The hipster protest outside of the Beta Delta house, sparked by the Tumbling Pebble article alleging the murder of a goat by a different chapter, continued to escalate. A live goat was now tied to the fence, his mouth covered in duct tape with the words “VICTIM” scribbled on it. A woman wearing nothing but faux goat horns splashed about in a kiddie pool filled with blood, shouting “Frats are baaaahhd!” The rest of the crowd, led by the president of the student union, Mitch Boener, chanted in unison, “Yes all goats! Yes all goats! Yes all goats!”
Inside the house, the brothers of Beta Delta continued to formulate their plan of attack.
“So Moe, what are we gonna do with a fistful of boner pills?” Kevin asked.
“Simple, look at those water coolers out there,” Moe said.
To combat the stifling, late-spring temperatures, a row of blue water coolers were placed on a table by the protestors.
“We fill a cup of water with enough Viagra to get Hugh Heffner through every bunny on his ranch, and give it to Mitch,” Moe said. “Then, he gets a raging erection in front of the whole student union and drops out of school due to crippling humiliation.”
“I like it!” Pudge said. The heat had started to take a toll on the husky brother’s tight pink polo, which had dark patches forming under his arms and man boobs.
“Okay, but how do we sneak into the protest without getting caught – let alone get Mitch to drink from a cup we give him?” Kevin asked.
Moe put a hand to his chin and looked out the window at the crowd. He contemplated the best means of delivering the cargo to its target, when one of the protestors caught his eye. She was the epitome of humanitarian, feminist protestor: short, pink bowl cut, three chins, thick-rimmed glasses, and flattened, triangle-shaped titties.
“Well?” Pudge asked.
Moe turned to look at Pudge, then back to the girl. Then back to Pudge. Then back to the girl again. He walked up to Pudge and jiggled his flattened, triangle-shaped man breast.
“Dude what the fuck!?” Pudge smacked his hand away.
“Squints,” Moe said to a scrawny kid in a blazer sweeping beer cans in the corner. “I’m gonna need to borrow your glasses… and that pink wig we made you wear on Halloween.”
Back at his dormitory, Schmitty rifled through his GDI roommate’s closet until he found the perfect ensemble to win over the insanely hot hipster chick he saw in the crowd of activists: a pair of Vans, skinny jeans, and a Modest Mouse t-shirt. He threw on the clothes, looked in the mirror, and rehearsed his opening lines.
“Isn’t Americana so nostalgic?… Oh, you like this?… It’s chill, I guess. Got it at the Goodwill on seventh… What’s your favorite Modest Mouse album?”
He fired a few hand pistols at his reflection, then he was out the door and on his way to the protest.
TO BE CONTINUED….
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