Go Easy On Your Risk Manager

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Nice Move

The Perils Of Not Giving The Risk Manager A Bid

It was a Tuesday night, and just like every Tuesday night, Woody stumbled back to the Alpha house from dollar shots at Patty’s with a BAC high enough to kill a Wooly Mammoth and a half-eaten Jimmy Johns in hand. As soon as Woody crossed the threshold into the house, he was greeted by the raucous cheers of all of his brothers. That is, all but one.

Ever since Chase watched the beloved kids television show Recess and empathized with Randal Weems, he knew he was destined to be a risk manager. Whether it was ending the long-standing practice of duct-taping pledges to various university landmarks or canceling the highly anticipated Eskimo brothers cocktail, Chase was a thorn in the side of nearly every brother. This was especially the case when it came to his relationship with Woody, as in our hero’s quest to make the most of his college years he often created fires that Chase would have to put out (sometimes literally).

Chase sneered as Woody entered and began ranting about when he would pay for the hole in the wall formed during the most recent impromptu pledge jousting tournament. Woody handled interactions with Chase in a manner similar to when his most slams asked to define the relationship, and as such, Chase was thoroughly ignored while Woody located the nearest bottle of off-brand tequila. This game of cat and mouse continued until Woody decided that his Mexican death juice would be better enjoyed in his room watching reruns of Entourage.

Woody climbed the stairs to the third story of the house, and as he was about to enter his room, he noticed that the composite of the founding fathers was crooked. Upon straightening it, a secret passageway appeared, which Woody eagerly followed , pausing a few times to piss. At the end passage, there was a large machine with a message inscribed: “Ye of inebriated mind and once athletic body have been deemed worthy of access to the Alpha House Time Machine. Enjoy its blessings, and remember, with frat power comes frat responsibility.” The small portion of Woody’s mind that was still functioning began to swim. “The possibilities,” he thought. “I could fuck Marilyn Monroe. I could party with Ben Franklin… I could fuck Marilyn Monroe.” As he began to delve into detail about the things he would do to Marilyn, he realized what he needed to do for the good of his brothers and fraternity: prevent Chase from ever getting a bid. With this thought in mind, he set the date to Chase’s bid night.

A flash of bright light engulfed Woody and he opened his eyes and looked down from the third story to a line of young men clothed in blazers and khakis standing outside the front door. Quickly, Woody donned a fake mustache and wig while dousing himself in vodka and shame regarding the 1982 Olympic semi-final hockey game in order to impersonate Vlad, a well-known Russian brother. He ran down the stairs to the front door, only stopping to admire a gorgeous woman that had been attempting to discretely leave what was then his room. Once he arrived at the door, he pulled Chase aside and yelled at him in broken English until Chase finally got the message and left the house. With his mission complete, Woody was engulfed in a ball of light.

It was a Tuesday night, and just like every Tuesday night, Woody stumbled back to the Alpha house from dollar shots at Patty’s with a BAC high enough to kill a Wooly Mammoth and a half-eaten Jimmy Johns in hand. As Woody approached the house, excited to see how his great triumph had affected the fraternity he loved, he began to realize something was wrong. His proud letters no longer hung on the house, and the number combination of 6969 was unable to open the door. Confused, Woody knocked on the door only to see a shaggy-haired hipster open it.

“What the fuck are you doing in the Alpha house?” Woody politely inquired.
“Alpha house? They got kicked off campus last year, man. This is a vegan commune/hacky sack training facility now,” the hippie replied. Stunned, Woody staggered back and let out a scream so loud it knocked the hippie over, causing him to land in his kale garden.

Hoping for answers, Woody ran to his pledge brother Juice’s off-campus apartment. “Woody, what’s up, man? I haven’t seen you all semester.” Juice greeted.

“Dude, what happened to the Alpha house?” Woody demanded.
“Fuck you, man. You know that our risk manager Kyle green lit a Cowboy’s and Indians mixer that was somehow offensive to the one Native American girl that goes to this school”.

It was then that Woody realized what his actions had done. Chase may have been a prick, but he wanted what was best for the fraternity. Without him, the Alphas were as wild as a Disney child actor once they hit 18. Woody took a deep breath: “Juice, this is gonna sound crazy but you have to believe me…” When Woody finished his story, they both realized what they had to do.

Armed with a thirty rack of Natty Light each, they charged to take back their house, fighting through scores of vegans that put up little to no resistance at all due to their distinct lack of protein. Once Woody got to the third story, he gave Juice one last look and was engulfed by a bright light.

It was a Tuesday night, and just like every Tuesday night, Woody stumbled back to the Alpha house from dollar shots at Patty’s with a BAC high enough to kill a Wooly Mammoth and a half-eaten Jimmy Johns in hand. As soon as Woody crossed the threshold into the house, he was greeted by the raucous cheers of all of his brothers. He frantically looked across the room for Chase, and when finally laid eyes upon him berating an active for shipping a pledge’s textbooks to Guatemala, he couldn’t help but smile. He wanted to go up to Chase and tell him that he was wrong, that from now on things would be different between them — that is until Chase sneered at him and took a deep breath to begin his tirade.

“Fuck you, Chase.”

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