Brothership, do you read me?

A lot of people accuse me of being insufficiently bro. I do wear a lot of cardigans, but I can also smash a beer can against my forehead. According to queer pedagogy, teachers should complicate their identities to avoid seeming like a representative of a particular reified identity, so here you go. Star Trek is a pretty bro show--uniform clothing, male camraderie, green chicks who may be Orion slave girls or may just be about to puke from all that jungle juice (no difference really)--and I am a big Trek fan, so that's another thing I have going for me.

Anyway, brahs, I had a bit of a disturbing experience last night: I encountered the Bro Cube.

I was just sitting on an empty bus, reading Judith Butler, when all of a sudden I saw a SWARM of bros and their ladies approaching the side of the bus. Seriously, there had to be about seventy of them. I've seen 'First Contact", so I knew what the fuck was up. They got on the bus, attempting to hide their open cans of Busch Light. They made incisive observations like "WE'RE ON THE BUS!" And you know what? Before long, I started to feel the energy. I really just wanted to hang out with some good people, listen to some good music, and chill. The thousands of voices of the collective infiltrated my consciousness, a thousand comforting voices in unison shouting "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

And that was it.

We are Bro. Drop your cardigans and prepare to be assimilated. Your bong collections and blacklight posters will be added to our own. Resistance is not chill, braaah.