Bro ManGold
Back in 2016 I wrote this story called “The Man Who Pistol-Whipped God”.
The Main Character is called “Bro ManGold”.
He is:
- Dumb
- Fat
- Happy
- Delusionally Confident
–and likable in a twisted way.
Reality Show in Space
As the story begins, he’s up in space, as the sole participant in a one-man reality show in space.
A show that is widely WATCHED, and widely HATED.
But as he’s up there playing around with his fat fingers in the butt (yes, plural), a radical group takes over, and manages to kill every single man on planet Earth.
We now have 4.7 Billion Women.
And Bro ManGold.
Restart Humanity
The people in charge now have to – restart humanity – with the seed of this overconfident retard.
This is no easy task!
For the Supreme Court has ruled “Bro ManGold” to be an “Extreme Super Minority” – and given him virtually limitless rights.
He is no longer protected from himself.
He spends his days rolling around in a rubber ball, being fed pre-digested Pepperoni Pizza – going straight into his bloodstream.
The man isn’t moving.
The man is dying.
The man has become so lazy, that his organs are starting to give up.
82% Success Rate
The people in charge PANIC and use their best supercomputer to run various scenarios.
The best possible scenario has an 82% success rate.
This scenario contains three women, a dog, and a frozen zucchini.
The three women are:
- Gina (his personal handler, an effective executive, and general hardass)
- Miss Bum Bum Brazil 2066 (won the Twerking World Championships 2066)
- A Fanatical Skinny Goth Girl (who runs the website WWW.BRO IS THE PRECURSOR TO GOD .COM)
Supercomputer
The supercomputer figured out three things.
Bro needs:
- Admiration (from the Goth Girl)
- Hate (from Gina)
- Sex-Appeal (from Miss Brazil)
A team that delivers these things:
- In the right way
- At the right dose
- At the right time
–will be able to:
- Get Bro Hard
- Make Him Come
–without violating any of his SACRED RIGHTS.
This team ended up performing the most foul sexual act in human history.
500 Years Later
Even the historians who wrote about it 500 years later, ended up becoming depressed.
Even the psychologists who coached these historians, ended up retiring early.
And their grandchildren even had a reduced lifespan.
This is how effective Bro was at negating human potential.
The Man Who Pistol-Whipped God
by Theo Alexander Gerken
Part 1
Tall, fat, white, stupid, and disgustingly confident. He wore a blue Superman T-shirt and fake gold teeth.
His name was Bro ManGold, the sole participant of the first reality show conducted in space: The Bro ManGold Experience.
The commercial went:
”One ship. One man. One planet. One mission. One hell of a reality show. Meet the man who made God blush in remorse and had the angels cry out ‘But for heaven’s sake! Undo! Now! Or we walk,’ and stage a coup in heaven. The megalomaniacal freak who thinks he’s the precursor to God in all it’s holy ramifications. The man everybody hates to hate and loves to not love… Brooooooooooo MaaaaaaaaaaanGooooooooold!”
It started as a way to finance a scientific expedition to Mars. It ended as a PR stunt that would shock the world and eventually save the human race. Playing hide and seek with his own shit in space, Bro ManGold was more amazing than he could possibly imagine.
The show had huge ratings. With 500 million viewers on a slow Tuesday afternoon, and a solid 1.2/10 on IMDB. People watched it, they didn’t like it.
Bro had this game called The Ball Sack Attack – where he covered the entire lens of the camera with his ball sack. He then made people guess which bodily hole his finger was in.
People got it right every time.
Why? Because they just watched him from any of the other 13 cameras on the ship.
The unexpected accuracy of these guesses fed Bro’s belief that he was more than even he himself could comprehend.
His impact on Earth must be so large, so vast, so gigantic, so enormous; that every Earthling felt his every move on the smallest level.
The worst part about it? He was right.
The Buddhist karma mathematicians calculated that Bro would have to spend 96 billion years as a deformed rat, to make up for what he was doing.
The Christian afterlife mathematicians came to the stunning and mathematically impossible conclusion that the purgatory would end, before Bro left it.
A famous artist made a painting where Bro arm-wrestled God – and won.
Bro: 1.
God: 0.
Catholics, Protestants, and religious dwellers soon discovered you cannot ”unsee” that which you ”saw”, and so the image lingered and drained their faith day by day.
A Californian hippie group pointed out that the vibration of the Earth had gone down, since the show had started. Life had become a little less vital. A tad more dead.
The International Psychics Federation went further and suggested that Bro was the single biggest destructive force in human history – no, in history period; accounting for all alien wars and planetary collisions since the beginning of time.
Further study concluded that time did not begin nor end, which only scaled Bro’s actions into the realm of infinity – making the same artist release another painting where Bro drank God under the table.
Bro: 2.
God: 0.
This caused 17,000 people to kill themselves in protest. Bro never got the news.
Bro: 1.
Humanity: 0.
The fruitarians all over the world went on a hunger strike. The breatharians did the same, it lasted 45 seconds.
Bro: 2.
Humanity: 0.
Bro was constantly wreaking havoc on that tiny dot observing him in the distance.
The Buddhist monks were snapping in and out of enlightenment on a daily basis.
The Christians stopped believing in Jesus.
When the Californian hippies closed their eyes and practiced blue-light meditation, all they saw was Bro’s fat face, ass, or oversized baby legs.
The psychics lost their minds one by one, peering into a future full of Bros.
And when the Kardashian shallowness index showed an impact of 169 times that of every Kardashian who ever lived – a lot of them, even the no-nonsense atheists started freaking out, scaring the living shit out of everyone else.
Throwing humanity into what would be called ‘The Age of Turmoil’.
It was as natural as it was plain.
Bro: 3.
Humanity: 0.
Part 2
As the ship approached Mars, Bro brought out a piece of paper and read from it:
Oh Mars
oh Mars
just like a little baby
you grow every time I don’t look at you
just grow
and grow
every time
I wish I could put a smiley face on you
because I don’t like the face that it doesn’t have an expression on it
you can smile at me
all the time
and maybe I smile back
you should be happy ‘bout that
I am Bro ManGold
Part 3
Bro’s ship landed on Mars, took photographs, sampled rock, and turned back.
Everything was automated, because they already knew they couldn’t rely on Bro for anything.
Bro was halfway home to Earth when he got the news.
Gina Hardass, head director of the reality show The Bro ManGold Experience, called Bro on satellite phone.
”Hey Bro what’s up, are you doing all right?”
Bro burped.
”There’s some big news here on Earth. A huge catastrophe actually. The ‘Men are a biological mistake’ feminists succeeded in a way no one could expect. They successfully launched and detonated 150 man-nukes all over the planet. Every man is dead. Every bro, dude, guy, jock, homeboy – whatever. All dead. All gone. We’re down to half the population, four point seven billion women actually.”
”I got my own man-nuke right here! Wait, listen…” Bro said and released a well-timed fart.
”Bro, I just told you every guy you ever knew is dead. Get it? Dead. You don’t have female friends. That means all your friends are gone. None left, capisce? There’s only you now, Bro.”
”But I count as five thousand, so that’s five thousand then.”
”Is that a joke? Is that supposed to be a joke, Bro?”
”Not really. But since you’re trying so hard not to laugh, then I guess it’s a joke, hahaahahaha.”
”They destroyed everything. Every DNA sample, every reserve in every sperm bank and frozen vault. There is nothing else. There is no one else. It’s all just women and double X chromosomes all over the place!”
Bro didn’t answer. Gina continued.
”Bro, you’re the only man left. You’re the last man standing. We need you to refertilize the whole planet.”
”Guess where the dick is at, woot woot. Guess where the dick is at, woot woot. It’s all about supply and demand baby, market forces at play, yeah!” Bro rapped.
Gina hung up.
Part 4
Back at the office, Gina was crazy mad and screamed at everyone.
”This guy is such a retard! I can’t believe we depend on him for the survival of the human race. He’s the weakest link in the chain. And thanks to those fucking feminists all the other links are gone!
”What – are – we – going – to – do – now! The sky is gonna open up and he’ll come down and save us all? That’s what’s gonna happen? He’s the biggest fucking fatso moron fuck that sucked on a titty and grew up to become a man. He’s a man! He’s a grown-ass man! Look at him!”
Everyone was quiet.
An employee spoke up.
”You shouldn’t be upset that he’s a man. Would you be upset if he turned into a woman?”
”Happy! Would I be happy? We’re talking about a slab of meat that happens to have something we need. A poor, inefficient, ugly, disgusting, low-level-of-consciousness organization of cells that we depend upon for our children. It’s him or no child, him or no child, it drives me fucking crazy!”
”When I was small I didn’t like asparagus, now I like asparagus,” the employee said.
Gina paced the room back and forth.
”It’s a question of maturity, is it? Then why do we take turns editing the video material? Why can’t anyone look at him for more than thirty minutes without losing the will to live? Why is that? Because he’s the antidote of life, the antidote of happiness, the antidote to everything that’s good about the world. His psyche is built like a worm eating its own tail for Christ’s sake!”
”At least he won’t screw you and apologize afterwards, hate those guys,” the employee said and the room burst into laughter.
”You can take your little comedic act and tell it to your non-existent kids. You’re fired. You’re all fired. The show is over. Go home.”
Part 5
Bro’s ship arrived at Earth.
Bro stepped out of the ship, cleared his throat, looked down at his pre-prepared speech cards, and spoke to the world.
”I think that was happened to Earth was bad, very bad. I also think that, Mark Twain once said, ‘Many men’s tragedy is another man’s opportunity.’ I am that another man. I took a chance. Some did, some didn’t, they died. The little Darwin in me would make sure I would live, all the time. God has my back, who has yours?
”I think that, we need to face these turbulent slash tumultuous slash blustering slash disorderly slash frenzy slash uproar times – together. Together. We should not fight, but try to agree, on what woman I should have, that day. The options are many. The categories are few. The days are long. The nights are dark, and shorter than even, the day.
”We should not look down at our feet, we cannot see them, but look at the shiny car that is going on the road instead. It is a nice car. It has turbo. Bro is okay. The world is okay.”
Bro turned his back to the audience and seemed to forget they were there. Three reporters stuck their mikes into the back of his balding head.
“What is it like to be you? What will happen to you? Do you have a long-term plan?”
Bro bent forward, pulled down his pants, grabbed his butt cheeks, and pretended speaking with his ass.
“This is so awesome, because it is awesome. I am so awesome, because I am awesome.”
Bro stood up, pulled up his pants, and wiped sweat off his forehead like he had just run a marathon.
The reporters continued.
“But that doesn’t mean anything. Will the feminists try to kill you? Do you understand any of this?”
Gina came up from behind and led Bro away.
“Don’t listen to these people, Bro, they don’t love you like I do. The maternal instinct is a very strong force. You could look like you survived nine abortions, a mother will still see-”
“Splendous, marvelous, punkass beauty,” one of the reporters said.
And every head in the room turned to look at a thick, curvy, bronze-skinned woman standing in the middle of the food court, on top of a table, shaking her butt. Twerking.
She was Miss Bum Bum Brazil 2066; she was the reason rape was legalized in Brazil; which was the reason the feminists had taken over; which was why she was standing here right now, at this moment, proving herself and titillating the senses of a highly desirable man.
Bro was enchanted.
And for the first time his life, he was aroused by something other than himself.
With a drooling mouth, a semi-boner, and a nice pep in his step, he ran up to the table, jumped on top of it, and started rapping.
“My penis is so good ‘cause it’s good. It’s better than all the other penises in all the other places. I got great value, and I got it right here, and I won’t go anywhere unless a hamburger get’s me there, yo!
“It’s better than the second serving on lunch, yo, it’s better than the third serving, the fourth serving, the five serving, the six serving, it’s better than all the other servings in all the other places.
“It’s better than grilled cheese on a sunday afternoon, it’s better than a good pickle after a good breakfast, it’s better than when I eat with both my hands at the same time, yo! It’s much more better than all the things in all the places, again and again, more and more, all the time! And that’s why you should marry me.”
Bro came down on one knee. The table tipped over and they landed on the ground.
“I would love to marry you!”
She rolled over and gave Bro a long, french kiss.
Bro countered with a rotten space-burp from the deepest place of his gut.
She threw up in his mouth.
He threw up in her face.
“Someone ate pepperoni pizza last night,” a spectator said.
“I swear there’s anchovy in there,” another said.
“You marry me?” Bro asked.
She opened her mouth to speak but some pepperoni pizza vomit got in her mouth and she threw up all over her cleavage.
Bro: 1.
Sexiness: 0.
Bro was moved into the staff bathroom and left to clean himself.
He sat on his ass, in the shower, studying his mirror image in the shower head, holding it up to his face and spraying down the entire bathroom.
A whisper came in from the ventilation system.
“You’re awesome. You’re awesome. You’re the best, you’re the best. We love you, Bro, we love you.”
Bro was so used to hearing encouraging voices that he didn’t think about it.
There was a rustling sound, twelve loud thuds; the ventilation grill popped open and out crawled a skinny goth girl.
The tattoo on her forehead read:
BRO IS THE PRECURSOR TO GOD .COM
Bro smiled broadly as he caught a better glimpse of his face.
She looked at him.
“You don’t have to pretend when you’re with us. We get it, Bro. We know who you really are. This meat-body puppet dance is for everyone else. You’re down here trying to convince the world you are human. God is up there busting his ass for some chump change trying to get you into heaven.”
Bro turned the handle and saw his entire face.
“This is so beautiful. Am I in heaven?”
“This is heaven on Earth, Bro, it all is! Here. Take this. We wrote it while physically meditating on the existential ecstacy of your being.”
She handed him a poem with a thick, patterned golden frame.
It read:
I am Jesus
I am Antichrist
the Frontrunner
the Forebearer of all things
the Beginning and the End
the Alpha and Omega
the Creator
the Center around which the universe revolves
I am a process
an idea
an entity
a concept
I am but many things
I AM BRO’S ON HOES MOTHERFUCKING MANGOLD
THE BRINGER OF LIFE
THE BRINGER OF DEATH
I AM THE BEGINNING
I AM THE END
THE UPRISING
THE DOWNFALL
I AM THE GREAT EQUALIZATION
THAT TAKES PLACE IN THE UNIVERSE FROM TIME TO TIME
there ain’t no definin’ Bro ManGold
because there ain’t no definin’ God
Her eyes sparkled with energy.
“We make a mistake when we say Bro is God-like, it is God who is Bro-like.”
Bro: 3.
God: 0.
Part 6
Place: At an underground military facility in northern Texas.
”The result was negative,” the scientist said.
”What do you mean, negative? I didn’t expect oh-la-la positive it wasn’t an AIDS test,” Gina said.
”It came back negative. We scanned them all, not one was a viable source of life,” the scientist said.
”I knew it! Space radiated the shit out of those balls, and they weren’t exactly full of Mozart’s to begin with. Goddammit!” Gina screamed and slammed her fist into the table.
”A clean slate. It all comes full circle,” the goth girl said and stared off into the distance.
”Guess who’s about to go in there and give him some sexy time!” Miss Brazil said, stood up, and danced tango with an imaginary partner.
The others stayed seated. The scientist continued.
”We took his best soldier, and combined it with the best match theoretically possible. This is what came up.”
A pear-shaped ball of meat with three things sticking out of it showed up as a hologram above the table.
”A blob? His genetical soulmate created a blob?” Gina said, offended.
”It all comes full circle. That is probably what the very first cell looked like,” the goth girl said.
The scientist cleared her throat.
”It’s life, but not viable. That thing is much further from humans than monkeys are,” she said.
”If that’s the best result, then what’s the worst? Wait don’t tell me, I don’t wanna know,” Gina said and covered her face with her hands.
The scientist nodded and kept a neutral expression on her face.
”Tell me for God’s sake!” Gina screamed.
”I tried all of yours, the simulation machine wouldn’t show it. It’s designed not to show images that could hurt humans.”
Part 7
Place: In the same military facility in Texas.
Time: 80 days after Bro’s arrival to Earth.
Gina, back after a stress-induced kidney failure and a 40 day layoff, had a meeting with the scientist.
They sat in the cafeteria and drank coffee. They were the only people in the room.
”It’s been eighty days. The radiation is gone. We know what to do?” Gina said.
”There’s been a new development,” the scientist said.
”What?”
”When all the men died, the Supreme Court ruled him to be a minority. A super minority. That, leveraged with the practical implications of being the only man alive – gave him unprecedented rights. We have to carry out his every wish.”
Gina didn’t move.
”The Supreme Court? Who would fight for his rights at Supreme Court level? Everybody hates him,” she said.
”It’s the ‘Men are a biological mistake’ feminist terrorists. They know they can’t kill him, so they give him more and more rights until there’s nothing left to protect him from his own stupidity. Look,” the scientist said and flipped a switch.
The entire wall behind her became transparent.
There was a plastic ball, with Bro inside it, rolling around in a rainbow coloured disco room with smoke, flashing lights, and a huge silvery globe spinning in the middle.
A steady base of electronica was beating in the background.
It was a one man party.
But it wasn’t.
There were three other plastic balls, also transparent, with fantastical creatures on the inside.
A green troll, a white dragon, and an ever bleaker 800 hundred year old female elf who looked 16.
It was a one man party.
They rolled around, bumped into each other, played games which Bro always won; they had a wicked, eerie sort of comradeship that had not existed before and would not exist since.
To an outsider… it was creepy.
For the ultimate insider it was friendship at it’s most natural state.
”Jesus Christ, is that Bro? On the inside?” Gina asked.
”Yes, he murmured it in his sleep when he had some feverish dream, so we had to do it. We had to,” the scientist answered.
Gina opened her mouth and closed it, opened her mouth and closed it. She looked at the scientist, then back at Bro, at the scientist, then back at Bro.
”We had to do it, we had to,” Gina aped after in a silly voice.
”Technically speaking-”
”Technically speaking! You did this!” Gina stood up and slapped the scientist across the face, ”Give me another excuse and I’ll shove a pineapple up your ass, you weak-willed cunt!”
The scientist stood up and touched her face.
Gina lifted up her chair and threw it across the room.
”That ugly mofo makes me wanna go kill babies – oh wait, there are none! Who’s fault is that? Those hairy-assed feminists think they did something good, they think they did something oh so noble – they cleansed the gene pool, they cut off the spoiled part of the apple, they killed the ugly twin that shouldn’t have been born in the first place – well guess what? That ugly-ass one-eyed twin with four legs and half a brain is about two thousand times better than Bro, right? Am I right?”
The scientist backed up.
”I would say your statement correlates with objective reality,” she said stiffly.
Gina walked up to the coffee machine and boxed it with her right hand.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four times.
She seized a paper cup, crushed it in her hand, put it in her mouth and started chewing.
The scientist stepped sideways and placed her left hand on the doorframe.
“I apologize if I offended you, that was not my intention. I have spent hundreds of hours analyzing the data. I have done the research,” she said.
“I leave this place and this is what I come back to? You could have called. You could have done something. Or are you some kind of automaton with no personal will? What’s wrong with you? The fate of our race is at stake here.”
“I was instructed not to contact you. I did what I was told. I apologize if that produced an undesirable result.”
“If I tell you to kill yourself will you do that?”
“I’m sorry. I really am,” the scientist said, gradually moving into the hallway.
“I’m sorry for you, too. I believe you, I just don’t trust you. Get back into the room I don’t bite,” Gina said.
“I do mean what I say,” the scientist said with one foot in the hallway.
“Okay. What the hell. We’re on the same team. We need to solve this problem together. Are those tubes? What are those robots doing?” Gina said.
The scientist hesitated.
“Those are tubes. They carry his secretions to the floor where the cleaning robots take care of it. He’s been rolling around like this nonstop for thirty two days, now.”
Gina pressed the coffee button. But there was nothing there to catch the coffee coming out.
”How does this affect our ability to perform another extraction?” she asked.
”It is heavily affected. He came back to Earth already weakened, but he could walk. Now, his muscles have atrophied further, his bones decalcified, he’s gained weight. He’s 427 pounds at the moment, gaining by the hour. One of those tubes provides a… uhm, constant flow of pre-digested pepperoni pizza going straight into his bloodstream. According to his demands.”
”It does what?”
”He… he’s actually grown so lazy his organs started giving up. It’s been twenty-eight days since he moved an arm or a leg. He stopped blinking four days ago. He hasn’t moved his tongue in two. Next to go are his liver and kidneys. He’s taking the American couch potato lifestyle to a whole new level.”
Gina pushed the machine for another round, coffee going to waste again. The scientist continued.
”At this rate, he will stop breathing in seven days. Forty two percent of his brain is already inactive. They monitor everything we do, if we don’t follow protocol they will come down here and arrest us.”
Gina forced her bag open and took two Xanax.
”I need twenty, then we’ll talk.”
2 hours and 4 additional Xanax later, in the same room.
”What I don’t like about you scientists, is that you keep stating facts but refuse to have an opinion on what to do,” Gina said.
”I ran it through the quantum supercomputer. There is this one alternative that keeps coming back, with a much higher success rate than the others,” the scientist said.
”Ya? Keep going.”
”It involves you, the goth girl, Miss Brazil, and me – we go in as a team.”
”I don’t think you need me there, I don’t even like him.”
”Without you it drops from eighty-two to twenty-seven percent. You are the only person we can’t do without. There is something about you not liking it that he likes.”
”He’s a vegetable rapist? Come on now. That can’t be right.”
The scientist adjusted her lab coat.
”It’s the truth, I can show you the results. Other computers have verified the claim. I should also say that, included in the eighty-two percent, is a dog and a zucchini.”
”A dog and a zucchini?”
”A dog and a zucchini. It has to be frozen. Don’t ask me why. If I tell you, you won’t be able to do it.”
Gina leaned forward and threw up on her shoes.
”It said you would do that.”
”Got anything sharp? I need some me-time.”
”It said you would do that, too.”
Part 8
As was the lead-up to the most hideous act performed by humans, ever.
67 percent of the world’s population watched. All of whom puked, on two separate occasions.
18 percent fainted.
3.5 percent killed themselves, or the person by them, usually by stabbing in the heart. The energy had to go – somewhere.
It took 920 generations to process the emotional trauma.
It took 14,600 generations of selective breeding to weed out the ”Bro-ness” from his many children. His genes had a way of sticking around and turning off other genes, thinking they were better.
When the ordeal was over, a comprehensive analysis concluded that it would have been a faster route to let humans die out, and let monkeys evolve to become humans again.
Bro: 1.
Evolution: 0.
Evolution responded by introducing a karma system; punishing the bad, rewarding the good, so that this foul creature would never repopulate a planet with ”intelligent life” again.
Using Bro as breeding material was deemed ”The single biggest mistake in scientific history.”
It was later voted, by his own children, to be the single biggest mistake in all of human history, trumping the government assassination of the president of Uruguay – that triggered World War 17, and the following nuclear winter that wiped out 92 percent of all life on the planet.
The human population: down to 28 people.
Result? Massive incest.
Result? Still much better than Bro ManGold.
Lesson learned? When looking at a single data point, men do look like a biological mistake.
Bro played his hand well, and he won.
Bro: 8.
Everything else: 0.
Tarmrening 