Bros before Hoes - This is the most overused and under-executed battle cry by the 25 year old male . . . well other than I am going to rock your world (Followed 30 seconds later by the apology/forehead kiss).
These words are usually uttered by the single friend that just needs a wingman so he can meet up with that cute brunette from 24-Hour Fitness or the married guy whose wife is in Napa with "the girls" and now he wants to throw a freaking parade - a bunch of selfish hypocrites (also called friends).
However, it wasn't always like this - we used to actually stand for something (que "Rocky IV" training music). The Hoes (formerly girls) weren't even a close match in the beginning - our physical abuse from Red-Rover in 1st grade set the tone for how we felt about . . . them (Come at us and we will DROP YOU!!). Even as we got to middle school we had girlfriends but still choose Penny Hardaway basketball camps with the boys over the one slow dance with . . . her (and don't even try to get me with the Tootsie Roll - not happening). We only put up with their existence because Daddy had a huge pool with an awesome water slide (we aren't even mentioning his ping-pong table). We were on top of the world and then much like the wet dream - overnight something got soaked and everything changed.
All of the sudden we were writing stupid poems instead of drafting up football plays, playing MASH instead of 21 (on 8 ft. basketball goals) and holding her hand at "She's All That" instead of starting the wave at Opening Day . . . What are we thinking? It was mental-warfare at its best and we had nothing to retaliate with (not even breakups over three-way phone calls).
The war only got worse as the Hoes developed more sophisticated tactics (and boobs): Double Dating, sobbing, moving in together, the silent treatment, and "the talk" (their weapons were to powerful for the emergence of chest hair and avoiding confrontation). By simply letting them into our lives, we created an unpredictable monster (with a great a$$).
The Hoes have cemented their place in our battered hearts and they will continue to remind us of this triumph every day until we DIE through honey-dos, anniversaries (Hey remember this is the day I WON!!) and their secret agents (the mother-in-law and the gay friend).
The war may be over but a few battles can still be claimed.
Attack Plan: In 15 years, build Man-Cave filled with old high school trophies, neon Budweiser signs and vintage 1996 NBA JAM arcade game . . . and never wash sweat pants.
