The Greasy DJ: On almost every college campus, you can find a kid sporting an e-boy haircut that’s personality can best be described by two things: the 8-ball of blow in his left pocket and the nine-hundred dollar mixer his Mom bought him for Christmas two years ago. While everyone else in the room is talking about the line on this Sixers game, he’s painstakingly trying to get a puff bar out of his skin tight black jeans, rambling to some poor pledge about how his experience rolling to Dombresky for the first time changed his outlook on life. His entire clothing repertoire is strictly black jeans and white tee shirts, yet he spends more money on clothes than any other guy you’ve ever met. He’ll spend his entire college career pedaling blow to desperate freshmen to invest in better DJ equipment so he can open for an Eastern European EDM artist nobody has ever heard of for ten minutes on a Wednesday. Nine times out of ten, this kid is from one of the coasts, and he’s HUGE into clout chasing. If he doesn’t have bottle service girls on his Snapchat story for one weekend, his friends from high school will DM you asking if he died or got arrested. While the boys are tossing dye, he’s buried in his phone, meticulously calculating what his “moves” for tonight are. Everybody knows he’s a tool, but for some inexplicable reason, he’s your friend…you also don’t mind being a plus one whenever he gets a free table.
Karl Marx: Freshman year, this kid was a completely different person. He was a charismatic cokehead that would always do the dumbest shit possible when a camera was on him. He’s been on TFM, OldRow, and your school’s Barstool page twice. Then…something happened to him. It was either a philosophical acid trip or flying too close to the sun with an overdose, but he has not been the same since. He doesn’t open GroupMe for months at a time, and the only time you saw him last semester was when he was Vietnamese Pho with his Aquarius girlfriend. In the last seven months, he’s gotten four tattoos. You don’t hang out with him anymore, and it’s not because you aren’t happy that he’s transformed his life; you just don’t feel like having a forty-five-minute conversation about the benefits of Ayahuasca. After getting really into the life of Karl Marxx, he’ll end up leaving college to move out to LA and work at a Hemp frozen yogurt shop.
The Legacy Bid: It doesn’t matter which chapter, it doesn’t matter which school, this kid is in every fucking fraternity house across the country. He’s the fucking worst. He has the social skills of somebody on the spectrum, but he thinks everybody loves him. A couple of months ago, you were about to wheel a girl back to your place when he drunkenly stumbled over to you and mansplained how WSB profited off of GME until she walked away. This guy is always too fucking touchy. His go-to move is putting his arm around somebody and saying, I just want you to know you’re my fucking brother and I’d do fucking anything for you, with intense eye contact. You and your boys debate whether or not deep down he understands that nobody likes him, and sometimes you’ll even feel bad until he finds a way to make himself MORE unlikeable. This kid owns more shirts with his letters on them than Hedeki Matsui owns porn CDs. He’s herpes. You find a way to not deal with him often, but when he comes around your circle, the flair-up is awful. He’ll have his fraternity letters in his bio three years after graduation.
Bob From The Other Guys: This poor motherfucker thinks that being the president of his fraternity will be worth the Linkedin flex, and it most definitely will not. You’ll never meet a soul that says a bad thing about this kid other than pointing attention to the fact he’s kind of a pussy. Once every semester, he’ll throw his hands up, get blacked out, and the next day’s GroupMe will be one for the ages. Between the bullshit he has to put up with on exec board and his girlfriend, who for some reason is always a raging bitch, this guy is perpetually stressed out. Letting loose for him is taking two rips of his dab pen before falling asleep to Pardon My Take. He’s most likely going to be the best man at like six weddings, and every sorority knows and likes him. Just remember one thing: if he’s mad at you, it’s probably your fault.
Tinman: On paper, this kid is fucking awesome. Four-year varsity starter in high school, good-looking, and he’s got deep pockets. The only issue… he’s really fucking stupid. He understands sarcasm about as much as you understand the clitoris. He’s always talking about how he’s failing school, and the sad part is… he’s really trying his hardest. This motherfucker studied the Greek Alphabet harder than you studied for the ACTs. He’s the guy that girls approach first, but he can’t close because he’s got the game of a divorced dad in gambling debt. You find yourself wondering how he’ll go through life with his intelligence until you remember his Dad has worked for JP Morgan since South Park first aired on television.
Chris Farley: This motherfucker hasn’t gotten pussy since the day he came out of one. He’s a gambling degenerate who yugs twenty-one beers for Monday night football like it’s nothing. He’s overweight, charismatic, and he thinks nut-taping is the epitome of comedy. This is the kind of guy that LOVES quoting Borat mid-chapter meeting. There’s no other way to describe him other than a guy’s guy. If you walk into his room at any time, there’s going to be plastic cups of Canes sauce spread across his desk. He knows more about football than Tony Romo, and he’s no stranger to punching holes into the wall after Jerry Jeudy drops the touchdown that would’ve saved the over. Deep down, he’s probably got some issues, but he does a great job of keeping his emotions close to the vest. Check-in on this guy when you get a chance.
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