As some of you may know, I’ve been a contributing writer for Total Frat Move since October of 2012 and spent last summer working in-office as a full-time intern/Dorn’s footrest.
Well, after what can only be described as the worst business decision since Steve Bald-mer dropped $45.8 zillion (or whatever ridiculous price he paid) on the Clippers, the higher-ups decided to bring me on to work full-time at TFM Headquarters in Austin, Texas, with yesterday being my first day on the job.
The vast majority of you, however, have no idea who the hell I am. The name “The DeVry Guy” means nothing to you. It takes up absolutely zero space in the expanse of your psyche, holding less weight than a Planned Parenthood outpatient.
That’s okay, though, because I’m here today to tell you all about the most important thing in the world. And no, it’s not the atrocities against humanity that Joseph Kony and his crew of dastardly evildoers are committing in Uganda every second of every day, though that is super important and I’ll probably get to it later (#KONY2013) – it’s me, Jared.
Life started on a small gator farm outside of Tampa, Florida. It was a pretty rough-and-tumble life, with a lot of unspoken rules. The alligators eat your little sister, you eat an alligator. The alligators eat your dog, you eat your little sister. It didn’t always make sense, but it was the life my father chose for us, and the only childhood I’ve ever known. I remained there until the start of high school, when my father had to close the gates after a ravaging swarm of Floridians ate our crops.
You might find it hard to believe (because I’m way frat now), but high school wasn’t an easy time for me. The kids would always call me mean names like “gator bait,” “fat fanny” and “pickle puffer,” so I decided to take my dad’s advice and punch the scrawniest, weakest guy there to assert my dominance. Long story frat, it turns out that the kid I chose to punch out was a hemophiliac who bled out not long after I hit him in the kisser and gave him a frat lip. I mean, how was I supposed to know he was a hemophiliac? He was already in a wheelchair for some sort of leg disfiguration; I’m not just going to assume that he was doubled down on diseases. I had some bad luck on that one. Got sent to the slammer. After a couple years in a Florida penitentiary, which was somehow nicer than the city it was in, even without the freedom and with the butt rape, I was released, and went on to earn my GED.
Now my dream was to go to college. But who would accept a gator farm-raised, cannibalistic, convicted felon whose only marketable skill was quelling the hemophiliac population?
DeVry University, that’s who.
Thanks to the world’s premier online university, I was able to get a world-class education from the comfort of my mom’s basement, and have fun doing it. My fraternity at DeVry, KSG (Kony Sucks, Guys), was top house. Check out some of the Total Online Frat Moves we used to pull and it’s pretty clear why.
After I turned 21 and could legally have sex for the first time, my college experience got even better! I made my dad proud by getting straight Cs, and used my acquired skills as the voice of what is and is not frat to secure a summer internship at Total Frat Move. Life was great, and remains great to this day. My Tinder game is at an all-time high thanks to your submissions, and I’m just loving life at my new job. The only thing that sucks about it is having to work with that Steve Holt fellow. Fucking dork.
So join me, fellow fratstars, in giving a warm welcome to me. Your new homeboy. Your new messiah. Your new frat lord.
Damn glad to meet you..