Hey Bro, have you seen my Bronco Pump?


I’m only asking because I think you were the last to use it.

By Andrew Pridgen

…Actually, that’s not totally true. We were the last to use it.

It went something like this: We were hanging out playing Mario Kart and you were like, “This game’s racist because the whole cart with a ‘k’ thing…and we should go get a keg.” And I said, “Keg with a ‘c’?”

And like 10 minutes of silence passed and I went and took a dump and was thinking that instead of listening to you complain all day about how hot chicks don’t like you as much as not-hot chicks do and why is that because you’re the same you—that we should get a keg.

And I came back and said, “Did you say we should get a keg?” and you were like (I don’t remember what you were like but next thing I know we were in your truck on the way to getting a keg).

So, we bought the keg and I was filling out the paperwork with our roommate-who-wasn’t-there’s info and you were like, “Should we get hard licks too.” (it was a question you said as a statement, like on Jeopardy). And normally I’m kind of anti- but this time I was down because:

  1. It was a Thursday and Thursdays are the fucking best day of the weekend. Period.
  2. Something about the way you said hard licks sounded cool. I’m not totally gay but it was in an attractive way and I thought, “If I was a chick I’d probably for sure bang this guy after this keg and some Tequila poppers”.
  3. Plus, the Cuervo (the clear kind no the real kind, but who gives a shit) was on sale.

So we got the keg and some clear Cuervo and some clear Sprite and the checker guy there was like these guys are gonna fucking rage and do you need help to your car?

And you said, “No, but you can tell that hot chick at the other register that we might need help drinking this shit.” And then you pointed to the keg AND the general direction of your dick at the same time and the checker guy mean-mugged you like he’d just got dumped by her or was pissed off he’d just got ahold of some bad Panda Express for lunch or some shit.

Anyway, we should’ve gotten a new red keg ice bucket thing with the rope handles too because some fuckhead (not naming names) left the one we have outside in the rain last time and not only did it grow a new strain of new algae and mosquitoes but the handles rotted off and now it’s impossible to move around the yard (plus it cracked so I get cuts on my legs every time we do try to move it)…and it leaks.

But we didn’t.

Then we stopped at another store—the one with the cheaper ice. I got some Bazooka at the counter and we both pulled a 40 from the back wall because it was still going to be at least another 20 minutes before we tap that fucker. I wanted to buy a Club, the one wrapped up like your mom’s dry cleaning with the free DVDs inside—old school. And you looked at me like put that shit down and we took off.

We got back to the house and cracked the tequila. I found one of those plastic bar pourer top things in your glove compartment. It was neon so it’d look cool under a blacklight—so we were gonna be totally legit pouring tequila all night.

My Bronco Pump was where it usually is (under my futon behind a sweatshirt that I use to wipe down the floor really quick when a chick actually maybe is going to stay over) so I fetched that.

We got the keg tapped pretty good and you started bitching that the pump action on my Bronco Pump was sticking and I was like, “That’s because you have to push down normal. And you push down like it’s a fucking plunger on Press Your Luck.” And you were like, “No Whammies!” and then pushed it down extra hard for emphasis and it stuck there for 10 minutes until I finally got it to rise back up by using a nickel in the gap between the pump and the rim as leverage.

You said it was still a piece of shit and we should’ve just rented a tap and I was like, “This is my Bronco Pump bro. Fucking this cost me the whole $80 pump deposit.”

And you were like you can buy one new for only 45 bucks and I said that wasn’t the point that I’ve had this pump for like 2 years at every party so fuck off.

Anyway, we charged through the foam (you did, actually). I know your favorite thing besides Christmas is doing that shit where you take the first foam pitcher and stick your finger in your ear and swirl it around the foam for no reason before you take a sip of the beer, you declare “This keg is skunk!”…and we should take it back. And then you throw the pitcher in the bush and storm off. But then you come back like 10 minutes later and say, “It just needed a minute to settle down.”

Maybe you needed a minute bro.

People eventually came over and we got hammered and the keg was dust like instantly and I distinctly remember thinking I should put my Bronco Pump BACK under my bed but there was some shit going on on the roof that I had to check out and next thing I know I woke up on the downstairs couch and someone had put Old School on so I passed back out.

When I woke up for real, I went to go take a piss in the backyard and my fucking Bronco Pump was gone.

I do remember when I was up on the roof your girlfriend was drunk cleaning and you were fucking doing something to hide the keg shell and the leftover cups while I was taking a piss into the side yard area, so I figured you also did something with my Bronco Pump.

Because if you’re squirreling away like five maybe-used Solo cups you’re for sure stashing my Bronco Pump somewhere important so you won’t forget where. But you don’t remember shit and it wasn’t in the cupboard with the cups or in the garage on the washer.

So you probably should pay for half of it or whatever.

After looking in like four spots throughout the day including under my bed (twice), my Bronco Pump is officially gone and I’m fucking pissed. Also, at one point last night I cut myself trying to cut a lime wedge and wrapped my finger in toilet paper and now there’s bloody toilet paper all over and my sheets look like someone stabbed me in a homemade mummy Halloween costume.

So, yeah. You owe me a Bronco Pump. And don’t say to take it out of our security deposit or that I owe you a tank of gas from the time we drove up to Tahoe because I bought a couple cases that trip.

Just, when we go back to turn in the shell we’ll just fucking buy a new one because they’re only 45 bucks or whatever.

Or we’ll go snake one from another party tonight. Your call.