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A Fraternity Member Speaks to His Founders During a Near Death Experience

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-Fraternity House Basement – Night-

(*Trent, a sophomore in his fraternity, is in the middle of a HUGE party that’s taking place at the chapter house. The crowd is cheering him on as he chugs from a bladder of wine being held up by a Pledge. Trent is blackout drunk.*)


Frat Guy 2: What a fuckin’ hoss. This is like the second bag he’s finished. A French guy wouldn’t suck down this much wine if it were coming out of a dick.

Frat Guy 1: How drunk do you think he is?

Frat Guy 2: Pretty Goddamn drunk. I asked him for a cigarette earlier, said “can I get a square?”

Frat Guy 1: And?

Frat Guy 2: He threw a brick at me. A brick’s a rectangle. Didn’t even make sense.

Frat Guy 1: Oh fuck, he’s “doesn’t know his shapes” drunk? Damn.

(*Trent finishes the bong and rises victoriously, the crowd cheers*)

Frat Guy 2: Slap the bag!

Trent: (*completely hammered*) Why…why don’ you slap yer dick offfff you fuggin’ slapdick.

Frat Guy 2: I’m good.

Frat Guy 2: Christ…

Trent: My name’s not Chris it’s Trent! I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY BROTHER!!!

Frat Guy 2: Just slap the bag you pussy.

Trent: Imma fuck therse bag’s SHIT up. (*to the Pledge*) HOLD IT UP YOU FUGGIN’ CHEESY DICKS-CHARGE! Er…discharge. Yer a cheesy discharge…from a dick…from an ill dick.

Pledge: Yes sir, I know sir. Here you go sir. (*Pledge raises the empty wine bladder*)

Trent: This’s a move I like to call “Yer all fuckin’ pussies now so don’t look at me bitches unless you want the fire.”

Frat Guy 1: What?

(*Trent rears back, wobbles, but quickly steadies himself. Then he leaps into the air and roundhouse kicks at the bag. In a drunken miracle his kick connects perfectly with the bag and he sticks the landing. Once again the crowd goes wild.*)

Frat Guy 2: Oh my God!

Frat Guy 1: How the fuck did he do that?

Trent: With fucking agility!

(*Trent gets in the Pledge’s face*)

Trent: Didja feel it? Didja feel the roar? The roar of my agility? It roared past yer face like an F-22 being piloted by a fucking lion, didn’t it?

Pledge: Yes sir?

Trent: Whaz with the upward inflection?

Frat Guy 1: (*to Frat Guy 2*) How does he even know what upward inflection is right now?

Trent: (*to the Pledge*) How ‘bout I take my foot, move it upward ‘n inflect some pain on your smart mouth and shut that blabbin’ face triangle you call a cock garage.

Frat Guy 2: (*to Frat Guy 1*) Face triangle? I guess he’s still having trouble with shapes.

Trent: THASS IT! Gimme another box-a-wine. I’m gonna show this pledge bitch how a BROTHER does it.

Frat Guy 1: Trent I think you’ve had enough for now. Maybe chill out for a bit.

Trent: I gotta… L-I-V…I-N. I’ll stop fuckin’ drinkin’ when I’m dead.

Frat Guy 2: That’s what we’re afraid of.

Trent: Wine only hurts you if you put up your ass. IDIOTS.

(*Trent snatches a box of wine off of a nearby table. He puts the spigot in his mouth, opens it, takes half a sip, and falls over unconscious.*)

Frat Guy 1: Balls.

– Inside a White Tunnel of Light-

(*Trent, now completely sober, awakes and pulls himself up off the ground.*)

Trent: Where am I?

Disembodied Voice: You’re dead, Trent.

Trent: Jesus!?!? Is that you?

(*Two old men dressed in 19th century attire materialize from thin air in front of Trent.*)

Old Man 1: HA! Jesus? Get a grip kid. You drank yourself to death with thirty dollars worth of boxed wine. You think Jesus is gonna show up for that?

Old Man 2: You just died in a way most commonly experienced by depressed, female, Home Shopping Network addicts who live in a trailer park. Congratulations.

Trent: Well…what about my grandpa? Why isn’t he here to greet me?

Old Man 2: Oh boy. This is a toughie. Your grandfather…well I’ll just say it, your grandfather is in hell.

Trent: (*choked up*) Really?

Old Man 1: Yeah… he did some pretty messed up stuff during World War II.

Trent: What’d he do? I thought he was a hero.

Old Man 2: Well he was also quite the accomplished snuff film producer.

Old Man 1: Practically invented the genre actually.

Old Man 2: He filmed about twenty hours worth of Okinawans jumping off cliffs, set it to a sensual jazz soundtrack, and made a small fortune off the country’s sickest perverts, most of which were from Florida. Then he invested his earnings and made his millions. That’s where your inheritance comes from, by the way. Old snuff films.


Old Man 2: Trent, we’re the founders of your fraternity. We wanted to talk to you. You see, you’re dead, but you won’t be for long.

Trent: What do you mean?

Old Man 1: That pledge you were berating is currently resuscitating you with mouth-to-cock garage, as you so eloquently put it. You’ll be alive again in a few moments. In the meantime we’re here to give you some advice.

Old Man 2: Your chapter is in trouble.

Trent: Why?

Old Man 1: Well, mostly, because you exist.

Old Man 2: You see Trent, you’re “that guy.”

Old Man 1: And while “that guy” is often amusing, he’s also incredibly harmful, because he can’t control himself.

Old Man 2: Don’t get us wrong. We all had a good laugh up here when you put the pledges in togas, gave them nunchucks, and forced them to have Ben-Hur-esque races on Razr scooters in the back parking lot. Ingenious!

Old Man 1: Reminded me of the time we gave one of our new boys a net and a trident and made him fight our rival school’s mascot.

Trent: What? We would get kicked off campus for doing that.

Old Man 2: Well, of course. This was back in the days before any animal rights groups existed, so there wasn’t anyone to get upset at you for stabbing an animal with a trident. Back then they’d simply give you a hard scowl, take the beast to the butcher, and eat it, even if it was a tortoise. It was a simpler time. Everyone was hungrier.

Trent: Yeah that seems worse than anything we do.

Old Man 2: Oh really? What about the night you and a group of brothers drunkenly wandered into the Newman Center, drunk, during a mass.

Trent: So?

Old Man 2: That’s church, Trent. Church.

Trent: I mean it was an accident. Plus it was a Catholic mass; pretty sure they were serving cocktails already. Besides, isn’t there a legend that a prostitute died at the first ever initiation?

Old Man 1: The whore deserved to be sacrificed!

Trent: How are you people even in Heaven?

Old Man 2: Heaven works on a points system.

Old Man 1: Thank God for our philanthropy hours! Amiright!

Trent: In God’s eyes exactly how many philanthropy hours does it take to make up for killing a prostitute?

Old Man 1: One with syphilis? Like twenty.

Trent: I’m sorry, but you guys were way worse than I am. I mean, I do some messed up shit, for sure, but damn guys. What message are you trying to get across here exactly?

Old Man 2: I…I guess I don’t really know. Maybe just don’t drink yourself to death or get your whole chapter in trouble because you’re aggressively stupid.

Old Man 1: Stay aggressive. Just be smart about it.

Trent: (*sarcastically*) I don’t even really know what that means, but okay. By the way, is this real? Or is it all in my head?

Old Man 2: Of course it’s all in your head. But does that make it any less real?

Trent: Kind of, yeah. Can I go back now? I don’t know how much longer I want that pledge giving me mouth to mouth. I made him eat cat food today.

Old Man 1: Yes, you may.

(*Trent starts fading slowly fading back to Earth*)

Old Man 2: (*in the distance*) And remember Trent, we’re not wild about bidding minorities.

Trent: You people are awful.

– Fraternity House Basement – Night –

(*Trent shoots up awake and starts to vomit everywhere*)

Frat Guy 1: Trent! Holy shit! Are you okay? You stopped breathing.

Trent: (*coughing*) Where am I?

Frat Guy 2: You’re at the house, man. What happened?

Trent: I had the craziest dream. I met our founders. They gave me advice about the chapter.

Frat Guy 1: Really? What’d they say?

Trent: Nothing really. They just admitted killing a hooker… and a tortoise. And they were pretty racist. But I guess what I learned was…we need to do more philanthropy hours. It’s our get out of jail free card, for everything…everything.

Frat Guy 2: Even killing a hooker?

Trent: In God’s eyes, yes. But I get the feeling he’s more forgiving than the Greek Life Office.


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