“I’m getting in a hilarious Twitter fight with some muscle bros,” I texted my sister.

Really. This lift-heavy-or-die dude I’ll judgingly stereotype as an Imagine Dragons-loving, Ed Hardy bedazzled jean-wearing, Jersey Shore #swagtastic shirtless wonder pops all over my notifications. (He and his media company.) All the time.

“Eww. G and I decided that there should be an equivalent term to ‘basic bitches’ for dudes,” my sister texted back. (G is the wife.)

After dude pops a steroid load all over his swole yoke, he retreats to Twitter. “@BroBot followed you,” my phone dings at me Monday, Wednesday and Friday. “@BroBotMedia followed you,” my phone dings at me Tuesday and Thursday. (His handle has been changed to protect his brodentity.)

“It took us a minute, and I’m not sure if it’s a keeper or not, but we thought of ‘douchey dudes,'” sister texted.

Turns out BroBot isn’t an actual bot because his bro tank got all bunched in his club panties when he was bouncing his boob muscles. He got bitchy.

“Although it doesn’t seem to have the right ring to it,” sister continued texting.

BroBot alleged I have too much time on my hands. What I would do for too much time on my hands. There’d be a bunch of (censored for your enjoyment) on my hands if I had time on my hands.

“Dipshit douches?” sister asked.

However, I can see how someone with nearly 1 million followers wonders how wee little me notices a spammy follow/unfollow Twitter parasite. In my defense, he looks like he ate muscles for breakfast. Plus, he’s shirtless. Also, he pops all over my phone like FIVE DAYS A WEEK.

“This dude, trying to get millions of followers, seriously follows me then deletes me all the time,” I texted my sister. “So I called him out, and I clearly upset the muscle community.”

“Oh dear. I don’t quite understand how Twitter works. Are you being cyber bullied?” sister asked.

I’ll tell you how I notice you, bro. Your spam can keeps getting all jammed up in my (mail)box. (It’s all about the girth, he says.)

“How’s the Twitter feud going?” sister asked.

I think their modeling agency put the kibosh on roughing up bitches. DMs and replies were deleted. (Jesus forgot to tell them about screenshots.)

“They shut it down. I think I scared them,” I said.

“How about brain-dead bulges?” sister texted. “I mean basic bitches, that’s kind of sexist. There needs to be a male form.”

“Boring boners,” I texted.

“Aaaaaand boring boners for the win!” sister yelled via text.

I felt vindicated. BroBot and the Boring Boners.

And I don’t even lift, bro.

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