Bro Breakdowns: The Surfer Brah

Editor's Note: This is the fifth installment of a new column by Ned's Younger Brother, founder of the hilarious Bros Like This Site. Each week, Ned's Younger Brother will offer up character breakdowns of all the different types of Bros out there. Last week: the Southern Preppy Bro. Up next: the Surfer Brah.

You are fucking stoked. While changing your Pennywise CD to a classic NOFX album, the radio was interrupted by a special news bulletin. As the weatherman reads the late breaking story, your eyes start to widen behind your new Costa Del Mar frames. You thought the season was over, but it looks like God has something else in mind. This shit sounds legit. That's right, there's a fucking hurricane on it's way up the East Coast. While everyone will undoubtedly scramble to get the fuck out of dodge, you call your brah up and let him know the good news. You gun your Jeep Cherokee home and pull in the driveway just long enough to snag your new Rusty Piranha board, Rip Curl rash guard, and a fat sack of buds. There's no fucking chance in hell you are missing these swells. Yeah, sure, this hurricane might end up killing some poor people, but you don't have time to waste on these meaningless details. You're the surfer brah, and the only thing you're focused on is catching that perfect wave.

While surfer brahs primarily call the Carolinas, Hampton Roads, or Southern California home, their Mecca is clearly Hawaii. Check out any surfer brah's Facebook pictures for a good rundown of their last trip to the North Shore. Surfer brahs fucking love talking about their trips to Hawaii and always will one up each other on how gnarly the barrels were. Additional surfer brah points are awarded for having killer wipeouts. Surfer brahs fucking love comparing surfing injuries. Although surfer brahs obviously know the waters that are sharky as a bitch and therefore stay clear of them, getting attacked by a shark adds immediate brah cred. Following an attack, surfer brahs will often claim the only thing they were scared of was not ever being able to surf again.

Ask any surfer brah about religion and he'll be sure to tell you he never really believed in organized beliefs, but he really finds himself to be a spiritual person. The waves are his church and his long board is his pew. Maybe it's the lack of sleep since everyone knows the best waves are at 5 a.m. or the six bong rips he took before charging the shore, but on those early mornings paddling through the wake, surfer brahs swear God is speaking to them. At that point it doesn't even matter if they catch that perfect wave -- they are one with the sea.

So the next time you think you can just become a surfer brah by putting up that pink Endless Summer poster, buying a shitload of Rip Curl hoodies, and calling shit weak instead of funny," think again. Surfer brahs aren't just some group of Jeff Spicoli wannabes stoned out of their minds 24/7 praying for catastrophic hurricanes. Their way of life is something land-dwellers can only dream of. So throw on some board shorts and Arnette shades and light up that homemade gravity bong, because when you're a true surfer brah -- it's always hurricane season.

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