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California National Guard declassifies “Bro-Code Talkers”

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LOS ANGELES — The California National Guard declassified a top secret cryptologic program today that played a significant role in the wars in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Syria.

The Bro-Code Talkers schoolhouse was established in 2008 on UCLA’s fraternity row after the Army expressed a need to develop greater cryptologic defenses in the face of rising great power competition from Russia and China. Bro-Code Talkers embedded as radiomen with combat units to transmit messages through common phrases and concepts from the West Coast fraternity lifestyle, which is undecipherable to outsiders. The Middle Eastern conflicts served as a proof of concept to test the program’s viability.

“Me and my sergeants just wanted baller pledges we could kickback with,” explained the unit’s founder, Col. Kiefer Brodie, ripping a fat cloud from his juul. “None of those weak boners, like the Fall ’09 class, who narced when we hazed them. Or that kid who died from alcohol poisoning during last year’s rush. That kid sucked.”

The now declassified report translates several examples of the “brocabulary,” which played a key role in the successful execution of thousands of counter-terrorism missions. An expression like “cracking a cold one with the boys,” implies a directive for friendlies to pop smoke during close air support engagements. “Tapping the keg,” is code for a convoy replenishment of food and supplies. “Do you know who my father is?” constitutes a request to speak to higher-ups at battalion headquarters.

School cadre handpicked recruits from high schools around the SoCal area through a rigorous selection process. Candidates were chosen based on a variety of factors including how much they liked the Dave Matthews Band, the number of women with whom they had had relations, but mostly their father’s annual income.

Recruits with the following names were granted automatic membership to the prestigious organization: Kyle, Skylar, Kyler, Chad, Brad, Bret, Chet, Chip, Jake, Bryce, Cory, and Todd.

The highest offense a soldier could commit in training or battle was breaking Bro-Code, which Brodie called the most sacred of commandments and the very core of what the unit stood for. Soldiers who failed to live up to the community’s hallowed standards of being chill were reportedly drummed out of the HAUS (house) in an elaborate ritual involving a paddling gauntlet and a keg of skunked Natty.

“This one time, my pledge brother Tanner hooked up with my boy Randy’s sister, Jessica,” shared decorated Bro-Code Talker, Staff Sgt. Topher Zayne, suppressing tears. “Me and Brayden and them told him how not tight that was and that if he did it again, we’d have to report him. He said we were chill, but a week later, we caught him with Hunter’s ex, Ashleigh. Bro …”

Many have speculated the motives for the program’s recent termination and subsequent declassification, especially after successful fielding in the Middle East. Some blame PC culture, which found fault with the unit’s systematic perpetuation and cover-up of sexual assault at their raucous house parties as well as the community’s stunning lack of racial diversity, inciting some critics to brand them, “whiter than people who say ‘whoopsie-daisy.’”

Despite these claims, many within the organization believe that the program is being retired due to a loss of combat effectiveness in the evolving future of warfare.

“That Vladimir Putin dude … That dude is straight gangster,” commented Troy Vanderbilt chowing down on a plate of “hella good” Indian food. “He’s got a rock band of chicks who follow him around. Bro-code prevents using our powers against somebody who pulls that hard.”

Regardless of the motivation behind it, the special project has come to an end after a storied decade of dominance. As the bros return home to their normal lives and the investment banking jobs offered by their buddy’s dad Rick, they take a moment to reflect on what their service meant.

“Running around in my combat sperrys, the newest iPhone nestled firmly in the cargo frocket of my Reagan Bush ’84 tactical romper, ready to call another bro at a moment’s notice and coordinate fire for our boys on the ground — that’s why I served,” shared Sgt. Kev Jorgenson, staring wistfully into the distance, his OEF visor turned backwards. “Someday, one of my illegitimate children will ask me, ‘Daddy, were you a hero in the war?’ And I’ll say, ‘You can’t prove I’m your daddy. I’ve never met your mother. Here’s ten thousand dollars to shut the hell up.’ But deep down I’ll know … No, I wasn’t a hero. But I raged face in the company of heroes.”

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