I Had To Chug Three Shots Of Papa John’s Garlic Sauce Because I Suck At Blogging (VIDEO)

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garlic sauce

So a little context here for you bros: I lost a bet. But before I get to the parameters of the bet, let me give you a quick profile on my opponent.

My competitor 22-year-old co-worker Rebecca Martinson. If you’re not familiar with Rebecca, you may remember her writing a scathing email to her sorority sisters last year telling them that morals are overrated and to bang every frat boy on campus and to eat babies for breakfast or something.


“I will fucking c*nt punt the next person I hear about doing something like that, and I don’t give a fuck if you SOR me, I WILL FUCKING ASSAULT YOU.”

That’s good ol’ Reebs in a nutshell. If she talks like that to people who are supposed to be her “sisters,” imagine how she talks to her co-workers. Actually you don’t need to imagine.


“How does it feel to be 28-year-old and have a 22-year-old chick higher than you on the pecking order at a MEN’S website?”

Nothing gives you perspective like a chick who just got her learner’s permit telling you that you’re almost 30 and have accomplished jack shit. Luckily, I have a good friend network and one friend in particular pulled me out of my debilitating slump.

Thanks, Jack.



But, in my defense, Rebecca is very driven and seems to have her shit together and definitely IS NOT a reckless drunk.

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Ok, nevermind.

So now that you bros know who we’re dealing with here, let’s get to the bet.

Here at BroBible, each member of the editorial staff’s traffic he/she drives in via their posts is tracked by an analytical system and emailed to us monthly by JCamm. So basically, we can see how many page views we have in comparison to our fellow colleagues. The competition is widely viewed by the staff as ‘friendly’ and we more or less congratulate the month’s biggest traffic-driver because there is no ‘me’ in blogging. There is an ‘I’ in ‘blogging’ but just forget about it because it fucks up my argument.

But then there’s Rebecca. Who approached me at a work happy hour about a month back and started gloating about how she beat me in traffic for the month of June. I was adequately intoxicated and tend to make ill-advised decisions when I take vodka-sodas to the face, so I propositioned her to a wager:

Whoever drives in the most page views for the month of July, the loser has to buy the winner a large Papa John’s pizza and chug three containers of Papa John’s garlic sauce.

I got annhilated. Lambasted. Ronda Rousey-ed. Wasn’t even fucking close.

It was just this kind of month for me:

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Thanks for your support, guys. I don’t think about each and every one of your comments in the shower every morning contemplating my very existence. It’s more like four times a week.

On top of getting ripped a new orifice every day by anonymous keyboard warriors, I had to take it on the chin every day from my ball-busting colleagues who would remind me just how badly I was getting beaten. I’m pretty sure at most companies that’s called “hazing,” but I ain’t no snitch.

So without further ado, here’s me taking down three shots of Papa John’s garlic sauce and swallowing my pride with it.

P.S. It may look easy, but it’s thick and I have a weak stomach. Just another one of my deficiencies.