Why The Fraternity Gentleman Is The Superior Gentleman

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Why The Fraternity Gentleman Is The Superior Gentleman

There is little argument the fraternity gentleman is the superior gentleman. But once in awhile, you’ll find yourself at a local sock hop or barn raising where some GDI will try and wax on about the inferiority or meaninglessness of frats. You’ll sit there, dumbfounded, unable to form a counterargument as you lightly caress the backs of the two ladies that are sitting on your lap, because, well, how do you argue something as intrinsic as the superiority of frats? This is like trying to argue why sunsets are beautiful, or why flying doves make gunfights look cooler. Luckily, I’m here to help. Below you’ll find a handful of arguments in our favor, carefully laid out with consideration for the inferior try hard brain. Obviously, the reasons are endless, so these are only a handful, with more to come in future installments. Maybe print this out, keep it in your jacket pocket, and just hand it to the next guy that questions you. Then watch his face sink as he reads, hand him your hunting knife when he asks for it, and cover the eyes of the two ladies in your lap as he plunges the blade deep into his heart, twisting, then tearing it down and over through his lungs and liver, because he wants no longer wants any part of living, and I don’t blame him. Though I wouldn’t call his existence up until that point “living,” exactly. Anyway, here we go…

Because We Pledge

Let me paint a scenario for you: you just got to college, and you think to yourself, “I don’t need to buy my friends! Pledging is stupid! I can make friends the old-fashioned way!” Then you meet a guy on your dorm floor. He likes cat videos and Radiohead, just like you do! “Let’s be friends!” you both say in unison. Then, BAM…cut to ten years later and you’re tied up in his basement, surrounded by photos of yourself with the eyes cut out, and he comes down twice a day to beat you, then cry into your chest hair, then jack you off. You almost look forward to it, since you haven’t seen the sun in a decade and you’ve been shitting in an old french press. Statistically, this will happen to one in every six GDIs.

People seem to have a problem with pledging, as if vetting friends and weeding out the people you don’t like isn’t a normal process for everyone on this planet. All the fraternity gentleman has done is codify that experience, speed it up, and make it more thorough. We don’t sit around in drum circles, complaining about Jessie until he shows up, then act like he’s our best friend and telling him how much we like his new cargo shorts. Out of the deep kindness of our hearts, the fraternity gentleman would haze Jessie until he dropped, because we have respect for his time, and the human decency to tell him how hideous and creepy he is to his face.

Because We Are Comfortable With Who We Are

We spend all day surrounded by friends who know us very well. Frighteningly well, actually. I could line up my buddies in order of dick size. I’m not proud of that, but what I’m proud of is the fact that I don’t need to hide the person I am, and they don’t either. I can say with great sincerity that the inability to withhold your interests, quirks, and tiny-baby-finger-dick in a full frat house doesn’t reinforce your insecurities. On the contrary, it rids you of them.

There are secret dojos in the mountains of the mysterious Orient where they beat aspiring ninjas until they are no longer afraid of death. In frat houses all across this nation, young men are being attacked for the smallest abnormalities. Perhaps a small twitch, or eyes that are too far apart, or a dead mother. And through all that emotional terrorism, the fraternity gentleman learns to let go of his insecurities, and embrace the idiosyncrasies that are an important part of who he is. It’s the only way he can survive. Only then can he be a confident man.

Most geeds run around terrified that someone will pick up their iPhone and see that the only song loaded on there is Celine Dion’s “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now.” Me? I’d throw that on the dock at a party and turn it all the way up, because I’m a ninja.

Because We Are Better Lovers

It’s pretty common for me to wake up next to a lovely female and have her ask, “What happened last night?”

I can only smile and say, “That good, huh?”

Look up causes for memory loss and you’ll find the words “mini-stroke.” Do the math, guys.

Because we Understand Practical Style

Stylistically, the fraternity gentleman exists in the in the middle of the Venn Diagram. It is the intelligent man that knows the versatility of certain clothings and exploits them. For example, the boat shoe is the swiss army knife of shoes. Got a clambake to attend? A yacht to steer? A Lamaze class to teach? Or how about you left home with your button-down shirt tucked-in to some chinos and your hair perfectly coiffed for a champagne brunch, but now you find yourself in the middle of Spanish Harlem, throwing alley dice. What to do? Untuck the shirt, roll up the sleeves, button the shirt all the way to the top, and tousle the hair. Then roll a me a seven, ese, because you’re in the GAME. A man dressed for any occasion is a man ready for all occasions.

Because We Are Politically Smarter

No geed could understand the process of debate and voting better than a fraternity gentlemen. Each semester, we decide which 18 year-old will be a future leader, and we are always right. We dissect every rushee like they’re a plastic model of a vagina in a gynecologist’s office. Oh, you wore a short-sleeve button down shirt? That’s a bad plastic vagina. Oh, you kept count of how many beers you drank? I heard the drama club is looking for someone to play Jean Valjean. Oh, you came to rush wearing a full white suit while asking girls if money exists as you drop dollar bills at their feet? Welcome to the new pledge class. Welcome to the privilege of cleaning my room.

Because We Accept Our Pack

The early man realized that if he didn’t huddle into a cave with his fellow man, he’d unceremoniously get his intestines unspooled by a sabre-toothed tiger. We evolved to live in packs, and then we climbed to the top of the food chain, and then we built whole societies and cities made of gold.

And yet, here we are as fraternity gentlemen, forced to defend our penchant for traveling, living, socializing, and fighting in groups. As if wearing a plaid shirt, thick-framed glasses, and drinking fair trade coffee doesn’t associate you with a group. GDIs think their lives are meaningful, that they’re individuals with unique thoughts. “I’m a snowflake!” they think to themselves as they Instagram a decaying brick wall. The fact is, they are all in a group, arguing over Vampire Weekend and Upstream Color, but their group is loose and weak and lacking sexual prowess. By denying their evolutionary need for societal support, they become vulnerable and worthless, and we can only hope they don’t accidentally breed their defective gene further.

We embrace our group, understand its purpose, and exploit it for its strengths. When thirty men chant, “Chicks!” in unison, our collective voices touch heaven, and God smiles (and gets wet) at his greatest creation finally maximizing their potential. Let the geeds run to be the first at the newest bar or coffee shop because the other one got too “corporate.” We’ll be busy building cities of gold, or at least throwing a pretty good party.

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