Maybe we should chug on over to namby-pamby land where maybe we can find some self confidence for you ya jackwagons - R. Lee Ermey
My proud examples:
Frank. Frank was an ordinary dude with a job at First of America. I thought he was entitled to god-status. He came through the drivethrough at the BK Lounge. I piled him up with chicken sandwiches and extra fried.
Karma: then you called him a chicken for driving a Toyota Celica. Nice. Dumbass.
Frank was there for a couple of years.
TC. TC was the party master. Aloha bashes; Lahaina Vice.
TC was the rush master: Hot in the City. Hey, wanna talk good times? Ask for Hank. Rush police. Dogs with welding glasses. (That last one was something unrelated. Sorry). TC was the art for the Catch us if you can/2-5 silver anniversary rush.
TC was the dude for 5 years. Then he bailed for the real world.
Fall 1987 happened - I got shitass fired from 7-Eleven. Missed a meeting I didn’t know was mandatory. Took a job at Oakwood Beverage. In September, Osco answered the call of “please hire me.” I was making almost double. I was ready for the big time. Then the fraternity asked; I answered.
* * *
We had parties. We had cops.
Art the president: let me talk to them
Me: No, let me. I am the adult here and chapter advisor.
Art the president: Don’t screw around, they’re serious this time!
Me: Take it easy, I’m pre-law.
Art the president: I thought you were pre-med.
Me: What’s the difference?
Art the president: *rolleyes* Not again.
Me: *more incoherent drunken posturing*
* * *
CMU wanted to come to town to visit. Yay! We liked them so much last year at their place!
Us: We now consecrate the bond of obedience. It’s as awful as a boy scout Order of the Arrow tap out. Which is to say, not at all.
CMU: That is hazing. We are reduced to tears because you did nothing to stop this horrific display of pretend Douglas C. Niedermayer.
Us: A – we really had a Douglas C. Niedermayer. B- let’s talk about your concerns over beers, the universal language of brotherhood and racing.
1976 Mercury Marquis: This is where I die, horribly, right
Crabs: Yes, but first you lose the race!
But, there was also a football game to be played (the second year in a row in Mt Pleasant.) Road trip! No one fucked Shelly Dubinsky. But… somehow the severed head of Emil Faber winds up in your house.
In this case, it was off the house of some sorority dumb enough to invite the boys to party with them. Some of the boys wanted their souvenir. Some of the girls thought “
Jesus i am fucking hungover” “what happened to our panties statue?” Like true narcs, they called their sister house at Western, Those girls called IFC. Hearing is on Tuesday.
Art the president: We must return the ark
Me: It’s a Saturday, and I am in between with Madonna so WTF.
Art the president: We’ll take my Chevette, so as to arrive clandestinely, but in style.
Me: I’ll just hide in the back. No witnesses.
Art the president: That’s easy for you to say! What am I going to tell IFC?
Me: I’ll tell you what. We’ll tell IFC the sorority was doing a great job taking care of Emil Faber, but they parked him out back last night and this morning… he was gone. We report it as stolen to the police. Sheen takes care of the severed head. Their insurance company buys them a new Faber.
Art the president: Will that work?
Me: Hey, it’s gotta work better than the truth.
* * *
National sends their grand poo bah president to see why you’re all freaks. Obviously, it’s time to send him to the titty bar with Chris for some brotherhood and class.
* * *
Me: Wow, it’s Xmas day and 8 is back from Illinois. Let’s take these 6 beers and drink them at the frat house.
8: Yes, lets
Me: That went fast. Let’s find more.
8: Yes, lets.
Felonious property crimes ensue
Me: Sorry about the broken padlock and the trashed rooms, guys
8: Yes, sorry
Me: The good news is we didn’t take any of your beers, since you did not leave any. Also, I quit
(*dodges flying tridents*)