You know you’re one of my top bros, bro, because you got my back. And I got yours. You’re my bro. But you went above and beyond the other night, bromaldehyde. You really did. Saving me that seat at the Velvet Revolver show, even though all those other bros were trying to get up front, bro? So clutch.

You are truly a god among bros.

Just when I think you’re as solid as a bro can get, you raise the very definition of brodom to new heights. You’re like a brogle, soaring to the farthest reaches of the atbrosphere. Seriously. If it weren’t for you and your extreme brobility to hook a bro up when it is most croosh, I’d have been stuck in some ****-bum seat, cramped all in the corner with a bunch of ****-bumes, bro. But you stepped up. You brovercame all obstacles to help a bro out. This is the kind of **** that makes bros for life.

Brody, I was so stoked when you told Gina to go eat a fat one after she asked if she could have your other ticket, even though you knew you could probably get a pretty deese HJ from her. Bros before hos, bro. That’s what I’m talking about.

You are the king of all bros. Brotankhamen. You are the Ayatollah Bromeini. You are Broseidon, lord of the brocean.

But this is just one of many times you’ve fallen on a grenade for me, brozo. Who took the blame when I broke Skeeter’s bong and ****ing Skeeter was all ****ing ****ed? You, bro. Who was the first to bro up and carry that ****ing keg of Killian’s up four flights of stairs for Duke’s surprise party? You, bro. Who was the only Bromo sapien on the planet to tell me he thought the brand-new rims on my F-350 were the **** even though everyone else was all, like, ****ing not that excited about them? Bro, you know it was you. You’re my broheim supremo, bro, and don’t you ever forget it.

I’m so ****ing glad we’re bros, bro!

I’ve long admired your absolute broficiency in all things bro-related, and the way you’ve always carried yourself in a brofessional manner. I consider you a brole model. When I was new in this town, you took me under your wing and showed me the bropes. And I will always preesh that. Not only did you school me in proper brotocol, but you were a spiritual leader, a confidant, and, more importantly, a bro. You taught me how to be true to my inner bro and to bros around me. You are a real bro. Not a fake bro, like those other douches. I hate fake bros, bro. Faux breaux. **** that. No, really, bro…you’re practically a bro-ther to me.

Look at you, blasting in like Rambro and firing off your launcher like nobrody’s business, bro. Serious Brotosaurus Rex action. Brodius Maximus. I’m not big on labels, but you, more than any of the wiggers, ****es, goth chicks, dorks, homos, or Mexicans I know, are absolutely beyond rebroach.

In fact, your brotitude is so brossential that, in many ways, you are the ultimate brototype: You sprung out of the brotean ooze at the very broment of creation, unformed, unmolded, and became the ultimate bro, more powerful than any who came brofore. I don’t fear your power, bro, but I respect it. And I will always brobey it.

Brosemite Sam. Potbumium Bromide. Brobi Wan Kenobi. Brover Norquist.

Like Broseph Stalin, you are leading the way to the dictatorship of the broletariate. It is truly revbrolutionary. Like the Bro v. Wade of our generation. You brobliterate the enemy from the very peak of Mt. Brolympus. That’s some ****. That’s brolific. But that’s the kind of bro you are.

Bro-S.A.! Bro-S.A.! I’m so pumped right now! Bro-S.A.!

You are the epitome of bro, in every brossible way, and that’s the Bro’s honest truth, bro. I may have a bropensity for broverstatement, but this no mere hyperbrole: You are 100 brocent, absbrolutely the broest. Brotally.

I wish I had the words to describe what a good friend you are, dude.