If we are marked to die, we are enow to do our bros loss; and if to live, the fewer the bros, the greater share of honor. God's will! I pray thee, wish not one bo more. By Jovi, I am not covetous for BMWs, nor care I who doth slam upon my cost; it yearns me not if bros my Ed Hardy wear; Such outward things dwell not in this bro's desires. Bit if it be a sin to covet crispyness, I am the most offending bro alive. No, faith, my cuz, wish not a bro from Jersey. God's peace! I would not lose so great an honor as one bro more methinks would share from me for the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! Rather proclaim it, Brosmoreland, through my host, that he which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart, his passport shall be made, and frosted tips for convoy put in his bag; we would not die in that bro's company that fears his broshipness to die with us. This day is call'd the munch of Brospian. The bro that outlives this day, and comes safe home in a masserschmitt, will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, and rouse the bro at the name of Brospian. And maybe, too, Rattleface Broses.
Dirt tracing sounds like a lot of fun, bro. Let's ride!