Beta Delta House Versus The Anti-Greek Protestors, Part 4

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Megaphone in-hand, Mitch Boener took the stage to resume leading the protest against the brothers of Beta Delta at Smithtown University. After Tumbling Pebble magazine published an article alleging the decapitation of a pet goat at the hands of the Beta Delta chapter at Oakton University, Mitch used the whirlwind of anti-Greek sentiment to rally students against his school’s chapter, too.

The brothers watched from their windows in anticipation, knowing that after Pudge’s successful undercover recon mission, Mitch had unwittingly consumed a cup of water loaded with enough Viagra to torque an asexual elephant.

Mitch cleared his throat and bellowed into the megaphone.

“Friends and fellow progressives! We have been plagued by the scourge of conformity and privilege known as ‘Greek Life’ (he made quotation marks with his free hand) for far too long!”

The crowd howled in agreement.

“We have sat idly by and allowed their blatant goatism to run rampant through our campus for generations. But now, it is time to take a stand!”

The Viagra started to work its magic on Mitch’s body, sending a rush of blood to the tip of his penis.

“I will not rest until I see the letters stripped from this house of corruption and exclusivity! If that means staying out here for weeks, then I say let’s pitch our tents now!”

A small bump in Mitch’s jorts began to rise just below his waist.

“Can you feel that, my friends? The yearning inside of you? The yearning for change? Harness it. Grab it as tight as you can and milk it for all it’s worth!”

The bump in his pants had grown to its full potential, pushing the inseam of his already tight jorts to the limit. A few people in the audience started to snicker.

“That yearning has been inside of me since I came to this fine school. But I was too afraid to act. I kept my desire to make a difference bottled up inside me. There it stayed… aching, THROBBING to get out.”

Several protestors were now pointing and laughing. Still blissfully unaware of the scene going on beneath his belt, Mitch paced back and forth as he spoke, causing the drug-induced mass to wag like a dog’s tail.

“It got to the point where I couldn’t take it anymore. I was ready to blow!”

Half the crowd had their phones out, recording the spectacle. Thinking that he must have been doing a damn good job, Mitch decided to really throw himself into the finale.

“So, I finally decided to do something about it — but I can’t bring down the marble columns of patriarchy alone. Lend me your hands, and help me finish this job! Rise with me, fellow students! RISE! RISE!”

The entire crowd was now laughing hysterically. Mitch stood there, completely baffled. Another protestor called to him from the side of the stage.


Mitch looked at him. The protestor covered his grin with one hand and pointed downward with the other. Mitch glanced down. Then back up at the sea of people roaring with laughter. He just stood there for a moment, as stiff and red as his penis. He covered his lap with his hands and waddled offstage as quickly as he could.

“Walk it off, man. I’ll take over from here,” the protestor said, snagging the megaphone.

Inside the Beta Delta House, the brothers high-fived and cheered in victory.

“Moe, you genius sonofabitch!” Kevin said.

“I know, I know. But I couldn’t have done it without the tender care and support of my lovely girl Megan,” Moe said, jiggling Pudge’s man tit.

“You guys fucking owe me. Big time,” Pudge said, wiping the mascara off his face with a towel.

“We still don’t know where the hell Schmitty is, though,” Kevin said. He looked out the window. “I wonder…”

The crowd continued laughing wildly. Mitch sat off to the side of the stage with his face in his hands, utterly mortified. He stayed like that for a while, listening to his substitute bark rhetoric into the megaphone. About thirty minutes went by. His hands were still glued to his face, but he could hear that the protest was quieting down. He looked up to see a rapidly dwindling crowd. One by one, the protestors looked at their phones, then left.

“What’s going on!?” Mitch stood up, which prompted laughs at his still raging erection from a few people nearby. “Where is everyone going!?”

Just then, his phone buzzed. It was a notification from Tumbling Pebble. Mitch swiped open the article.

“A Note to Our Readers” the headline read.

Mitch’s mouth dropped as he continued to read. As it turned out, the girl who told Tumbling Pebble that the Beta Delta chapter at Oakton decapitated its pet goat as part of a cruel pledge ritual had made the whole thing up. After analyzing the bloody fingerprints at the scene of the crime, investigators determined that she murdered the goat and framed the fraternity to get revenge on a cheating ex-boyfriend.

Mitch was fed up. He just wanted to find his girl, go home, and wait for the campus to forget all about the terrible day.

“Has anyone seen Jessica?” he called out.

“Uuh…I saw her leave a while ago,” someone responded.

Lightning crashed overhead, and a heavy rain began to fall. Mitch trudged home. Defeated. Wet. Hard as a rock. A car drove by, splashing him as it drove over a puddle.

“MITCH BONER HAHAH!” someone shouted from the passenger seat.

Mitch finally reached his apartment. He noticed a pair of Vans he’d never seen before next to the doormat. As he pressed his keys into the lock, he heard his girlfriend shouting.

“Ohh Schmitty! Fuck me! Fuck me!”

“Jessica!?” Mitch called.

He flung open the door to find his girlfriend stark naked, bent over the kitchen table with another man pounding her from behind. The two stopped and looked at him.

“This is what you get for chatting up that fat whore at the protest, asshole!” Jessica said.

“Uhhh, hey,” Schmitty said.

Mitch stormed out of the apartment and slammed the door behind him. He walked aimlessly along a campus sidewalk. The rain continued to pour. Suddenly, a pick-up truck pulled up beside him.

“Hey douchebag, nice piece!” Kevin called.

Mitch put his hand in his pocket and attempted to wrestle his lap hog to the side of his leg.

“What do you want?” Mitch responded. “You couldn’t possibly bring me any lower.”

“I’m guessing you saw the latest Tumbling Pebble article,” Kevin said.

Mitch looked at the wet ground.

“Why did you do it?” Kevin asked. “Why go through all the trouble to stage a protest in front of our house? What do you have against fraternities?”

Mitch continued to look at the ground, his face wet with rain and tears.

“Honestly?” Mitch asked.

“Yeah,” Kevin said. “Honestly.”

Mitch took a deep breath.

“Because you guys never gave me a bid,” he said. “I went to all the rush parties. I wore the preppy clothes. I talked about how many girls I banged and how much I loved hunting and mudding and fishing – even though none of those things are true.”

“Mitch, dude, you just tried too hard.”

“But the student union. The protestors. Those guys respected me. They looked up to me. And now I don’t even have them.”

Mitch continued to stare at the ground, watching a puddle form beneath his feet. Then, he heard a metallic cracking sound. He looked up to see the door of the pick-up truck open. Kevin extended a hand holding an open beer.

“Get in.”

The End.

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