Essential Fraternity Events: Stripper Night

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Essential Fraternity Events: Stripper Night

Every chapter in the country has its own iconic social traditions and uniquely absurd annual parties, but some events needs to be included on the social calendar of each and every chapter, nationwide. These events are staples of our hallowed fraternity lifestyle, and they’re some of the wildest, most popular events of the year, regardless of where you pledge.

One event in particular unites fraternity members across America in an unforgettable way: stripper night.

Unsettling, raunchy, and so degrading to women that Susan B. Anthony rolls in her grave each time a drunken active throws a dollar onstage, stripper night reveals the true colors of every brother in attendance. Some say you can’t truly know a man until you’ve seen him blackout, but I say you don’t really know him until you’ve seen him on stripper night.

This should go without saying, but before attending stripper night you should partake in at least two solid hours of drinking in order to delay the inevitable guilt complex that comes with watching someone’s daughter sit on your entire pledge class’s collective face. With that said, if you pregame stripper night as you should, and completely melt away all of your morals, there is nothing funnier than watching a fat fifth year senior try to refrain from pitching a tent in his pants during a lap dance, or cheering on the chapter president as he licks whipped cream from the thighs of a mediocre looking middle-aged woman.

But with every hilarious moment on stripper night, there comes another moment when you realize exactly how creepy some of your friends truly are. There’s that one active who tries to take a lap dance too far and gets backhanded by a feisty stripper, the other who yells obscenities nonstop throughout the entire show, and worst of all — the guy who doesn’t say a word the entire time. He just sits, staring silently at the girls as they go about their business, with no expression on his face. It’s incredibly unsettling.

For the first 30 to 45 minutes, stripper night is great, provided you don’t get two girls who look like they hit their peak during the Reagan administration, but after a while, to put it plainly, shit gets weird. Whether one of the ladies vaginally lifts a dollar from the mouth of an active who hasn’t spread a pair of legs in months, or a JI on all fours gets slapped with a dildo, things start getting out of hand. This is when most brothers reveal their true sexual colors. The drunkest, horniest and most depraved motherfuckers stick around, while the guys who didn’t drink enough to completely erase the moral foundation their parents attempted to instill in them quickly file towards the exits. Regardless of what category you fall into, you’re bound to view a few of your friends in a different light after stripper night.

So here’s to a night that is a crucial fundamental to fraternal debauchery everywhere, but one that’ll leave you either violently throwing up behind the house or celebrating as the drunkest active escorts a stripper to his room, post-show, for a personal “overtime.”

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