Bad news, bros. Studies show that toxic masculinity is harmful to men’s health, women’s safety, and everyone’s Twitter feeds. But you and I both know that being a toxic man is also dope as hell! We’ve got camo pants and PornHub Premium accounts. Well, apparently, it’s only a matter of time until toxic bros become soft, “emotionally intelligent” adults. So here are the top five illest tips for how to make the most of our badass life style before it dies out.

1. Never ask for help.

Refuse to see a doctor even when you dislocate your spine crashing your Harley at a tire-burnout gender reveal. Before the patriarchy is put down like Old Yeller, impress every dude alive with how self-reliant you are by using a blue-and-pink confetti cannon to pop your spine back into place. Thankfully, the only medicine toxic bros need to feel better is Call of Duty: Napalm Disco.

2. Bury your emotions even more.

Some say that pushing your feelings down until you explode like a volcano is unhealthy. I say, who wouldn’t want to be a volcano? Volcanoes are fucking sick! If anyone fights a volcano, they die. Sadly, the clock is ticking for you to act like a volcano and not cry about your grammy’s death. Grammy, if you can hear me up in Heaven, I’m sorry that I never got to tell you how you inspired me to be a better person. Whoops! Somebody hacked my account and wrote a pathetic Jane Austen poem as a prank. Time for me to visit the library and beat up all the books.

3. Accept the fact that every woman on earth wants you.

You can even hear some sexual tension in Alexa’s voice when she tells you the weather.

4. Demand that every TV within a five-mile radius play only sports.

Before you know it, every sports bar is gonna be replaced with a rom-com bar where eight Hugh Grant films simultaneously burn your retinas and kick your soul in the nuts. Until then, force everyone within shouting distance to binge Seasons 1 through 4,000 of SportsCenter.

5. Become stronger than the Rock.

Soon you won’t be openly shamed if you’re skinnier or fatter than the meninist swole idol the Rock. The fast-approaching nightmare of “body positivity” is why I suggest that you hit the gym ASAP to become a seven-foot-six, three-hundred-and-eighty-pound terrifying mountain of muscles. You ever lie awake at night wondering what the Rock wishes for when he blows out his birthday candles? Uh—sorry about that. Neither do I! I stay up till dawn plotting how I’m gonna powerbomb the Rock into the Grand Canyon, which I’ve filled with gasoline and lit on fire.

So, my fellow alphas, I encourage you all to swagger out into the world and perform random acts of kindness! OH, NO! THE TRANSFORMATION HAS BEGUN! QUICK—SOMEBODY DRENCH ME IN A GALLON OF TOM BRADY’S COLOGNE AND HELP ME PICK A FIGHT WITH A RANDOM D-BAG AT BUFFALO WILD WINGS!


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