Iced Iced Baby

For the past few months, I have observed with awe and a tinge of fear as the frenzy of Bros Icing Bros catapulted to feature articles on CNN and in the New York Times. The novel concept behind Bros Icing Bros, the effeminizing of the masculine, the simplicity of the rules, has officially launched an epidemic that will likely result in the coming of the next Ice Age.

The game is summarized by two simple rules.

1. When presented with a Smirnoff Ice, the Bro must drink it while kneeling (Getting iced).

2. When getting iced, a Bro can present their own Smirnoff Ice to cause the initiator to be iced instead (ice block).

Since first being introduced to the game, I made two complementary lifestyle choices:

1. Never attempt to ice a bro, in a subtle attempt to forge an implicit strategic alliance with fellow bros so as to avoid all contact with ice.

2. Assist all bros in becoming self-sufficient. Example: Can you grab my hat while you’re over there? (Read: If you pick up my hat, you’ll be iced.) No.

Well, my chameleonic strategy of fading into the background has done nothing but backfire (or backice). In the span of one week, I have officially fallen victim to this bubbly cancer, not once, not twice, not thrice, but four times!

1. Reaching for a popsicle. Not content with the orange and grape flavors at the top, I scavenged for the green one all the way at the bottom. Digging my hand deep into the bag, Bam. Iced.

2. Yearning to fill the void in my stomach, I opened the microwave to heat some leftovers. Bam. Iced.

3. Opening what I believed to be a cooler full of sandwich essentials taken to the beach. Bam. Iced.

4. Grabbing a beer from the case in the refrigerator. Bam. Iced.

The troubling thing is that all four icings have resulted from need for nourishment. My analysis has concluded that only a strategy of starvation could have prevented these icings. I suppose the silver lining is that I’m playing in the minor leagues, with the standard 11 ounce Smirnoff Ice. The big deuce deuce would most certainly be my Waterloo.