Dear Spring Pledge
Dear spring pledge,
It’s ok. I understand. You probably went home over the break and got hazed by your old high school friends. They all joined top-tier fraternities and you’re still a worthless geed. They still let you hang out, but while they talk about slamming sorority girls in toga orgies, you reminisce on nights spent slamming Four Loko trying to dodge the RA while scampering girlishly between dorm rooms. Your buddies swap stories from pledgeship and fight over who had it worse, and occasionally you laugh to let them know you’re still there. That’s when the harsh realization sets in: You offer nothing to society, and your friends and family would rather hang out with Nancy Grace than you.
Not to worry. Many fine fraternities offer a second-rate road to brotherhood known as spring pledgeship. Sure, everyone will call you a pussy and assume that you were too much of a bitch to join in the Fall, and for the rest of your life you’ll be labeled as a slapdick, but that’s what you get. At least you don’t have to set up for tailgate. Try not to think about the fact that a ravenous pack of haze-hungry, alcohol-fueled lunatics just got initiated and are chomping at the bit to make you cry like a schoolgirl. This is your life now. It’ll all be over in a short 16 weeks. Not counting hell week. At least you have Spring Break. Maybe.
By the way, we elected the white Ray Lewis as pledge trainer. He’s been blowing down small mountains of nose candy, and teen-wolfing handles of Kentucky Deluxe in a blackout fit of rage preparing for your arrival. At least you have one last chance at escaping a life of geedy mediocrity.
P.S. Fuck you.