The Inner Monologue Of A Fraternity Recruitment Chair At A Summer Rush Event

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Nice Move

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Awesome, it’s five minutes from when I told potentials to show up for this barbecue, and a total of three brothers have graced us with their presence. Shocking. None of these fucks are a good look for our organization. If I was rushing right now, and walked in on this miserable group of goobs, I’d be heading for the nearest exit faster than the lovechild of Mia Khalifa and Joey Chestnut would finish sliding a Ball Park frank down his or her gullet. Seriously, how did Todd slip through the cracks? Were we aware that kid existed when he was pledging? I don’t think he said one word before initiation. Now he can’t go to a single chapter meeting without chiming in on every motion with his unbearably useless input. Total boner.

Still haven’t heard from Jerry or Skinner. They went to Publix for supplies two hours ago. I guarantee they come back with just pallet after pallet of beer, but only like an eight-pack of burger patties. No buns or condiments, either.

I should probably go check the grill. When’s the last time we used it? Of course, we’re out of gas. Off to a scorching start. Get it together, Dan. You got this. Think.

“Hey Todd, I need you to make a propane run.”

Boom. Two birds. And look at this, brothers are starting to pile in. Glad you really dressed up, Maginnis. Are those sweatpants? In the middle of July? Whatever, buddy. Do you. Jesus Christ, Burris — you did not just walk in wearing florescent orange Chubbies, a camo blazer, and matching visor, did you? Yup, those shorts didn’t blind me, he did. He looks like Liberace at a Duck Dynasty fan convention.

At least Nicole and her sisters are here now. The girls brought three Chick-fil-A nugget platters? Caught a break there. Just need to keep brothers away from the nugs. Fucking savages will huddle around and devour those before a single PNM shows. I’ll call Jerry and Skins since they aren’t responding to texts. No answer. Figures. I should send someone else on a beer run.

“Hey, Burris.”

Pi Phis just rolled in. I need to get Jessica and her comically large cans sitting out front at the sign-in table. Or would it be better if she ran the slip ‘n slide? How is that even a question? Obviously the latter. Has anyone seen the hose? I just remember last seeing it when Corey was bonging margs off the roof for Cinco de Mayo. Yup, it’s still on the roof. Not that it matters, because McClure ripped out every outdoor spigot attached to the house last Summer. Getting those fixed wasn’t exactly high on the house improvement priority list, not that anything really is. Look at this dump. How the foundation hasn’t crumpled and sent the house crashing to the ground is beyond me. I guess we can just have the seven accepted bids run buckets of water back and forth from the house.

Great, Todd’s back.

“Yeah, just go fire up the grill now.”

PNMs are walking in. Go time. No. No. Kick rocks, kid. No. Eh, this guy looks alright. Pretty pathetic handshake you have there, buddy. Soccer player, huh? Makes sense. Well you’re about as interesting as a WNBA slam dunk competition.

“Good talking to you, man.”

Jess just popped her top off. That bikini leaves nothing to the imagination. Not that I’m complaining. I should go see if she needs any help, with anything. What a surprise, the little fresh out of high school hornballs are flocking her way.

Last few guys I’ve talked to have been solid. Really need to close on Tucker. High school QB and a 4.0 GPA? The whole long distance girlfriend is a buzzkill, though. I’m sure we can axe her out of the equation altogether with a few weeks of pledge education. Not that he’s getting a bid or anything just yet. Can’t come off as desperate.

The girls are really getting into the slip ‘n slide. Great showing all around, ladies. Other than Chelsea. That potato sack shaped grimace should not be rocking a two piece…or be at the house at all. Some things just can’t be unseen. Other than that, this is going much better than anticipated. I don’t want to stroke myself off just yet, but…

*a massive fireball chars the faces of Todd and some noodle-armed rushee who are standing dangerously close to the grill with lighter fluid*

What the fuck!

*screams of agony come from the other direction where Chelsea’s foot is barely dangling off her leg after crashing into the fence*

I hate my job.


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