The Time We Tricked Our Asshole Brother Into Thinking He Had Gonorrhea

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Nice Move

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We used to call Jake the “Real Johnny Drama.” He had a brother two years younger who looked adopted, slayed like Vinny Chase, and played football at an ACC school. Jake, on the other hand, should’ve been flattered having his mongoloid appearance compared to Kevin Dillon. He realized himself “breakup sex” was the only type of sex he had, too.

But Jake wasn’t the affable kid every house has that realizes he might as well stay home and get drunk for free as opposed to wasting his time hogging at the bar. He was headstrong, insecure, and feigned the most obnoxious arrogance I’ve ever encountered. Worse than Mark after the Calvin Klein ads.

Anyway, by Junior year his entire strategy had changed. Instead of striking out with 6s and 7s, he turned his attention to underclassman 2s and 3s, utilizing his shockingly legitimate tier one status as a smoke screen for his block head and unholy intentions. In doing this, he thought a next morning narrative featuring an invented “sexiest girl at the bar” in his bed would go unchecked, believed, and lauded.

What Jake didn’t understand is we were all privy to his antics. Jake would separate gradually from the group as we approached women he knew he had no chance with, only to reappear in the morning with a story and a smile. He was a phenomenal liar, and basically the personification of sexual affirmative action: giving the less fortunate a ride.

Now, this is not to say Jake never had sex. In fact, it was the exact opposite. But this isn’t what bothered us. It was the incessant lying, the unending arrogance, and the claims of almost nightly buttstuff nobody in the straight community could accomplish. Like Bernie Sanders, he had taken his lies too fucking far.

So me being the guy I am, I decided it was time to teach him a little lesson. One morning, in front of my girlfriend at the time, Jake was vividly describing his supposed “anal plucking” of a “legitimate fucking dime dude” the night before. Though he knew nothing about this girl, a trademark of Jake lies would be incredibly well thought out sexual revelations, but forgetting details such as the girl’s name, greek affiliation, class year, etc. Actually, in hindsight, that’s kind of a TFM.

Anyway, this girl disappeared after supposedly existing, never to be seen again. We didn’t buy it, but thought this was the ultimate opportunity to either expose Jake, or put him through a much-deserved day of hell. Come on guys, he was “that guy” nobody could believe got a bid anyway. Maybe we’d all learn something about safe sex along the way, too.

My girlfriend texted her sorority sister from Indiana, who had the same area code as the school we went to. She unlinked her cell number from her social media, making a search of the number totally inconsequential. We fed her an extremely simple script: “Jake, hi I’m sorry but it’s me from the other night. I really need to tell you something, it’s personal. Can you talk?”
The conversation went on throughout the day, as Jake squirmed in the basement, we refused to disclose what parasite was supposedly inhabiting his most sensitive areas. Suddenly, he bursted into my room like the Tazmanian Devil.

“Bro you’re not going to fucking believe this!”

“What? Knock next time what the — ”

“Dude, seriously. This girl from the other night, I think she’s trying to tell me she’s sick or something. Fuck I don’t know.”

“Like with a cold or what?”

“No, not with a fucking cold! With like syphilis or herpes or some shit I don’t know I don’t fucking know she won’t tell me, this bitch is driving me insane!”

“Calm down Jake, seriously, you used a condom right?” I asked, despite Jake frequently boasting about not using a condom since 2009.

“No man, fuck! Fuck! I knew she was fucking dirty. I had one in the fucking dresser but then I thought oh I can’t I’m drunk I’ll get whiskey dick it’ll be a whole thing.”

“Ok man just relax, you’re fine, the only way you can get the really really bad shit is through shit, you didn’t ass fuck her did you?”

“Of course I plucked! What do you mean really bad shit?? What the fuck are you talking about.”

“Listen Jake, you’re fine, get a fucking z-pack and move on, just find out what it is from her.”

He slammed the door.

At this point, my girlfriend started to feel a little guilty, but when the other brothers found out (and suggested telling him he had HIV), she realized Jake’s about as well liked as Sasha Grey’s Entourage performance. We push forward without giving him any specifics, instead suggesting we meet in person to discuss what was going on. Jake was in an incredibly tough spot here. He sincerely didn’t remember “her” name, perhaps proving his sexual conquests really are as impersonal as he claimed. He didn’t doubt something happened, and he knew if she fucked him she was a definite slut. It all didn’t add up.

My girlfriend had some bullshit to do (class I guess?) so I went downstairs to assess the mental state of our abhorred brother. I found him halfway to a Mist-ridden abyss (about a pint deep in Canadian Mist) discussing the shortcomings and regrets of his young sexual past.

“Man, I knew fucking random hot girls would catch up to me one day, shit, I should’ve put my dick through the dishwasher after this one. A real semen demon she was.” He took another swig.

“You seriously just need to relax Jake, worst case you’re in a rubber for a week or two and then right back in the game,” I said.

“Back in the game?” Jake perked up. “I am the fucking game, pal. Listen, Siblings of Mark Wahlberg, I really appreciate you talking to me about this shit and keeping it between us, I know we haven’t always gotten along, but I really do appreciate it.”

“Of course man, what are brothers for?”

Before everyone bashes the fuck out of me for this, let me remind you this idiot nearly got us thrown off campus entirely for setting up an iPhone in the corner of our basement bathroom during an anything but clothes party. Then bragged about it via email, while accidentally cc’ing the entire party list. He was thrown out of our chapter and barred from the house the next year. Perspective is everything.

At this point Jake is near blackout, and it’s time to “meet” his anal-loving one nighter with the petri dish orifices.

“You mind driving me bro?” he asked. “I’m kind of fucked up.”

“Yea, not a problem.”

We pulled out of the frat castle, one of us giddy, the other barely conscious, on our way to what Jake thought was his moment of truth. Little did he know, essentially our entire pledge class awaited his arrival, day drinking on the patio of a nearby restaurant to celebrate his imagined misery.

He stumbled inside, inadvertently assaulting the hostess in his attempt to stand. “I’m so sorry, so so sorry, I’m looking for a girl she should be here sitting somewhere by now I think she’s here, this girl.”

“I’m sorry, what?” The hostess was alarmingly befuddled.

“She’s outside man, don’t worry,” I smile at the hostess, realizing her coldness is well warranted, after our encounter the previous weekend I have completely forgotten her. Apparently she’s still disappointed.

“Come on Jake, let’s go.” I tried to scurry him away. Now I felt extremely uncomfortable as well, dragging him towards the door to the patio.

“I don’t know man,” he slurred an indecipherable string of nonsense. “I really needed rubbers.”

As I opened the door, our brothers shouted in unison, “Gonorrhea!”

Even then, in his state of stupefying drunkenness, Jake realized his chickens had come home to roost. Like Hilary Clinton’s testimony before congress: this had all been a total lie.

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