A Letter to the Worst Pledge Class of All Time

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Dear Worthless Cumstains,

I’ve seen some bad pledges in my time. I’ve heard every fucking excuse in the book, from “my grandma is dying” to “my shrilveled pea sized balls and micro-cock have retracted into my body, forming a mutilated pseudo-vag.” But nothing comes close to the living, breathing mediocrity that your grungy little pledge class exhibits every fucking day.

I don’t know if it’s your little possumy faces or your blatant disrespect for my brothers and my house, but something about you just rubs me the wrong way, like a 45-minute handjob from a colony of fiddler crabs. When I look at each of your pathetic selves, I can’t help but wonder: are we as a house really that shitty at rush? Or are you just a big enough bunch of underachieving scumbags that Lane Kiffin would be jealous? I can’t help but lean towards the latter.

Pledging isn’t hard, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at you scrawny little shitfucks. You spend a few nights at the house cleaning instead of curling up all warm and toasty with your anal fleshlight, and you act like we’ve stripped you of your basic human rights. I’m sorry you can’t close your eyes and envision Channing Tatum’s chiseled features fellating your 2-inch peckers like you’re used to, but it’s time to man the fuck up and take some responsibility for your actions.

It was time for you spineless sacks of steaming feces to grow up and become men six weeks ago. By now, you should have become self-respecting, contributing members of society, but instead you’ve been about as productive as the Jacksonville Jaguars’ offense. We could have done things the easy way, but instead you’ve put me and my brothers in a compromising position. So now, instead of diving face first into giant mounds of sorostitute pussy, we have to be here and show you ignorant buckets of Chipotle ‘rhea the way a brother in this house is meant to behave.

It won’t be easy for you. It won’t be fun. If we do our jobs right, you’ll fucking hate us by the end of this week. But by God, I’m going to teach you fucks some respect no matter how much physical and mental anguish it causes. You will clean my house until I can see my reflection on the fucking walls. You will plug every hole punched by a respected brother of this house, and when you’re shamed worse than a porn star explaining her profession at a family reunion, you will be grateful for feeling that shame, shame that you deserve, and your only response will be “Thank you, sir.”

You might think that I’m not being serious. You might think that, as a person, you deserve a little thing called “respect.” Newsflash, cockboys, you’re in my domain now, and the only right you still have is the right to shut the fuck up.

Some of you might not make it. We have a word for those people. It’s “weak.” If you are weak, there is a place for you in this world, and that place is the bottom of the barrel. If you want to rise to the top as a man and a brother of this house, it’s going to take a little more than the pathetic effort you’ve exerted thus far. I am your motivatior, and if you think you’re going to fail, you already have.

Hope your knees and elbows are ready, shitsticks, because that’s just the beginning of the pain I plan to unleash on you. Welcome to hell, where only the men come back alive.

Signed,
Your Worst Nightmare

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StuffFratPeopleLike

StuffFratPeopleLike (@StuffFratsLike) is a writer for Total Frat Move, and due to his crippling OCD and functional alcoholism he can only understand and write text when presented in a numbered list format. So you're all jerks for calling him out on it. He is a self described Huguenot, and commands a secret sexual fetish for angry internet comments. All shameless praise can be directed to: joe@grandex.co

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