Travel Sex: 4 tips to help bros land muff while traveling

Alright, this article is for all the bros out there traveling around the globe. I know that traveling can really exhaust a bro and what better way to recharge than by plugging his battery into a muff outlet. But traveling can make it more difficult than usual to tame some muff as a bro encounters language barriers and other cultural cock blocks. So after months of depleting research I have compiled a few tips on how to nail some tail while on the road.

Note to bros: This article would have been finished sooner but some chick’s ponytail kept hitting the space bar.

Facial Hair – Alright, if you’re a bro out traveling you’re a damn fool not to be sporting some facial hair. Facial hair is an unmistakable way to signal to the world that a bro has arrived while subjugating any and all muff immediately upon visual contact. In other words facial hair is like a fucking hypnotic laser that captures muff. “They’ve done studies, you know. 60% of the time, it works every time.” As soon as some muff sees you with a beard she will instantly know two things; one is that you’re a bro and the second that you’re the Mayor of Muff City. Now bros already know that we are the best at stuffing bone, but I realize many people are still ignorant of this fact. How do I know that bros are the best at taming muff? Well, because bros are the best at everything. If need be we could outswim a dolphin or play football on the moon. Bros love showing off against wild animals and participating in lunar sporting events. If you think I’m wrong just check out this list of dudes with facial hair: Paul Bunyan, that guy from the Dos Equis commercials, the Brawny paper towel guy, ZZ Top and Jesus. Yeah, I know, that’s a fucking legit list of bros. All are clearly the best at what they do and all of them were bros. So put down your razor, grow your beard, and slam that muff.

Beaters and heaters – All bros know that appearance means everything but that with enough drinks you can always improve on your first impression. So when it comes to your attire no self-respecting bro would wear anything but a beater (tank top to the ignorant). The beater is a fucking lethal weapon in the bro wardrobe and is almost so effective it should be illegal. It’s like hitting down+down+up+up+a+b in Mortal Kombat on Sega. It’s like a Sub Zero “freeze move” as you lay out muff with your favorite beer logo and perfect tan while also demonstrating how super ripped you are. Starting out shirtless, while a classic bro option, will sometimes encourage non bros to do the same thing thereby visually retarding the talent with their non-bro bodies. While a bro can overcome any obstacle it’s just better if a bunch of fat dudes aren’t walking around half naked. Fact: bros hate fatties, male or female.

Now sometimes you won’t be able to stand around pounding beers with other bros because you’re by yourself. So in these moments of going brolo you’ll have to step up your game a bit. Enter the heater. Fact: smoking makes everyone look cooler and impresses chicks. I’ve literally seen panties fall to the floor in the club when a bro starts puffing on some a Marlboro Red. Don’t bother yourself with all the lies floating around, cigarettes are not harmful. Bros never get cancer.

Money – Shit, bitches love money. There’s nothing that gets muff hotter for a bro than knowing (or thinking) he’s got stacks of cash. I mean really, watch the way the eyes of some muff light up when a bro pulls out thick rolls as if he just landed on the fucking sun and he ain’t even breaking a sweat. It’s a well-known fact that if you’re a bro with money you will be dining on muff candy all night. But for the traveling bro I know you’re on a bit of a budget and that can make things difficult. That’s why you should travel to countries that have ridiculously stupid exchange rates. I mean you can get 4000 Cambodian Riels or 8000 Laos Kip for just $1. Let’s be honest, you can’t help but hit Bro status when the ATM stops you from withdrawing more than 1 million at a time! And don’t get me started on Vietnam. Any country that names its money the “dong” is just begging you to visit and show off just how much dong you’ve got stuffed in your pocket. In fact, it makes for a great ice breaker to ask any muff how much dong she thinks you’ve got and then encourage her to stick her hand in and find out for herself. This sly move basically guarantees any bro to a “non-refundable 1^st class VIP no-condom-necessary” ticket to our favorite destination: Pound Town.

But why is this so helpful you ask? Because unless you’re talking about the cost of shoes (which a bro will never be doing), then muff have no concept of numbers, money or counting. Just ask any chick how many players are on an NFL team, what the maximum Roth IRA contribution is or how many places a bro can stick it in them and every time their answers will be too low. So they don’t realize that when you roll up with 30 thousand Kip and offer to get them drunk enough to dome you on the dance floor you’ve really got less than five dollars. And you thought math would never be useful!

Foreigner/ accent – Note to fellow bros: muff absolutely love bros with a foreign accent. So every time I travel to a new country I use a new accent. When I’m in Germany I speak like the French. Visiting the beaches of Thailand; go ahead and suit up with an Italian twist on. Or if you’re traveling to Zimbabwe go ahead and use the Aussie tongue and invite them to go down under. The problem is that since America is the center of the universe we don’t actually have an accent and thereby must borrow from others. Make sure to avoid the harsh languages, no bro is get some Columbian muff by speaking like a god damn Uzbekistani. Just pick a country that naturally speaks English (Britain, New Zealand or Ireland) or that just makes a bro sound super cultural (French, Italian and Brazilian). Now bros, there will be an occasion when you need to make a change on the fly due to unforeseen circumstances. (For the record bros don’t make mistakes we make adjustments). Let’s say you’ve been pounding beers and you’re already 17 deep when you spot some a nice slice of muff pie. You size her up and determine she’s definitely from Nigeria and within moments you calculate you should go with the French accent (an all-around winner). But when you begin talking you realize she speaks French too. Don’t worry, stick to nodding your head and pounding beers. Encourage her to drink more and interject into whatever she’s saying with an occasional wie for good measure. Within an hour you’ll be able to take her back and find out if she’s Greek too!

Random picture of a bro demonstrating these useful tips

And if you hadn’t figured it out this piece was a bit of muff taming hyperbole that was inspired by http://www.broslikethissite.com/

Some of best / worst / weirdest / funniest / things while traveling: 2

Crazy Night – Siem Reap, Cambodia : August 3^rd 2011

Alright, so Cambodia is a hell of a place. I totally recommend everyone to tour the massive site of Angor Wat. There are some wicked temples and other ruins that are great to view when tripping on a half oz of shroomers. Check out my photos of us pretending to bang stone lions. Shit’s great.

Anyway, so the city of Siem Reap is pretty decent too and David and I had quite an interesting first night. It started with us on the hunt for some decent grub after killing some Angkor beers back at the hostel. Man sized appetites demanded meat and we stopped by some restaurant that had some animal roasting on a spit. This thing was the size of a small cow and had a long tail but the meat was all white. It smelled good so we took a seat; we figured if the locals were eating it then it had to be food, or close to it. I implemented some wicked sign language to get us some beers and an order of the grilled beast. (We never did learn what the fuck it was). When our food arrived we were treated to what can only be described as pieces of skin on top of pieces of fat. It was about as chewy as a used Trojan (or so I’ll assume…) and tasted about the same. Fuck it though; we ate it, pounded the beer and paid our $3 bill and left. After grubbing on some banana pancakes in the street (absolute tits!) we found ourselves a nice bar packed with locals. We were the only vanillas in the joint but what the hell, everyone drinks beer.

Side note: The whole world loves beer. It’s a beautiful thing, but that’s another topic.

So we started guzzling some local brew for like a nickel a pint or something. I don’t know, when we left we were drunk so we just left some monopoly money and walked away. By this time the beer was taking hold and we were getting a case of the drunken munchies. I attempted to beckon the waiter over but in hindsight I think I just waved at everyone that walked by. I mean after a fistful of Angkor beers they really do all look the same. I inquired to whoever showed up what would make for a good snack choice and he recommended dried snake. “Oh shit,” I said “I didn’t realize snake was in season. Yes, bring us one.” It was dark in the bar but what arrived definitely looked like a dried rolled up snake. It was salty like jerky but definitely did not taste like beef. Honestly, it was pretty decent and we ate the whole thing, washing it down with some more pints. At this point I had to rock a piss so I set out searching for the men’s room. Outside was a trough of sorts with dudes letting loose. I pulled up a spot and just as I whip it out some little guy comes up behind and starts rubbing my shoulders.

Handsy bathroom dude : “You like massage mister?”

Me: “Uhhh, yeah. Wait no. What the shit are you doing?”

Handsy bathroom dude: “I give you massage”

Me: “Yeah I see that. I’d suggest you stop doing that.”

Handsy bathroom dude: “You sure you not want massge?”

Me: (Pausing while he worked down the lumbar) “Yes, I’m sure.”

Let’s be honest, the dude had soft hands but I just can’t be having that. I mean, usually I can pee anywhere anytime, but with a little Cambodian man rubbing your back and your dick is already in your hand it’s surprisingly difficult to piss. Luckily he backed off and I was able to take care of business. I made my way back to the table and we proceeded to drink more and then hit the road.

So we’re making our walk back home when we turn a corner and out of fucking nowhere David is mobbed by hookers. Now, I already had a prostitute grab my cock in passing when I was in Laos so I was a seasoned vet to this shit and I figured the rookie David could shake it off and we’d move on. In fact I found it quite funny and while I’m laughing I proceed to grab my can of Grizz and begin packing a dip. It must have been the beers but I hadn’t figured our little situation wouldn’t have been a problem but all of a sudden they spot me too and come flocking. Now, these girls ain’t like hookers back home; these bitches get quite physical, almost violent. At this point I got three or four women surrounding me, bumping into me, grabbing me all over and speaking broken English sex talk. Quickly I realize that I have a bit of a dilemma; my can is open and I can’t afford to spill this shit (you can’t get chew in Asia) but these hoes be trippin’ and trying to make a mess of things. I’m trying to keep steady with my hands while trying to force theirs away with the rest of my body when, Fuck! I realize they got their hands in my pockets and it’s not my junk they’re after, it’s my cash. I jiu jitsu my way out while David and I make a hasty zig-zag maneuver to finally break free of them. God damn sluts tried to rob two poor drunk white boys. Trapster probably said it best: “Damn! Sluts!”