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‘Twas The Night Before Gameday

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Twas the night before Gameday, and all day through the school,
Not a class was attended, except by the fools.
The pallets were stacked in the frat house with care,
In hopes the first victory soon would be theirs.

My brothers were nestled, but not in their beds,
Off shacking with slores, who I’ve heard give great head.
With my slampiece in the loft, I deleted her number,
And layed down my head for a post-orgasmic slumber.

When out of my window there arose such a clatter,
Either some homeless or drunk guys, I hoped for the latter.
Away to the window I drunkenly jolted,
When the crowd that I saw left me truly revolted.

The moon, through the clouds, on the fresh summer’s grass,
Made seeing them clearly a difficult task.
I rubbed my eyes once, and again for good measure,
But the figures remained, to my displeasure.

With a PVC tent and some hideous colors,
I knew right away they were fuckers of mothers.
Though it was early, voices proved why they came,
With hopes of defeating my team in the game.

“Now Bubba! now, Bobby! Now Betty Joe Sue!
On, Cleatus! On, John Boy! And Chester you too!
Let’s pitch this here tent and crack open the ‘shine.
Fire up the grill, and I’ll get the boxed wine.”

While I was impressed with their 4AM start,
of the Gameday tradition I hold deep in my heart,
The noise, and the flags, and their accents so thick
Took me from annoyed, to angry, to borderline sick.

They were clad head-to-toe in all forms of denim,
As I stared from the window with my gaze full of venom
The leader, named T-Bone, with a shuffling look,
Caught sight of the window I chose as my nook.

For a long awkward moment, we let eye contact linger,
And I counted to one, but skipped my first finger.
I shot him the bird so aggressively true,
And followed with an aggressive and poignant “Fuck You!”

He was taken aback, but not for too long,
He returned my curse, twice as loud and as strong.
With a vengeful stare and a no dignity shed,
I prayed for lightning to strike his bald head.

For hours they partied, and played Freebird on loop.
In my restless state upon me came the urge to poop.
As I walked to the toilet, an idea came to light,
And I spent fifteen minutes with a paper bag held tight.

With the bag of feces, I poised and took aim,
Then pulled out a lighter to set it aflame.
With a twist of my arm and a flick of precision,
I confirmed that the shit-bag was an awesome decision.

They stomped out the fire, and it was revealed,
They were spreading pure excrement like their team on the field.
I exclaimed with a laugh, before I faded from sight,
“Happy Gameday you fuckers! Hope you have a good night!”

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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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