Stealing pizza’s

•October 22, 2009 • Leave a Comment

Call a pizza joint.  Order a pizza to be delivered to a house across the street.  Call in, from a different phone, another pizza order from the same pizza place to be delivered to a house 2 doors down from the first pizza destination.  Wait.  When the pizza delivery guy goes up to the first door you’ll have enough time in the confusion (“No, I didn’t order a pizza….”) you’ll have time to nab out of the car the pizza meant to be delivered to the 2nd house.

Actually worked back in the early 1990’s.

Paperboy RIP


Tighty Whitey

•March 26, 2009 • Leave a Comment

Sometime around sophmore year, the recently initiated pledges, “newies” as in new to the brotherhood start getting serious about their drinking. Now I’m not sure if its in an effort to catch up with the junior and senior class tolerance levels or a new found sense of freedom, but these guys drink until they pass out. 

One night, we had a six way party at our house. Ten kegs, coolers full of Everclear and punch mix and some shitty band playing in the basement and cooler. Well at about 10 p.m. the house was packed and one of our newies, “Jimmy” decided he had had enough. After passing out in the hallway, a few of us carried him to his room with his girlfriend following behind us. She said she would take care of him.

Three hours goes by and Jimmy surfaces. Now the house is still packed wall to wall, band is still playing and people are hammered. Jimmy walks out of his room in his tighty whiteys and maneuvers about  20 yards in about 30 minutes to get to the bathroom. His eyes are barely opened and he is traveling more by feel than site. And we’re all just watching this unfold. 


Everyone is laughing at him, pointing, yelling “Tighty Whiteys” someone pulls his underwear down and he keeps walking, oblivious that his junk is flapping in the wind. Men are cheering, some girl starts grabbing his nut sack as he walks, its out of control. 

He makes his way to the stairs, his underwear at his knees and enters the community shitter. Four stalls, no doors. He leaves the door open and sits down to take a shit, his elbows resting on his knees and he passes out again. There’s a big debate on whether or not we should help him back to his room but no one wants to get near the smell coming out of his stall. People go in and out of the bathroom for the next 30 minutes laughing at Jimmy who sits there with his elbows on his knees and his hands supporting his head. We make the pledges go take a picture of him.

Finally, he wakes up and wipes himself in full view of the party. He gets up, pulls his tighty whiteys up and starts back to his room. He has red marks on his knees where his elbows are and people can’t get enough of him. He’s the hit of the party. He makes his way back to his room where he leaves the door open. We go and check on him a few minutes later and his girlfriend is sucking him off as he lies there passed out. So we stand there watching for a while, and finally ask what the hell she is doing, that he’s passed out and whatever. She says, “I am trying to get him hard!” and we say, “Why?” and she says, “Why do you think?” She gets up and closes the door.

Alternative lifestyle

•December 17, 2008 • Leave a Comment

Just heard from an old brother. Trent Dacker is now living in Hollywood having some sort of key in the fishbowl orgy existence. Guessing they all get the HIV test weekly, exchange papers and then bone eachother. More power to you son.

Fraternity Room Names

•October 3, 2008 • Leave a Comment

Wondering if every fraternity names their boarding rooms? We had some pretty good names. Here are some of the best and the explanations when known. Feel free to add you own.

Homecoming – I think about 10 brothers got laid in the same room in the same time during one homecoming event. Gable? Help me out here. 

Malibu Carrot – No idea. 

Armpit – Room was in between the original house and the new edition. The way the hallway bent and the house faced, it felt like an armpit. 

Furnace – it was hotter than piss in that room. The guys who lived in there never got laid because they had the reputation of always being sweaty.

Crushed Red Velvet – something to do with the carpet either on the floor, or some red headed chick someone nailed. Maybe both.

Busch Room – Someone painted a Busch Beer logo on the wall. It was huge.

The ATE principles on getting laid in college, for guys

•September 30, 2008 • Leave a Comment

An older brother one night shared his framework for getting laid in college.  It all revolved around the three letters, A, T and E.  Thanks to brother M’fer for changing my life foreever.

1. locATE.  Find an unsuspecting beauty who is working on getting drunk.

2. initiATE conversation, usually something along the lines of “can I buy you another shot of 4 horsemen of the apocolypse?”  

3. isolATE her from her friends.

4. manipulATE her with bullshit as much as you possibly can

5. penetrATE but do not impregnATE (usually accomplished by wearing a prophylactic that was free at Student Health).

There you have it, the ATE principles for getting laid in college.

How to keep douche bags from joining your house

•September 30, 2008 • 1 Comment

Don’t you hate when a douche bag wants to join your fraternity?  What the fuck are they thinking.  God dammit, there are plenty of other activities these stupid mutherfuckers can join, like GALA or something like that.  This one d-bag in particular came to our house during formal rush.  As soon as he walked in the fuckhead alarms went off in everyone’s heads.  Plenty of times you ask them what they wanted to get out of a fraternity and you told them that your’s offered exactly the opposite.  

For instance,

“I’d like to get a good mix of social life and study.”  (Who the fuck actually says that?)

Answer to the d-bag, “We have the lowest grades in the entire greek system, but we are working on it because we won’t have any parties this year.”  This is when we actually went to the library where we banged hot chicks in the book stacks while no one was looking.

Another way to get a d-bag to find other houses to pledge was to show them a shitty time when they toured.  Brother M’fer and Hasensack once took a total no pussy gettin’ loser on a tour of our stinky laundry room.  Tour’s over.  They walked him to the door and showed his ass out.  I think he got the picture.  

Sometimes you have to be more direct. Like, “Hey D-bag, no one here likes you.  I think you need to go somewhere else.  We don’t even want your dues you f-ing loser.”


As rush chair, I once signed a guy to our house that was a total loser.  Thing was that his cousin was a hot piece of ass that I went to high school with.  Yes, I was trying to bang her.  She told me this sob story that he just transferred into the school and had no social life.  When I met him I understood why.  Action Jackson was one of the biggest tools of all time. Girls literally ran from him.   I signed the guy despite my inner objections.  What made it all worse was that I didn’t get anywhere with the girl.  I fucking regret letting my testes get the best of my brain that day.

The Pledge Douche

•September 25, 2008 • 2 Comments

As initiated brothers our duty was to provide a warm welcome to our newest trial members, pledges.  Each semester 15 to 25 pledges moved into our house.  We provided them guidance on how to dress (pledge pins were a must), how to be gentleman and gave instructions on the rules of the greek system.  As I mentioned in an earlier post, the Inter Fraternity Council (IFC) ruled that kegs of beer were not allowed in a fraternity house.  Occassionally the IFC audited against this rule by making surprise inspection visits to the houses in the greek system.  We often broke that rule.  If IFC arrived at the house the pledges were responsible to get the keg out of the house through the back door well before the auditor made their way through the house. 

Knowing this, the pledges were ultra sensitive to getting the job done when IFC came knocking.  We took advantage of this sensitivity.  We planned ahead, filling 5 gallon buckets full of the table scraps from dinner.  Filled the rest with stale keg beer and water and let the bucket fester on the fire escape at the back of the house, which was directly above the back door of the house’s cafeteria.  The next day we topped the bucket off with ice.

We called the house phone, which was always answered by a pledge within 3 rings.  When the pledge answered we identified ourselves and told them that they needed to gather 5 of their pledge brothers, grab the keg in the cafeteria and carry it out the back door.  IFC IS HERE!

The unsuspecting pledge grabbed as many of their cohorts as they could in quick order, ran down to the cafeteria, grabbed the keg and rushed out the back door.  As they waited just under the fire escape outside the back door, Bloomberg and I would quietly look down on them from above.  Giggle then dump the festering 24 hour sun cooked stale beer/cheap fraternity house dinner scraps/ice sludge down onto thier heads.  That shit stunk.  

We’d be able to get about 2 groups per pledge class before the word spread.   From then on, pledge douche weekend was a treat for everyone, except the pledges.