My Pledge Brother Was A British Exchange Student Who Dominated His American College Experience

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The fall of my freshman year, one of my pledge brothers was a foreign exchange student from Britain. Let’s call him Barnaby, which isn’t even close to his real name but it’s the most stereotypical British name I can think of.

Anyway, Barnaby’s exchange program had him in the states for only two semesters, yet he still made the bold decision to spend half that time as a pledge, driving around hammered upperclassmen and shouting fraternity factoids from the bows and toes position. Maybe he was some sort of masochist. Or maybe he just really wanted to get the authentic American experience that only a fraternity at a large southern college can offer – a full immersion into a lifestyle rivaled in England only by soccer hooligans and rugby squads. But most likely, he knew that joining the party-centric fraternity scene provided the best platform for him to utilize his magical ability to turn even the driest, most standoffish of vaginas into a sopping mess. I’m talking, of course, about his British accent.

In a sea of southern drawls with varying degrees of laziness, Barnaby’s posh, clipped accent stuck out like a sore thumb – a sore thumb that every woman wanted rubbing against her clit. Sure, when brother Hoopie talked about running the family farm in his lowcountry croon, he could make a girl from Jersey hotter’n a cat on a tin roof. But country boys are a dime a dozen in South Carolina, and after a girl from north of the Mason Dixon fucked a few of them without landing her Josh Turner music video dream date of frolicking hand-in-hand through a field of cotton (or even getting a text before 1 a.m.), she realized that southern gentility was nothing more than a myth, at least in college.

Enter Barnaby. The myth of the classy British gent will always be alive and thriving in the psyche of the American girl (we have pop culture’s five-year-long obsession with the royal wedding to thank for that). His accent automatically made him seem sensitive and sophisticated in a woman’s eye, like strumming a guitar and singing “Wonderwall,” but not forced and toolish.

On the surface, he looked like any other frat boy. But when he opened his mouth and a bunch of limey Britishisms fell out, every woman at the party was his. I once saw him get laid after walking up to a girl and saying “hi.” That’s it. Just “hi.” She immediately took him by the hand and led him to the loo.

Sure, there were some cultural barriers. Towards the beginning, Barnaby plowed ugly chicks almost exclusively. This is because British women are less attractive than American women (United States ancestors fucked more minorities, thus creating a hotter gene pool – it’s basic eugenics). He simply hadn’t yet realized that he didn’t have to settle for snaggle-toothed pale bitches anymore. But once we told him that his British heritage made him the male equivalent of the girl with fat titties and tiny pink nipples, his sexual pedigree skyrocketed from 4s and 5s to 8s and 9s.

There were also the times where we had no idea what the fuck he was saying. “Me teach told me to do bits ‘n’ bobs ‘round the class but I’m not goin’ arse over tit for that gobby duff, so I told her to git stoffed.” Dude, what? I might be exaggerating here, but he did say “garage” like “ga-rage” with the “ar” how we’d pronounce it when saying “arrow.” Whenever he did, all we had to do was remind him to stop being a homo and call it a “ga-RAWge” like a normal goddamn person. We called him a redcoat, too, but only after he banged a girl on her period in the common room. You couldn’t have asked for a better coincidence with that one. One time he bought a trucker hat to try and blend in with the southern culture. Every time he put it on his head we’d shout “GRYFFINDOR!” British people are dope.

I guess the moral of the story is this: If you have the chance to bid a British kid, do it. He’ll pull all kinds of strange to your parties. Just make sure you keep him away from the one you want. But even if he does Brexit the party with the fit bird you had an eye on, you can always make fun of him for losing the Revolutionary War.

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