous?” “Fuck yeah, I am,” Sean called back as he wandered down the hall. “I’m going to start calling you magic hands.” Though Sean was still fucking around, I sensed Cade losing his patience. “It’s not just his hands,” I said. Sean looked over his shoulder at me. “I mean, call him what you want, but don’t sell him short.” Sean just stared at me, surprised by either what I’d said or the fact I’d said anything at all. I smiled in the way that always drove guys crazy, totally fake but filled with flirtation. “Listen close tonight and maybe you can figure out what I like to call him.” He leaned his head against his door frame and groaned. “Just not even fair.” He picked his head up and glanced at me. “If you get bored, you know I live right down the hall.” I laughed, though Cade didn’t seem to find quite the humor in it I did. He slipped his hand in mine. “Not happening, bro.” Sean raised his hands. “Just throwing it out there.” “Thanks,” I said sweetly. “But my schedule is pretty full with Cade RSVPing to my fuckfest and all…” Cade chuckled. Sean gaped at me then, with a pointed look at Cade, said, “Marry her, dude. Seriously, if you don’t, I will.” He stepped into his room grumbling something about fuckfests. “My roommate is in love with you now. You’re like this hot female version of him. His dream girl.

Lark wrapped an arm around me and started to speak until Bailey’s startled voice interrupted us. A huge football player had her pinned against the wall and she was yelling for him to back off. Instead, he crowded her more while playing with her blonde hair. “Hey!” I yelled as Lark and I rushed over. Six four and wide shouldered, the guy was wasted and angry at the interruption. “Fuck off, bitches,” he muttered. Bailey clawed at his neck, but he had her pinned in a weird way, so she couldn’t get any leverage. While I was ready to jump on him in a weak attempt to save my friend, someone shoved the football player off Bailey. I hadn’t even seen the guy appear, but he stood between Bailey and the pissed jerk. “Fuck off, man,” the asshole said. “She’s mine.” “Nick,” Bailey mumbled, looking ready to cry. “He humped my leg. Crush his skull, will ya?” Nick frowned at Bailey who was leaning on him now. The football player was an inch or two bigger than Nick and outweighed him by probably fifty pounds. Feeling the fight would be short, the asshole reached for Bailey’s arm and Nick nailed the guy in the face. To my shock, the giant asshole collapsed on the ground. “My hero,” Bailey said, looking ready to puke. She caressed Nick’s biceps and asked, “Do you work out?” Running his hands through his dark wavy hair, Nick laughed. “You’re so wasted.” “And you’re like the Energizer Bunny,” she cooed. “My bro said you took a punch, yet kept on ticking.” Nick started to speak then heard the asshole’s friends riled up. I was too drunk to know if everything happened really quickly or if my brain just took awhile to catch up. The guys rushed Nick who dodged most of them and hit another. The room emptied out except for Nick, the guys, and us. I grabbed a beer bottle and threw it at one of the guys shoving Nick. When the bottle hit him in the back, the bastard glared at me. “You want to fight, bitch?” “Leave her alone,” Nick said, kicking one guy into the jerk looking to hit me. As impressive as Nick was against six guys, he was just one guy against six. A losing bet, he took a shot to the face then the gut. Lark grabbed a folding chair and went WWE on one guy. I was tossing beers in the roundabout direction of the other guys. Yet, Bailey was the one who ended the fight by pulling out a gun. “Back the fuck off or I’ll burn this motherfucking house to the ground!” she screamed then fired at a lamp. Everyone stopped and stared at her. When she noticed me wide-eyed, Bailey frowned. “Too much?” Grinning, I followed Lark to the door. Nick followed us while the assholes seemed ready to piss themselves. Well, except for an idiot who looked ready to go for Bailey’s gun. "Dude,” Nick muttered, “that’s Bailey Fucking Johansson. Unless you want to end up in a shallow grave, back the fuck off.” “What he said!” Bailey yelled, waving her gun around before I hurried her out of the door. The cold air sobered up Bailey enough for her to return the gun to her purse. She was still drunk enough to laugh hysterically as we reached the SUV. “Did you see me kill that lamp?” “You did good,” I said, groggy as my adrenaline shifted to nausea and the alcohol threatened to come back up on me. Nick walked us to the SUV. “Next time, you might want to wave the gun around before you get drunk and dance.” “Don’t tell me what to do,” Bailey growled, crawling into the backseat. Then, realizing he saved her, she crawled back to face him. “You were so brave. I should totally get you off as a thank you." “Maybe another time,” he said, laughing as she batted her eyes at him. “Are you guys safe to drive?” Lark nodded. “I’m sober enough to remember everything tomorrow. Trust me that there’ll be mocking.

The Catholic philosophy is that not only does shit happen, but it’s all your fault because you’re such an awful sinner.” “The protestant faith I grew up with is like the surfer dude of religions,” Claire said. “We’re all ‘hey man, just be cool, and like, don’t hurt anybody; but if you do, just say ‘my bad, bro’ and it’s all good.

You seem a bit quiet, bro,” Eugene remarked in a low voice. “Not that you’re what I’d describe as chatty, but normally you’d have accidentally insulted someone by now. Something wrong?” He was tempted to snap, but Eugene was a teammate, too. Seiji cleared his throat. “Nicholas is angry with me. I’m not sure why. Do you know why? I know you two socialize frequently.” Eugene paused. “I don’t think Nicholas is angry with you.” “No, he is,” said Seiji. “He told me to go away.” “He probably just meant that you could go practice in the salle if you’re hating the midnight feast, dude,” said Eugene. “Your face went all grumpy cat when we broke out the marshmallows.” Seiji opened his mouth to protest that Nicholas never cared when Seiji made faces, and never told him to go away, but Eugene continued. “I think there’s something else going on.” Seiji gave Eugene his full attention. “What?” Eugene turned his protein shake in his hands for another moment. “We went to town Saturday, and some Kings Row guys there were awful to him. It’s been bothering me all weekend, actually. They acted like they were so far above Nicholas. They made it seem like he was going to shoplift! Which he wasn’t!” Eugene added hastily, as though Seiji might imagine Nicholas would. The burner’s blue flame hissed. Harvard was talking about how delicious the pasta sauce smelled. Their captain was very good at making conversation. Seiji frowned. “Why would people from our school represent Nicholas as a common thief?” “Right? It sucks!” said Eugene. “You might know them? They were the first two guys to wash out of fencing tryouts. They think they’re so much better than Nicholas.” “They think they’re better than Nicholas?” Seiji asked sharply. “But they can’t fence at all!

What’s up, bro! Is this Queasy Cheesy? Cool! Yo, my name is Brandon and I was in there a few days ago snagging a pizza and, dude, I lost my receipt. And I, like, really need that receipt for, um . . . tax purposes. . . . Huh? I said tax purposes! . . . No, NOT tacks porpoises. Hey, bro, this has nothing to do with thumbtacks or those big fish that look like dolphins, okay? I said TAX! PURPOSES! . . . Yeah, that’s it! Cool! . . . Do I remember what I ordered? Of course I do! Not all guys are stupid. We can remember lots of stuff. I ordered . . . um . . . ! Could you hold on a second? I have to . . . burp?

phone. “Well, DUDE! It’s like this. Actually, I’m not sure what I ordered since I never saw myself eating it. But whatever it was, it was in the pizza box I was carrying! I’m guessing it was probably a large pizza. And I drank a soda that was on top of my pizza box. Did you get all that, bro?

Frank: Dude. Bro. I'm not wearing underwear. Is it nippley outside?

the next thing I knew my bed was bouncing and Colby was shouting, “Up and at ’em. We have fish to catch.” I reached for my phone, wondering why my alarm hadn’t woken me. The screen read a quarter after four. “You’re such an asshole,” I groaned as I rubbed sleep from my eyes. “I have a fucking alarm set. I could have slept fifteen more minutes.” “Dude, what’s a few more minutes gonna help? Get your ass up.” “Considering I didn’t pass out until sometime after three, fifteen minutes would have helped a lot.” “Why the hell did you stay up so late?” I finally opened my eyes so I could glare at Colby. “Wasn’t by choice, bro. This boat fucking sucks. You should be thanking me for not losing my dinner all over it.” Colby laughed. Hard. And I fought back the urge to punch him in the nuts just to see how much he liked his stomach residing in his throat.

BRANDON: We had fun hanging out with Max C. Definitely one cool dude. His lil’ bro, Oliver, and Brianna are BFFs? NIKKI:

I’m a bi guy who grew up in a masculinity-driven environment, so I say a lot of dude-bro things because it’s reflex, and I often forget not everyone finds all body shapes attractive like I do.

His dude-bro behavior suggests his blood alcohol level is likely higher than his IQ

Get the fuck out of here, Farengar. Get the fuck out of here, bro. Dude, don't mind him. He's just a selfish cunt. I'll take care of him later. You'll be fine, dragon homie.

It was a car racing movie, my brother’s favorite kind of movie, and one of the characters picked up a sledgehammer, using it to destroy the hood of his friend’s car. The boys groaned. Hugo even covered his mouth and sat up. I rolled my eyes. Boys. “Dude,” my brother said. Wes exhaled. “You don’t do that to your bro’s car.

Alice talked shit about people at work all the time, but she also seemed to thrive in the Hamilton Cooper male-dominated, bro-y workplace. She talked about dudes like they were himbos, which was hilarious to me. A lot of these guys hit on her when she first arrived, calling her "sexy girl" and "hot", not realizing she was Alice Lin, ballbuster and mankiller. With every jerk that winked, made kissy noises, or commented on how nice she looked, she launched into a tirade about women's rights, Asian American discrimination, and the company's harassment policies, making them shrivel up and slink away.

Jeff was called “dawg,” “bro,” “dude,” and “Holmes,” and

Dude,” Wilder hisses, glowering at me. “What happened to bro code?” “What bro code?” “Pussy bro code!

I had been very shy then around his girlfriend, who had dark wisps of hair and a beautiful face, as soft and malleable as a baby’s. This, paired with an alarming kindness, left me barely able to speak. Thom I was comfortable with. At some basal level of emotion we were alike, even though Thom was a spiky version of what we called a bro, a man who would not veer from a masculinity at once laidback and entrenched. He lived in sweats. Listened to death metal when he was not listening to yacht rock. Lifted weights daily to a podcast on Engels. Managed, with good humor, the flares of his irritable bowel syndrome. He gave good hugs. He called me his dude. I loved that.

I’ll be right outside.” Before I could change my mind, I left the conference room and walked right into Joel. “Damn, boy, you’ve got it bad.” He chuckled. “What are you talking about?” On an exhale he shook his head as if he was irritated, but the smile told me he was anything but. “I’m changing your name. You’ve been upgraded from Boy Wonder to Glass. You’re in a room full of men that not only are trained to crawl into your head and extrapolate any and every emotion, but we are men. Dude, we see right through you. You’re not hiding shit. From the moment that woman entered the building, you’ve been hovering. Shit bro, I think we have some bubble wrap in the supply closet if you’d like to wrap her up.

​Outside Clank was waiting for me. “Sup bro,” Clank said. ​“Wussahp my dude,” I high fived him. ​“High five dues,” Liz showed up and raised all eight of her arms. ​Wait. ​LIZ?! ​At my house?! Not good, not good, not good, if my mom sees Liz and I hanging out in front of the house I will never hear the end of it. We gotta go, now, like now-now.

He’d been preaching paleo but had one-eightied to veganism. Was exploring fruitarianism. “Bro I ate seven bananas today.” I was like “Bro seven? Bro that’s a lotta bananas.” He was like “Dude I’ll eat seven bananas tomorrow!” I was like “Fock yeah. Get it.

That's what I get for reading. I'm sticking to action movies with oily shirtless dudes and WWE from now on. Nothing good ever comes from literature.

For the most part, everyone is nice enough, but I’m over every, single, last dude bro who feels the need to mansplain my hike to me.

Was this what happened to dudes after they shared a girl in bed, like some kind of magical bro bond?

So I, like, try to live a decent life, bro. What I wanna know is, why does God treat me like a butt crumb?” “Dude,” Flotsam said, “sometimes it just seems like God takes a day off to go to the track or something.

Logan is behind the counter. “Dude!” he says when he sees me. We give each other a manly hug, slapping each other a couple of times on the back, because that’s what real men do. They acknowledge the bro-love and are never embarrassed about it.

What…the…” I breathed. “You were married to…” I blinked. “Wait,” I said to my mother, “you were married?” “To your father,” my mother returned. “Until he died.” “Then does that mean…” I blinked again, and turned to Reed, who gave me a shrug and a shake of the head. “You’re my brother?” Reed nodded. “Half, anyway.” Kat spoke up, drawing my attention along with everyone else’s. “What…the hell is going on here? Can I go yet?” “Stay where you are, Kitten,” my mother snapped at her. “My name is Kat!” A withering glare from my mother caused Kat to flinch. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, chastened. “So Sienna and this dude are brother and sister?” Clary piped up from behind me. “Cuz I thought I caught ro-mantic tension between them. Heh,” he guffawed. “Guess it’s more like BRO-mantic tension!” He burst out in uncontrolled laughter which was echoed by no one. “What?” He turned to Bastian. “Roberto, that is funny! Come on!” I turned to Reed. “All this time you’ve been playing Leia to my Luke and you never told me?” He frowned. “What? I’m totally Luke. You’re the girl. Can you make objects move through the air?” He raised his finger and I felt a gust of wind blow my hair. “No? I’m Luke. You’re Leia. Get it straight.” “So who’s Han Solo?” Clary asked seriously. “And Darth Vader?” “I’m going to kill every last one of you pathetic geeks,” my mother said. “And I’m not even going to be nice about it. I’m going to just start draining souls. Will you please stop with the moronic Star Wars references? The movies came out in the 1970s. Most of you weren’t even born then. Move on with your lives.

The scale started with ego, expanded to politics, spanned the globe for the sake of territory, capitalized on automation and economies of scale, build commercial empires that rivaled militaristic ones, and has culminated in the Silicon Valley dude-bro as the idol of our age.