It doesn’t matter who you are, when you come to college it’s almost guaranteed that you’re looking to make memories and friendships that you’ll never forget. Well, unless you’re a mouth-breather or a Creed fan, in which case you’re probably content with honing your hacky-sack skills and learning how to play the theme song to Super Mario on the slide flute in your spare time. For the rest of us, we might join Greek life or some student organization in hopes of making new friends, meeting sloots and doing reckless and memorable shit. Some people say that there’s no stronger bond than the one you share with your fraternity bros. I’d have to agree with that. However, the bond shared between two Eskimo Brothers is a damn close 2nd.
Some essential terminology:
Eskimo Brotherhood: when you and a fellow bro both engage in ruthless hole-filling with the same female at two different points in time and continue to be friends with one another. You now share an unbreakable bond, having inhabited the same igloo at some point in your lives and usually the stories that are shared by Eskimo Brothers are fucking hysterical.
That being said, here’s how my friend and I became E-bros.
My roommate and I have been tight since Welcome Week during Freshman year. We’ve gotten into a lot of ridiculous and hilarious situations together in the past few years. I like to think of us as the white and less-athletic versions of Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen. We both spent the better part of the last year tied down to girlfriends, which is about as exciting as eating a ham sandwich or masturbating to Girls Gone Wild. Finally, we decided that it was time to trade our lives of dinner-dating and steady raw-dogging for a life blackout debauchery and reckless vaginal terrorism once again.
In my first night of guilt-free slampaging, I decided to break out the Bacardi 151 and follow my penis like it was a GPS. Surely enough, it didn’t let me down. It led me to the most notorious beaver dam in town. The bar in question is notorious for being inhabited by swarms of the thirstiest bitties around, looking to find love in all the wrong places. My friends and I busted into the place like fucking Seal Team 6 and after a few Vegas Bombs and mind probes, it was time to open up a set. We sat down with a group of prospective targets and proceeded to get completely bombed. After some drinking, the crosshairs of my seed-cannon were set on a brunette from Chicago sitting to my right. After a few words of smooth game (i.e. “yo, wanna hop on the D train? it comes every 10 minutes.”) we were scramming from the bar and back at her place just down the block.
We got up to her room and started to hook up when she left to go to the bathroom. Yeah, I like to pretend that they don’t do that shit too. While she was out of the room, I realized that I also had to piss pretty badly. Not looking to waste any time, I scouted the room for a safe location to break the seal. I opened up her giant walk-in closet and proceeded to make it rain like Fat Joe and the Terror Squad all over the floor. I finished up, shook my D and hopped back in her bed just in time. When she got back, she asked if I had a condom, to which I replied by laughing and said “I don’t really care for them.” Apparently this response was sufficient and I ended up slaying couple of times before leaving her place. Mission: accomplished.
Later that week, my roommate and I pulled and audible and went back to the bar for round two. Same bar, same girl, different bro. I pointed the girl out to my friend and told him that it was time to solidify the bond. After a few drinks, I watched him lean in and whisper sweet nothings into her ear. She responded with a little head nod and I knew instantly that it was game over. I don’t remember the rest of the night but I think I told a few dozen people that I officially have a sibling and am a proud brother. I came home later in the night and he told me a story that brought tears of joy to my eyes. It went like this:
He and the target came back to our place and they went into his room to do their thing. They started to fool around and she asked the dreaded question: “do you have a condom?” Since he was back at headquarters, it would’ve been a stretch to say that he didn’t so he put his dignity aside and slid on the rubber fun-buster. To make things a little less shitty he reached into the drawer and grabbed some lube, or “dick soap,” and put it in the condom and on the outside. He got about 3 pumps deep when they both felt an intense burn on their fun-parts. What comes next is nothing short of hilarious. My first diagnoses for this burning would have been:
1. Instant chlamydia
2. Unbearable shame from practicing safe sex
3. Faulty lubricant
In this case, #3 was the correct answer. It turns out that in the dark, a bottle of Purell Hand Sanitizer feels pretty fucking similar to a bottle of KY dick soap. This story is good and bad because she allowed him a mulligan with a fresh connie and actual lube and he got rid of 99.9% of the germs in her slot in the process. After the deed, she left our place smelling like shame and rubbing alcohol.
I hope this story could bring you all some enjoyment and encourage every Maverick and Goose in the brommunity to take the leap of faith, dick first, into the same cockpit. Thank you all for reading and God bless America.