3:37 PM EST
This is my party house. There are many like it, but this one is mine.
My party house is beset on all sides by the selfishness and drunken ambivalence to destruction that resides in the hearts of underclassmen. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds those drunken bastards through the halls of my party house.
Quoth the Risk Management Chair: Get the fuck out of my house, or I will roundhouse kick your buddy’s head so hard that it will cause a black hole to open up and destroy the universe.
Spectacles, testicles, wallet, and flask. Amen.
9:30 PM EST
I round up my Risk Management Team and we start our pre-party ritual of doing a power-hour with Steel Reserve. I hand each of them their respective Chuck E. Cheese twisty straws, except New-Guy Derek, who hasn’t yet managed to complete the final step of bouncer initiation. To be fair to Derek, the new guy that they hired to wear that damned mouse costume was pretty fucking fast. He will get it eventually. Until then he drinks from the bendy-straw of shame.
For posterities sake, I will explain the rules of our Risk Management power hour:
Rule 1: Hands must be tied behind the back prior to the beginning of the power hour.
Rule 2: At the beginning of the game, players must drink their entire forty of Steel Reserve through their respective straw, any players drinking through the bendy straw of shame must stand on one leg while drinking.
Rule 3: After a player finishes his forty, he is allowed ninety seconds to attempt to free his hands of their binding.
Rule 4a: If the player can successfully remove his binding, then he is given one last forty which he must finish before the game is over.
Rule 4b: If the player cannot free his hands from the binding, he is given another forty to drink through the straw.
Rule 5: Players who have freed themselves and finished the final forty are allowed to impede the progress of other players who have not yet unbound their hands, but the impeder is not allowed to physically touch the still-bound players or their beverages.
Rule 6: The game is over under three conditions: 1) All players finish their final forty. 2) Sixty minutes elapse. 3) A simple majority of players vomit.
10:30 PM EST
We have finished our power hour. I, as usual, was the first unbound and done with my final forty — no surprises there. I assigned each person their zone: I’m on roamer/bar. Whitetail gets main floor. Rocky Bullwinkle takes stairs/upper floors. New-Guy Derek is on gate duty. I gave New-Guy Derek the official gatekeeper pink fluorescent shirt. We each take our radios and move to our stations.
10:45 PM EST
I sent out a mass text to the President, the Social Chair, the Treasurer, and all of the attractive Sigmas next door that the house will open in five minutes. The President called me but I didn’t pick up. I don’t want to get another lecture about the how, “the risk management chair shouldn’t throw parties on Tuesdays that he doesn’t tell any other brothers about until five minutes before the doors open.”
I’m the fucking risk management chair, and goddammit, if the drunken wildcards have too much time to prepare for a party I can’t effectively manage the risk. This usually leads to the brothers chugging copious amounts of cheap liquor to catch up, which doesn’t sound like a good thing, but from a risk-management perspective, I can deal with a Katyusha salvo early into the siege much better than a synchronized tactical nuclear strike near the end.
10:50 PM EST
The doors are open open, New-Guy Derek gave me a report on all of the potential issues that are currently entering the party. There is one potential ne’er-do-well that he claims has the shine in his eyes. I inform him the rest of the team to keep their wits about them.
That’s why I brought Derek onto the Risk Management Team, even though he’s a sophomore he has the risk-awareness of a battle-hardened senior. He may even be my replacement some day.
11:13 PM EST
Derek made the right call, the little asshole that he picked out at the door is attempting to start a fight with one of the blackout brothers. I called Rocky Bullwinkle down to help me deal with the situation.
11:17 PM EST
The little asshole should have thought twice about trying to walk into our party and start something. One of the brother’s caught my tackle on video, and we’ve been able to locate the exact moment where the kid shit his pants. We called a cab for him to take shit-pants home and I even paid for it. I’m counting that as one of my community service hours.
12:00 PM EST
The party has run smoothly since shit-pants was escorted out, most of the wildcards have been. There is a blonde who has been eyeing me ever since I put the hit on that kid. I’m moving Rocky Bullwinkle down to the main floor, and assigning Whitetail bar duty. I think I’m going to aggressively manage this girl’s risk up in my room…
12:12 PM EST
Risk Managed. Metaphorically and vaginally speaking, I mean. The house is a fucking disaster.