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The Reanimated Corpse of Steve Irwin Examines a Fraternity House Party


G’day mates! Steve Irwin here, back to the land of the living thanks to a combination of horrifically unethical science and Aborigine magic. Today I’m here to guide you through an exciting and frightening experience known as the “Fraternity House Party.” These events are populated by the incredibly hostile and self sufficient beasts called “fraternity brothers,” creatures that are truly a sight to behold in their native element. As we enter the domicile we can already observe an interaction between a “brother” and a member of the lesser tribe, known by many names, such as “neophytes,” “dog-shit,” “ball gargling tardfucks,” or simply “pledges.” Let’s listen in and observe.

“Where the fuck is your blazer, Taint Knuckler?”

Notice how the brother instantly asserts his dominance in the situation by asking an aggressive question and following said question with a harassing nickname. I have no doubt that the brother has never actually confirmed whether or not the pledge has knuckled any taints.

“I-I-I…”

Crikey, the pledge has made the mistake of hesitating, a sure sign of weakness. Look for the brother to strike.

“I-I-I WILL FUCKING END YOU! It’s a simple rule. Can’t you follow simple rules? Or were you still in utero while your mom was smuggling condoms full of blow up her snatch? It gave you ADD didn’t it?”

Absolutely a textbook response from the brother. Promising a future strike thus engulfing the lesser in pure mindfuck fear. Then shaming the pledge to complete the interaction.

“Now get to the back and start unloading those pallets of beer.”

Although the pledge has nearly 50 pounds on the brother, and could clearly dominate him in a physical matchup, he complies. The caste system at work in all its profane splendor.

We observe now as the pledges begin their intense manual labor, hoping to prove their worth to the brotherhood. Any sign of slacking and they’re bound to be cast out into the collegiate hell known as “God damned independents.” In that state they will have only about a tenth of a chance to reproduce as they would within the fraternity walls. God help any soul doomed that life.

Crikey, look! It seems that the first potential mates have arrived to the front door. These creatures, known as “sorority girls,” possess class and sisterhood by day, but under certain fraternity roofs become ravenous booze hounds whose search for “Mr. Right” quickly turns into “Mr. Right Now…On My Face.” They are truly stunning and perplexing specimens indeed. Let’s see if I can wrestle one to the ground.

You’ll notice that upon the arrival of the sorority girls all of the brothers have suddenly made themselves a tad more presentable, begun to stand up straight, and act more polite. Many have even ceased most of their raucous behavior, as evidenced by the gentleman no longer urinating from the roof. Fascinating.

I’m now going to take the great risk of diving straight in to the native environment. This is extremely dangerous, and my producers insist you do not try this at home. They’ve literally said to me “Steve, this is how you died last time.” But death is only a concern if you aren’t holding the family of an Aborigine witch doctor for ransom. What I’m going to do is start with a native bonding ritual known as a “2-story beer funnel” to asses my worth to the tribe. Wish me luck, mates.

“Can ya throw some Fosters in there mate?”

“Suck a dick.”

“Right-O”

*Puts beer funnel in mouth*

“CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!”

*Swallows, Coughs*

Now, it is sometimes custom to punish outsiders by sneaking in a shot or two of extremely poor quality whiskey. I’ve just found this out the hard way, I thought those were beers they were pouring in, but apparently Yanks put whiskey in cans now. CRIKEY that hit me like a galloping rhinocerous! Wait… what’s that? They seem to want me to do another. I’m risking my life here folks, but I’ve got to earn their trust.

*Puts beer funnel in mouth again*

“CHUG! CHUG! CH-BOOOOOO…”

“You SUUUUUCK!”

“That’s why you lost the revolution HOMO!”

I’ve regurgitated some of the excess liquor, thus shaming myself in the eyes of the tribe. A particularly large member is now approaching me with an unsatisfied look on his face. It appears to be time to make an escape.

*Several hours later*Hiding in broom closest*

I’ve been in hiding several hours, and it appears the brothers have abandoned their search for me. Most of the brothers now seem to be concentrating on the remaining females, who are desperately searching for a mate. The brothers left without a mate have begun taking out a massive amount of sexual frustration on the pledges who were unwise enough to be seen.

Another night inside of the fraternity house has come to a close. Many brothers will lay satisfied this evening, as the confused and nearly worthless pledges clean up their wake of destruction.

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StuffFratPeopleLike

StuffFratPeopleLike (@StuffFratsLike) is a writer for Total Frat Move, and due to his crippling OCD and functional alcoholism he can only understand and write text when presented in a numbered list format. So you're all jerks for calling him out on it. He is a self described Huguenot, and commands a secret sexual fetish for angry internet comments.

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