I’m still shaking off the remnants of the dream I had- there’s this neighborhood in the city I grew up in, that I frequently dream about. It’s a rough street, but in my dream, I was dropping off a sofa to the local drug king pin and I wasn’t one bit nervous. Plus, the lady in charge was offering me a huge amount of money for this ratty sofa, and I was amazed at the piles of cash and guns lying around.
Anyway, this last week I was remembering frat parties and how much fun and insanity were packed into that hour and a half. (Well, it was only an hour if they were broke college boys and couldn’t cough up with the extra $$ to buy the girl-on-girl show.)
The frat houses were always absolutely disgusting- torn and broken furniture, heavy odor of spilled beer and vomit. A mattress would appear out of no where, we would throw it down in one of the empty rooms, and the frat boys would crowd all around. The space got very packed with bodies, very quickly. The pledges would be the closest to the mattress, marked by having some humiliating costume on, and one by one, each girl would grab one and throw him down on the mattress. We would torture the shit out of them- whip them with belts, pour hot wax from burning candles (amazing that nothing ever caught fire) on their chest and down their pants and draw obscene doodles indicating small penises all over them. Also, there was usually a nice fat blunt that would make its round that I got to partake in, all while straddling a frat boy.
After that, it was time for the “house nerd” to reign supreme, as it was always the bedroom of the house nerd that we went to to do private dances for the guys. It was the only clean room in the whole damn building, and usually outfitted with some cool posters and figurines.
Ah, such memories. Frat parties were a lot of fun, a lot of exercise, and you always wanted a hot shower after it was over.