The One-Upper is not defined by race, religion or socioeconomic status. He has, however, sworn a sacred blood oath to constantly remind you of the prestigious internship connections he has, the amount of girls he’s fucked, and how the concert you’re currently at with him will never compare to the last time he saw the band live, cause he like, totally got hooked up with backstage passes, and the bassist swore he’s down to collaborate on something in the future. It’s important to note that the One-Upper need not necessarily be a rich guy; I’m sure there’s the one guy in the homeless shelter who claims he can skip curfew. What is common amongst all One-Uppers is an inferiority complex; an insatiable desire to beat their chests due to self-perceived shortcomings. Rick Ross raps exclusively about drug deals and shootouts to cover up his own misgivings about his previous career in law enforcement. Your friend Chad calls everyone a “faggot” to compensate for that one time he made out with his cousin Jeffy when they were six. You get the idea.
Perhaps the most frustrating thing about The One-Upper is that their proclamations never seem to materialize. They’re like pathological liars, except they exclusively lie about things to make them look cool and you look like shit. Muhammad Ali told us he was the greatest and would then proceed to knock people out. Your boy’s Uncle’s sick NYC apartment never seems to be available when you need a place to crash. Perhaps my vendetta against One-Uppers stems from my own selfish desires to capitalize on their empty promises. So be it. Just as Michael J. Fox holds down the Foundation for Parkinson’s Research, I consider my crusade against One-Uppers a personal battle. One particular incident has stuck with me for years. I was at a party in the Hamptons (pretentious but there were hot girls) when this fucker from high school burst through the front door.
“Bro!” he said to nobody in particular.
“You’ll never guess what happened!” Some people began to turn towards the sweaty mess of a man.
“You know how like, the band AC/DC is those two guys, AC and DC?”
Silence, but curiosity.
I just smoked a blunt with AC in the back of a club, bro! It was sick!”
I was expecting him to be laughed out of the party. Perhaps the Young brothers, Brian Johnson, Phil Rudd and Cliff Williams would crash through the ceiling and pummel him into submission. Instead, one girl stopped texting long enough to respond.
“Really? That’s pretty sick” People began to crowd around him to find out what didn’t happen next.
WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK!?!??!
I got in my car and left. Just like the Holocaust, never again.
So how do we eradicate the One-Upper? The same way we do with terrorism. If you see something, say something. No more smirking to our friends as a One-Upper spins his web of bullshit. No more shrugging it off as just “one of those things”. Fuck that noise. You call that fucker out. AC/DC deserves better. You may offend the One-Upper in the process, but that’s what interventions are all about. Destroy and rebuild.
That about wraps it up for me. I gotta send this to BroBible's editor/my best friend, J. Camm. Just last week he told me that I’ve been crushing it lately and he was thinking of switching the name of the site to KrumBible for a little, just to see how it goes. Hey, did I ever tell you guys about the time I did hooked up with the girl from Girl Talk?
Krum is an NYC based comedian who oftentimes experiences delusions of grandeur about how we would change the name of BroBible in honor of him. Follow him on Twitter @KrumLifeDotCom