Bobby D'Angelo
Kappa Sigma is like a young Kevin Love: it’s white, it’s consistently good, and it’s moderately good-looking. When I think of Kappa Sig, I think of a kid in a roped hat looking anxious at his girlfriend’s birthday brunch because The Tampa Bay Rays lost him a five leg parlay and now he can’t afford to front the bill. Kappa Sigs are interesting because they can explain how and why the 2008 economic collapse occurred without missing a beat, but if you asked them to show you where the labia is, they’d be about as confused as Christopher Columbus when he landed in the Bahamas. These guys are from money, but they’re humble about it. They’re the type of guys that make a good impression on a girl’s Mom, who, of course, has no idea what’s in the baggy that’s currently on their dresser. If you have beef with one of them, you have beef with seventy of them. They are loyal guys that would like nothing more than getting into a fight in a Waffle House parking lot at 2:46 AM and recapping it the next morning in hyperbolic details.
In all seriousness, they are a great house. Kappa Sigs are the kind of guys to Venmo a girl $25 the next day in the name of equality and possibly bring her to a formal where she’ll facetune what will end up being her most liked picture on Instagram. They might not be great everywhere because there are so many living members that they could make up almost half of Wyoming’s population, but in my experience, they throw good shit. They take intramural sports far less seriously than PIKE yet still almost beat them, they know their way around a grill, and they always have drunk cigs on deck. If you get a bid from this house, get ready for at minimum one pregnancy scare, sclerosis in your early sixties, and an amazing four and a half years.
