Editor's Note: This is the latest 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 Jersey Bro. Up next: the Main Line Bro.

It's Saturday morning and you're hungover as shit. Last night is a fucking blur. You started it off at Plough and the Stars, and at some point you and your Bros decided it would be a good idea to grab a couple cases to head over to a BYOB strip club in the city. The last thing you remember is your Bro on the stage chained to a chair, getting whipped by a stripper. Best $60 you ever fucking spent.

As you rally your body to get out of bed, your Bro calls to see if you want to get some food. You throw on your throwback Phillies hat and Northface fleece, hop in his BMW, and hit the road to get a cheesesteak at Pat's. As you roll up you see a long-ass line. "Oh, fuck no," you say, "Standing in line is for fucking poor people." You cut in front of the line, making sure it's clear to everyone that your jacket is a Northface, thus entitling you to the head position. After the guy at the counter, who likely holds the world record for most amount of hair gel used for least amount of hair, dumps cheese whiz all over your sandwich, you're ready to chow down. Your Bro suggests grabbing a seat at a table, but you quickly nix that idea: you're eating in the fucking car; after all, you don't want to "catch guido." As you scarf down the Steak sitting on high horse looking down at all the fucking poor people eating in the cold, a smile comes across your face. Why wouldn't you be happy? You're the Philly Main Line Bro and you're the fucking shit.

Growing up in suburban communities such as Villanova, Haverford, and Merion, Main Line Bros never had to worry about being sent to Bel Air to live with their Aunt and Uncle due to a fight at the playground. Obviously this is because they are rich as shit. I mean when the biggest "thugs" coming out of your "hood" are Kobe Bryant and Hitch, you're not exactly dodging bullets.

While Main Line Bros may try to distance themselves from the blue collar guido population that inhabits their city, they have one overwhelming similarity with these barbed wire-tattooed laborers: their love of the Eagles and Phillies. Main Line Bros love getting decked out for gameday. The one rule among Main Line Bros is that everyone has to have a different Eagles jersey. This means there can only be one McNabb, one Westbrook, one Jackson, then after that you get creative. In past years the Dawkins was popular, but that had to be retired since he moved out to the land where the beer flows like wine. Now you're more likely to see Akers, Vick, Sheldon Brown, or throwback Cunningham threads. Although Main Line Bros love the Linc, their one regret is never getting locked up in the Vet jail.
So, the next time you're in Philly driving by the art museum and see some douche bag posing next to the Rocky statue yelling out, "Yo, Adrian!!!" don't rush to judgment -- this is not a Main Line Bro. While Pat's may claim to be the "King of Steaks," I think it's clear who the Kings of Men are in Philadelphia: the Main Line Bros.

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