12 Days of Frat Christmas

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Sure, you’ve heard the original song about a guy with a slightly disturbing fetish for obscure birds. You’ve also probably heard the redneck rendition, with its glorious chorus proclaiming “FIVE FLANNEL SHIRTS!” But today, ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to take a step back and examine just what the 12 Days of Frat Christmas would entail. There are plenty of things out there that frat people like, but the following list captures the true essence of what it means to be Greek, and an all around badass individual. If any of my female readers want to help me with the list (particularly numbers 9, 3, and 2) feel free to contact me for further instructions.

12 Pack of Yuengling

Yuengling is a delicious lager that I don’t think I could live without, and also happens to be one of the best cheap American beers available. This is actually unfortunate, because America’s oldest beer is rarely (if ever) sold west of the Mississippi River. For those of my readers who have never basked in the amber excellence that constitutes a Yuengling Lager, let me be the first to tell you: I’m sorry for your loss.

11 Pledges Pledging

One of the worst parts of Christmas break is the lack of the free indentured servitude we hold so dearly. If I could have a personal batch of pledges to cater to my every whim, not only would I be significantly more productive, I would be thoroughly entertained in the process. Sure, my little brothers do the short-term trick, but a double-digit batch of personal pledges can accomplish so much more.

10 Milligrams of Addy

Fuck you before you can even you say it. (“Only 10? You’re a pussy.”) I’m adjusting a Christmas song into a column. While we’ve all built up nearly insurmountable tolerances during the turmoil of final exams, in a few short weeks our inhibited response to the wonder drug will be no more. We all know in order to make New Years truly memorable, two things are required: 1) not sleeping, and 2) drinking more than any living thing should. My good friend Vitamin A is the perfect supplement to a night worth remembering, that you probably won’t.

9 Weekly Blowjobs

Am I selfish? Maybe. But in the words of the ever poetic wordsmiths of our era, Three-6-Mafia, “I love having sex, but I’d rather get some head.” While I’m all for a little slit slam session, it’s hard to beat the pure satisfaction that arises from some good old-fashioned dome. Getting nine blowies a week may seem a little extreme, but think about it. One a day isn’t that bad, and since there are far fewer obligations on the weekend, it isn’t that ridiculous to expect a double whammy.

8 Cans of Grizzly

Women may scoff. My mother may shake her head in disgust. But last time I checked, listening to women was pretty low on my priority list. You haven’t experienced a true night out until you’ve drunkenly popped open that green tin cylinder, taken a whiff of that fresh “new can” smell, and thrown in a horseshoe that would make Seabiscuit cower in fear. While there is plenty of debate over the preferred brand of smokeless tobacco, I find that anyone who isn’t a desperate tryhard with the gums of a 4-year-old sticks to Copenhagen or Grizzly. If you see someone packing a fresh can of Skoal Apple Pouches, feel free to punch them directly in their fallopian tubes.

7 Shots of Something

Sometimes asking, “What’s in this shot?” is completely unnecessary. In life, you will be handed many vessels of alcohol. Some you will know, some you will not. Some will taste good, and some will taste like a microwaved jar of spoiled butter mixed with sour cream. Half of the fun is never really knowing what you’re going to get, or how strong the liver poison will be. Don’t be a bitch.

6 Thousand New Freshmen

One of the major downsides of the upcoming spring semester is the general attitude of bottom-of-the-barrel underclassmen. Because they’ve spent a few months on our hallowed campus, suddenly these children think that they understand just what college is all about, and began to carry themselves with a completely undeserved, triumphant attitude. This is the time of year that I begin eagerly waiting a fresh new batch of frosh. The new guys are completely clueless and fall victim to every pledging mindfuck, while the girls are as naive, innocent, and corruptible as they’ll ever be. The countdown to August starts now, but in the meantime I guess we’ll just have to work a little harder to slay some 18-to-19-year-old poon tang.

5 Polo Tees

Visit fraternity rows around the country, and you are bound to see plenty of similarities. Plenty of polo shirts, bright colors, and topsiders will follow the Greeks on campus like an aura of douche following Ryan Lochte. While there are countless options for preferred garments in our community, none are as versatile as the ever-present Ralph Lauren Polo T-shirt. Simple, yet elegant, these shirts combine a sense of “Yes, I’m better than you” with an undeniable sense of casual not-giving-a-fuck-ness. They come in more colors than a sexually aroused unicorn, and are perfect for nearly any occasion life throws at you.

4 Old Four Lokos

Ah, Four Lokos. A disgusting concoction of caffeine, malted alcohol, and what I can only assume was a proprietary blend of Smurf semen and steroids. While the Lokos of today are but a shadow of their former selves, if you look hard enough there are probably still some original 24oz cans lurking in the depths of your campus. Original Lokos were both strong, and undeniably dangerous. You didn’t just black out after a night of Four Loko abuse. You became a deadly force of fury and destruction, with absolutely no regard for any lesser beings in your path. You didn’t drink Four Loko because you wanted to have a casual night of drinking. You drank Four Loko when remembering the next 6-8 hours was a completely optional affair.

3 Horny Zetas

They say “Only the Best Get Crowned,” and on most college campuses this seems to be the case. While many other sororities are renowned their sisterhood and overall sense of togetherness, the women of Zeta Tau Alpha, above all else, tend to just be smokeshows. Sure, they might have great bonds of sisterhood, but I’m too busy thinking about getting them naked to care about petty things like “unity.” The only unity I’m interested in is the symbiotic bond we can form with our lower regions. Three might seem excessive, but wanting a threesome is so played out. I’m shooting for the fences, and a triple-blowie seems like an appropriate place to lay my sights.

2 Double D’s

First and foremost, I’m an ass man. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t enjoy a pillowy cloud of big-breasted magnificence. While boobs of every shape and size are beautiful in their own right, the joy that comes with playing with a giant set of honkers is incomparable. Sometimes, I wonder how it is that large-breasted girls don’t just spend every waking hour of their day checking the various ways gravity affects their funbags. You can keep your television, video games, and magazines, give me a huge pair of tits to play with and I’ll die entertained.

And a Plastic Cup of Whiskey

Some of the best and worst nights of our collegiate lives start the same way: with an unmixed cup of cheap, vile, and potent hard liquor. The nights that accompany a cup of the oak-barreled firewater tend to be some of the most incredible and regrettable at the same time. Sometimes, mixers are just obstacles that need to be completely ignored. Sure, you could pull a classy move and casually sip whiskey from a fine glass, but when the liquor touches plastic, a strange reaction occurs. For some reason, combining our grandfather’s drink of choice with the non-biodegradable Solo cup forces you to violently chug the contents. You may feel like Hiroshima the next morning, but every time you raise that red plastic chalice to the sky you’ll know that the atomic hangover is worth every second.


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StuffFratPeopleLike

StuffFratPeopleLike (@StuffFratsLike) is a writer for Total Frat Move, and due to his crippling OCD and functional alcoholism he can only understand and write text when presented in a numbered list format. So you're all jerks for calling him out on it. He is a self described Huguenot, and commands a secret sexual fetish for angry internet comments. All shameless praise can be directed to: joe@grandex.co

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  1. 1
    Bone Padre

    Cope Straight or get the fuck out. And after 15 minutes, Southern Blend tastes like an aborted Chinaman.

    Four Lokos is for guidos and gays.

    ^ ThisTake a lapReply • 2 years ago
    • -2
      JohnFratYatesSommers

      stop writing comments, Tony Fratana.
      If you didn’t like this column, it’s probably because you don’t relate to it. You don’t relate to it because you probably don’t binge drink, fuck attractive women, or like the United States of America.

      And I must say, I’m blown away by how frat-tastic and clever your name is.

      ^ ThisTake a lapReply • 2 years ago

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