The ##

You know when you and your boys are bar crawling all over some fucking city, ruling it and shit, burning it down (metaphorically)? You’re checking in every stop, marking your path like a lion pissing on his territory. Yeah, a fucking lion.

Around bar #6 you don’t really have time to scroll through the plethora of bars Foursquare thinks you might be at. Hell, you might not even know “where you are”? But hey, your bros got your back. You just wait for one of them to check-in, then you follow suit. 

Congratulations, you’ve just executed a bro check-in.