Tales From The Frat: House of Pain

I figured I’d start a little mini-series in Donzi’s Basement called Tales from the Frat. Why? Because in 4 years of college I easily went from being on “fist bumping terms” with the Big Man upstairs, to getting my ass prepared to take Satan’s spear up it. I have endless stories of what went on in our brothel we called a frat and I am here to share some with you. All names will be changed to protect our sorry identities from the real world. You know who you are.

Tales from the Frat: House of Pain

Of course the idea spawned from the master(bator) himself, codename: Mike Giunta. What a great idea it would be to have an inter-pledgeclass competition in our house, which would test the fratastic skills we all claimed to have. It would take guts, it would take stamina, and it would possibly take a trip to the hospital. What spawned from his sick little mind was a competition of Olympic size proportion, and hence House of Pain was born. Here’s how it went: 3 Pledge classes lived in the House: the Rhos, the Sigmas, and the Taus. I of course was on the heavily favored Sigmas. I forgot the exact rules so I talked to a fellow Sigma, Dr.Greenthumb, who was profoundly involved with the actual rule making. They were as follows:

Each class starts with:
1 x 24 Case of Natty/Beast Light
1 x 5.0 liter Bag-O wine
1 x Handle (2.75 liters) of Bankers Club vodka
1 pack (20x) of Marlboro Reds

(everything starts at room temperature)

-You can mix/dilute with anything but if you bring it to the table it must be finished as well
-All of the numbers are per 12 members eligible (not just who is man enough to show up)
-You uptreat/downtreat each one proportionally to the number of eligible members
(ex: 24 beers per 12 eligible members = 12 beers if only 6 are eligible)
-1 cigarette at a time, don’t have to inhale, but you need to smoke all of it
-If you throw up, you are out, but what you drank/puked up to that point counts
-First team to finish everything wins

There you have it. I know we have problems. We are alcoholics and unfortunately some of those that participated in this healthy event actually now have very successful jobs. Except me. We all took it to a different level when we actually dressed up in team uniforms. The Rho’s and Tau’s uni’s were nonsense, but we the Sigmas, clothed in Wife Beaters and Diapers certainly were champions even before the competition started. I personally think it gave us an edge. How? I am not sure. We all were talking shit to each other, but I knew the Sigmas had some big guns working for us. Dr. Greenthumb and BlackCock: masters of Cigarettes and Beer, Redneck and Thunder: Funnel extraordinaires, Me, Satan, CookieMonster, DavidStar: Vodka vultures, & Goatboy, Red-Man, The Crow, SBD, & GarySmith: Bag-o-Brawlers.

We were not really concerned about the younger Taus; Mike Giunta and his Rho’s would be the closest thing to a challenge. It was never a question if we were going to win or not, more, how much could we embarrass our opponents. We had a flawless alcohol distribution setup and a good amount of bottomless iron stomachs on our side, so when we heard the bell, it was go time. It only took about a minute until people from all sides were filling up the nearby trash bins with their recent consumptions. With heavy 80’s tunes blasting all around us, we were surrounded in a sea of vices, but persevered in an ocean of camaraderie. All Sigmas stepped up when our fellow man succumbed to his body’s cry for help. Non-smokers became smokers, the funnel became another appendage, and cups of vodka were devoured like glasses of water. It was a glorious sight to see. I believe it was close to 12 minutes when our last cigarette was smoked and last FK9 of vodka was passed around like a ceremonious trophy.

It was a good fight by all parties, and it was time to take it to yet another level as a house. What perused after was a series of events that should have landed many in the hospital. It started with table flipping, which got the whole floor soaked. We all realized we were violently drunk, and when there is a soaking wet floor, it only calls for … you guessed it, Beer Slides! One man, two man, group slides. It was like Crocodile Mile except your eyes burnt, there were two schmucks squeegeeing beer sludge back in the middle of the floor, and instead of a friendly bump at the end there was broken glass. It was out of control and there was no one that was going to stop it.

The drinking, sliding, singing and general shitfaced shenanigans continued somehow for a while. When all was said and done, to cap off the night, the Sigmas decided to piss their diapers as a sign of dominance. Or blacked-out-ness? This was just one simple night, in my 3 ½ years with The Frat. One simple idea that became one momentous event. I personally encourage all Frats across the land, to take a night off from the tang, and get fratastic. Man up and become champions. Conquer the House of Pain.