Dear fall pledge,
You probably spent all summer basking in the glorious notion that you’ll soon be a college man. Free to skip class, drink and get blowjobs all-day and there isn’t a damn thing anyone can do about it. Right? Wrong. See, I was a spring pledge. This means that while you experienced an entire summer of rush fun in the sun, I spent an entire winter feeling like an unnecessary second-rate citizen. While I spent my first semester in a dark cave of self-loathing, wondering if I should hurl myself from the balcony because I decided not to pledge in the fall, you’ll spend your first semester soaking up the spittle that ejects from my mouth when I roar. For the rest of my life I’ll wear the “spring douche” label proudly like a scarlet letter, and with this label comes great anger. Finally, I have someone to take that anger out on. You.
Enjoy these last days of rush, my little friend, because soon the time for smiling and laughing will come to a violently abrupt end. Since my recent initiation, even during your recruitment, my pledge brothers and I have been treated like lower class peons, forced to do bitch work at rush events and participate in activities the senior members want nothing to do with. I had to set up tents and pretend I appreciate people, just so you could enjoy yourself before the charade ends and the reality check begins. Do you know how painful it was for me to force a smile, look you in the eye, and shake your scrawny hand? Do you know how badly I wanted to unsheathe my paddle and use it to wipe that despicable look of self-entitlement off your fucking face? Not to worry. Your days are numbered. A cruel mob of degenerates known as The Spring ‘11 Class are going to be doing whiskey bongs before your line ups, then stomping in, foaming at the mouth and demanding blood. Try not to cry. This is your life now. It’ll all be over in a short 16 weeks. Not counting hell week. At least you have Christmas break. Maybe.
By the way, we elected The Ultimate Warrior as pledge trainer. He’s been doubling his ‘roid dosage and smoking joints laced with PCP preparing for your arrival.
P.S. I AM NOT SECOND RATE. I MATTER. AND YOU’RE GOING TO FUCKING PAY.