https://preview.redd.it/i1fsjotzp2h51.jpg?width=2015&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=7d3ba296d752c722a3aa062e768ecdb51939b477 submitted by welcometosouthapp to welcometosouthapp [link] [comments] Friday, August 14th, 2020 “I already told you: I don’t fucking know!” Connor, the bowl-cut nerd from the 300 Hall, sat strapped in a chair in a candle-lit den. A man wearing a beaver costume towered over him. The beaver held a switch, attached to a cord that ran straight to electrodes on Connor’s nipples. This was the Nipplizer 50K. The beaver pointed at a whiteboard that read What was Chadwick Hughes’ favorite sex position? “Um,” Connor mumbled, shaking his head feverishly. “W-was it...the Amazon position?” Connor squealed as the machine shocked him with 50,000 volts. Then, the beaver ripped the electrodes off his puffy, purple nipples. He leaned into Connor’s ear, his mask smelling like a familiar sandalwood cologne. “Sir Chad was all about doggystyle,” the beaver muttered. “Didn’t much care for seeing the woman’s face.” Suddenly, two giant security guards entered the room in black suits and sunglasses. “Toss him in the ice bath,” the beaver commanded. “Let ‘em cool off them pepperoni nips!” “Nooo!” Connor protested as the guards dragged the chair across the hardwood floor. His voice echoed hopelessly down the hall. Alone, the beaver stared up at a portrait on the wall. The first president of Beta Delta Epsilon's South App chapter: Sir Chadwick Hughes. Armed with a chiseled jaw and a pomade-powered haircut, he had built this brotherhood on the foundations of freedom, loyalty, and legal alcohol sales on Sunday. Chadwick had died long before that latter dream had been realized. But rumor had it his ashes lay buried beneath this very fraternity house in the heart of Greek row. As an aside, Chadwick earned the "Sir" title after he had once fist-bumped Paul McCartney at a Benihana's. Noice. High heels approached the doorway. “My, oh my!” a southern voice cooed. “Now you, like, totally did a number on that poor boy! Didn’t ya...Winston?” Winston removed his beaver mask and faced Claire Dansby: BDE’s token female Social Chair. She strutted up to him in a red cocktail dress and matching stilettos. Last week at the karaoke bar, Winston had caught Claire’s eye by singing a Toby Keith ballad. While the apathetic hipsters were playing on their phones, Claire had hopped on stage to sing along. After buying her a few dry martinis, he had scored an invitation to rush with BDE. The catch: Winston would not be receiving the hazing. He would be delivering it. “Chad’s favorite sex position,” Claire read the whiteboard. “Hmmm...I reckon he, like, totally knew the Kamasutra better than his own momma.” “I, Chadwick Hughes, solemnly swear to try every position at least once, except the Amazon position,” Winston recited, straight out of the late president's diary. “You, like, totally did your homework!” Downstairs, they heard a splash, followed by Connor’s blood-curdling scream. Claire stroked Winston’s beard, then patted the fuzzy chest of his costume. “Are you, like, totally ready to hit the town, big guy? There’ll be plenty of victims...I mean pledges for you to, like, befriend tonight.” Tonight was the BDE Bike Run: an endurance test of physical, mental, and testicular fortitude. A handful of freshmen would strap on bike helmets to fight for the title of Brother. Winston and Claire were the judges. In his eyes, the fewer people pledging meant the fewer people in his way between Claire and him. And as Winston watched her hourglass figure walk away, he determined there would be very, very few people getting through. *** In Firewater Hall, Gigi had stuffed a towel under the door to hotbox her room. She sprawled on the futon, dressed down in loose sweats and a comfy purple shirt that she had stolen from Tai. On the coffee table was a full spread: a pita chip and hummus tray, cheap weed from Evelyn, Nintendo Switch controllers, a big bag of Sour Patch Kids, empty cans of Red Bull, and a pint of Jägermeister. Gigi had never tasted liquor before. But after the Honors Program had rejected her, she’d decided now was the perfect time. Apparently, a 5,000-word essay about Winston's eating habits did not impress the distinguished faculty. So she resigned herself to sipping Jägerbombs while binging re-runs of The Office. Suddenly, Gigi heard Sarah’s voice as footsteps approached outside. She hopped up and pressed her body against the door, hell-bent on trapping the smoke in that room. The doorknob turned. “Dude, what the hell?” Sarah muttered. “It’s stuck.” “Whoa, far out,” replied some stoner guy. “I’m sensing an evil spirit in these walls.” “Dumbass,” Sarah scoffed, bashing the door with her shoulder between breaths. “This...goddamn...dorm...is....older...than...your sweater!” “Wait!” Gigi finally yelled, her knees buckling. “My...um...boyfriend is in the room. So you probably shouldn’t come in!” “Winston?!” Sarah’s voice cracked. “If you’re in there, I’m gonna draw and quarter your ass!” Sarah kicked the door clean off one of its hinges. Gigi’s 120-pound body flew across the room like a ragdoll, crashing into the beanbag chair. Weed smoke dispersed down the hall, and her hotbox was officially ruined. “Whoooa, that was tits!” said the stoner, sporting long brown hair and a Jesus beard. “You perv!” Gigi scolded, shooting to her feet and covering her chest. “Oh, sweet summer child,” Sarah laughed at her. “See, my new friend, Tweed, was using “tits” to emphasize how cool it was when you went sling-shotting across the room like a trebuchet. Besides, Tweed would never hit on you...or anybody for that matter.” “Right on,” Tweed affirmed, flashing a peace sign. “I’m an asexual vegan Rastafarian. My pronouns are they/them. Welcome to Asheville.” Lending to his name, this guy wore an ugly tweed sweater that draped over his holy jeans. “I see...um, I’m Gigi!” she greeted, returning the peace sign. She pointed at the door that held on for dear life on a single hinge. “So, Sarah, I couldn’t help but discern that you morphed into a flying mammal out of Hades upon my impromptu fib of Winston and yours truly! Sarah digested her words. Then, an overdramatic gag at the thought of her brother and her roommate knocking boots. “Anywho, Tweed and I are about to head on the Woke City Bar Crawl to learn about all the slacktivist ways we can make this shitty world a little less shitty. You should join us...since it looks like you’ve been pre-gaming already.” Gigi hiccuped, tasting the hot, tart Jäger on her tongue. “Count me in!” she cheered, stuffing the pint into her purse. “Now that’s a total righteous move,” Tweed declared. “Let’s go smoke and get woke!” *** Claire laughed maniacally as she sped through downtown Asheville in a golf cart. Beaver-suit Winston sat in the back seat, facing seven drunk college students who tailed them on bicycles. The BDE Bike Run was officially underway. “I say we hit ‘em with, like, something totally dangerous!” Claire yelled. The cyclists huffed and puffed in pursuit - all except one. Leading the pack was a suave, tan Italian guy in an Italy National Football jersey. Pedaling with long, toned legs, he refused to break a sweat. Winston smirked under his mask, reaching into a cardboard box of goodies. “So long, pepperoncini!” Winston yelled, lifting a bucket of motor oil and dousing the street. The Italian and another pledge crossed the oil slick without a hitch. But three others felt their wheels wobble, then pummeled into the bushes. “They are, like, totally bad drivers!” Claire giggled. “Now, getcha something good to stop that sexy tan guy in front.” “Say no more, ma’am,” Winston muttered, withdrawing a rusty iron chain. He twirled it like a lasso, then launched it straight for the Italian’s tire. But this mysterious man smirked, winked at Winston, and jetted to the side. The chain coiled around another guy’s tire, sending him head-first into the Basilica’s Virgin Mary statue. Claire stopped at a red light. There were three freshmen left: the nameless Italian and two poster-child frat boys named Chad and Taggart. Winston stood up in his seat. “Hey, assholes! Red light means drink.” The three chugged from their sports bottles. Tagg and Chad struggled to wolf their drinks down. But the Italian finished his, refusing to break eye contact with Winston. With a grin, Claire sipped on a tall vanilla milkshake. “Like, do you think they even know what hit ‘em?” Claire cackled. “I reckon one of them will in a minute,” Winston replied. Suddenly, Chad collapsed to the ground, taking his bicycle with him. He began coughing his lungs out, pounding the pavement with his fists. Claire hopped out of her seat and walked over. “My, oh, my,” Claire teased, sipping her shake as Chad squirmed in the fetal position. “Looks like you, um, totally drew the short straw! See, your bottle’s a good ole mix of light beer and bona fide ghost pepper oil!” The lucky Tagg and Italian watched as Chad crawled on hands and knees, reaching for Claire’s milkshake like a baby. “Hmm,” Claire mused, chewing her straw. “So your name’s Chad, I reckon?” “F-fuck you, b-b-bitch!” he hacked and coughed. “Awww, look at you!” Claire continued. “The hunk named Chad who founded our chapter would have totally drunk that for breakfast with his post-coital bacon and eggs. You’re, like, a total pussy! So be a good pussy and, like, spread your legs.” Winston's, Tagg's, and the Italian’s gaze shifted from amusement to confusion. But slowly, Chad spread his legs, swearing as he wiped sweat from his eyes. Claire giggled, turning around to take a long, satisfying sip. Then, she lifted her high heel and stomped Chad’s crotch. Chad’s wailing scream could have rattled the late Chadwick's corpse. The three of them stared in shock while Claire poured the rest of her shake onto Chad’s face. She walked over to Winston and removed his mask. “You were, like, fucking brilliant!” Claire cheered, stroking his beard. “Tagg and tortellini: he sure did a number on y’all, but you totally beat the odds! Let’s go back to the house so you can, like, pledge and shit.” But this nameless Italian walked straight past Claire and kneeled at Chad’s side. He removed his own jersey - his six-pack abs bulging through his undershirt - and wiped the milkshake off Chad’s beet-red face. “Um, hellooo?” Claire called out while the Italian continued to nurse Chad. “Ugh. Looks like we have, like, a total straggler.” Claire hopped back in the driver’s seat and started the ignition. “Shame on you, spaghetti boy!” she yelled. “You were almost as dashing as my burly beaver-man!” “Alas, such blind immorality,” the mystery man scolded in a thick Italian accent. “Why, your charlatan legacy will taint this city like the Bubonic Plague!” She looked at him with pity and acceptance. “Welp, come on, you two! We’ll have some Swedish hookers at the house. They’ll be dying to, like, give y’all a warm welcome to Beta Delta Epsilon!” Apparently, that was enough for Tagg. He plopped down on the back seat, ripping a beer fart on impact. “Come awn, mascawt,” Tagg said in a backwoods Mississippian accent. “All dat sure does sound lawk fun. Ah neva been wahlcomed to anythang.” Everybody waited on Winston’s next move. Claire twirled her blonde hair, Chad licked a gob of milkshake from the pavement, and Tagg tried to contain his stomach tremors. The Italian stared with cold, calculating eyes as Winston made the decision to climb in the passenger’s seat. Claire grabbed Winston’s shoulders and leaned in close. “I’m gonna, like, do things to you in bed that would totally, like, make my momma wish she had an abortion!” The golf cart sped through the dark Asheville streets toward Greek Row. *** “Get out of the fuckin’ road, moron!” Sarah yelled. A shit-faced Gigi stumbled in the middle of the street. Sarah grabbed her arms, yanking her onto the sidewalk. A split second later, a golf cart whizzed by. Gigi sat Indian style, reaching for eye squiggles in front of her face. She turned back to Sarah and Tweed, who began rolling a joint. “How...how did you get so tall?” a drunk Gigi slurred, staring up at her through glassy eyes. “Because God fucking hates me,” slurred the drunk 5’11” Sarah. She snatched Tweed’s joint and took a hit. “It’s a blessing and a curse. All the men are too short and all the dogs are too scared.” “Well, all the dogs want to eat me,” responded the 5’3” Gigi. “Or maybe... they think I’m one of them?” “Fuuuck, now I...now I want a...uh, a dog,” Sarah said. “Oh, me too!” Gigi chimed in. “We’ll sneak him into the dorm and he can sleep in my bed!” “You raging mutt!” Sarah spat. “The dog sleeps with me. You can clean up after his happy accidents.” Gigi started to cry. Sarah took one long hit of weed, then flicked the joint at Gigi’s forehead. Tweed observed these two feral roommates in their natural habitat. “It looks like you non-binary members of the human species seem to enjoy drinking,” Tweed declared. “Not to mention dogs. I just so happen to know a place where we can do both. Next stop on the Woke City Bar Crawl is Lazy Tail Tavern! Where everybody gets so drunk off craft beer, that they adopt one of the bar's four-legged friends!" Gigi and Sarah wagged their imaginary tails in excitement. Tweed led the way past several local coffee shops and pizzerias. Outside of nearly every business were dog bowls and biscuits: a reminder of the city’s true mascot. Gigi grabbed Sarah’s hand, forcing her to lag behind. “Um, hey,” Gigi started, trying to sound sober. “Why did you...k-kick down your door? I was only tryin’ to...keep my hotbox. I only mentioned that me Winston were in there to get you to f-fuck off." Sarah paused, blinking away her own eye swiggles. “Look, my horndog brother started blowing me off for pussy ever since he hit puberty. Honestly, I don’t care who he dates. But if he ever thinks about hiding it from me, it’ll cost him more than the bedroom door.” In Gigi’s tipsy little head, she tried to make sense of it all. She reached into her purse and took another swig of Jäger. “So! When you performed a flying roundhouse kick, you theoretically sacrificed your collegiate privacy in a last-ditch effort to prevent me and your bearded wildebeest of a brother from consummating a one-night stand!” “Are you in love with Winston Beavers?” Sarah asked. Softly. Seriously. “What is that?!” Gigi suddenly blurted out, looking over Sarah’s shoulder. She skittered off toward two male students sitting on a bench. “Where...can...I...find…that?” she slurred, pointing at the tallest vanilla milkshake she’d ever seen. “My stars!” replied the Italian student from the Bike Run. “Why, this concoction was birthed in a wonderful creamery down yonder. May you whet my appetite by bestowing upon me the pleasure of escorting you there? I beseech you!” What's this, what's this? Gigi asked herself. Somebody who talks just like me? “Oh, such kindness knows no bounds!” Gigi played along. “I bid you humor me in disclosing the geographic origin of that voluptuous accent!” “With ease, young lass! I am called Francisco of the Rossi family, from Verona. But those who make such a gentle acquaintance as yours may humbly refer to me as Frank.” He extended a hand. “Alas, it’s to my great delight that I take up residency in the States on scholarship to partake in the beautiful sport of football.” “And I am Ji-hye of the Moon dynasty - from the sleepless streets of Seoul, South Korea!” She shook his hand. “But on account of your neighborly, theatrical aura, I bestow upon thee the privilege of referring to me as Gigi! Oh, football...mayhaps I bore witness to your athletic prowess during the home opener?” “Two fuckin’ peas in a pod,” Sarah scoffed to Tweed as they walked over to the group. “Imagine that. They've mastered the English language, and yet nobody understands shit they say.” Sarah propped her elbow on Gigi’s shoulder. “Hey roomie, here’s a piece of advice. Your new friend is talking about soccer. Not American football, retard.” “Whoa, dude,” Tweed mused. “You should only reserve that heavy word for the Moral Majority. If people see us throwing it around like corporate bailouts, it loses its meaning.” Gigi cleared her throat. “Frank, these are my friends: Sarah and Tweed. Um...does your friend here have a name?” The downtrodden red-faced frat boy said nothing, occasionally sipping his milkshake while staring into space. “He certainly does,” Frank replied, standing up like his lawyer. “He is the one called Chad. And this Chad is a noble man of utmost stature, whose aforementioned nobility bore witness to a crime against humanity - of ever-so-deviant acts impressed upon him by a clique of prima donnas.” “Yeah, in layman’s terms,” Chad muttered, “we tried our damndest to pledge with Beta Delta Epsilon. And we got fuckin’ humiliated. Well, I did at least.” Tweed took a hit of weed and knelt down at Chad’s feet. “Whoa, you mean that fraternity of rich trust fund babies? Because fuck those retards! There you go, Sarah. There’s a totally PC use of that word.” Tweed gave Sarah a crisp high-five. She chuckled, glancing over at Gigi. But not once had she taken her eyes off of Frank. “Fool me twice, shame on me,” Chad admitted. “Because I tried to rush with them last year as a freshman. Things didn’t work out then either.” “I can sense you’re not like those meat-headed neanderthals,” Tweed said, placing his hand over Chad’s heart. “You need to defect from the Greek lifestyle and do something wholesome for the world.” “Maybe so,” Chad pondered, standing up. “But not before I get a taste of sweet fuckin’ revenge. See, there’s this huge rush party that’ll start any minute now at the BDE frat house. And I wanna fuck their shit up. For that bitch Claire. And especially for the president: Ryan.” “And lest we forget the cowardly bearded beast, who disguised his countenance beneath a thin beaver veneer,” Frank interjected. “Alas, his name I know not.” “You’re a complete poet!” Gigi blurted out, completely missing Frank's reference to Winston. Chad and Tweed shot her a quick side-eye. Sarah's face contorted in disgust. Frank raised his thick, brown eyebrows and walked over to Gigi. Before she could react, he reached for her hand and kissed it. “I thank you humbly,” Frank replied, squeezing Gigi’s hand. “The streets of Asheville shall sing your praise for all eternity.” Before a drunk Gigi could pick her jaw up from the floor, Tweed stood on the bench. “So what the fuck are we waiting for?” Tweed yelled. “Let’s sabotage these rich cocksuckers! With some help, of course.” Tweed led the others to Lazy Tail Tavern. A dog-friendly bar where humans and canines could freely coexist. Where all living things shared the same snacks, water bowls, and heartbeats. “Namaste,” Tweed greeted the attendant. “These are my new non-binary friends of the human species: Sarah the Beatnik, Gigi the Meek, Francisco the Poet, and Chad the Weary. And I am Tweed the Woke. I’m here to borrow your Tibetan mastiff: Chonk. We’re...taking him on a little adventure.” *** “Boom, baby!” Winston roared obnoxiously. “Dick shot!” The ping-pong ball bounced off of Winston’s manhood and landed in Tagg’s red Solo cup. Winston had won yet another game of beer pong. He zipped up his pants while Claire, Tagg, and everyone else stared in utter shock. “Drink, you dirty dog!” Winston commanded, pointing at Tagg. “Aw man,” Tagg groaned, watching the filthy ball bob in the cup of light beer. “Ah really don’ wanna after it don’ touch yer pecker.” “Yo, listen to your fellow pledge and drink,” commanded Ryan Hughes, the son of the late founder Chadwick. Wearing a freshly-starched white Lacoste polo, he stepped up to Walmart-polo-Tagg. Ryan stared him down until he finally downed the cup. Claire leaned in and kissed Winston’s cheek. “You’re, like, totally what BDE is all about. Especially with that...gift of yours!” Winston replied by slipping his arm around her waist and squeezing her ass. “Brother Tagg!” Ryan yelled, pointing at the Solo cups. “You’re gonna have to do something about your aim in beer pong, my man. Matter fact, I’m goddamn terrified to see what you would do to a toilet seat.” Ryan wasn’t wrong to be concerned about bathroom etiquette. After all, Brother Winston and Brother Tagg were going to be spending much more of their time at the BDE house, beginning tonight. Soon, the rest of the brothers would return with their recruited pledges, and the real all-night rager would begin. “Ah do gotta take uh leak though,” backwoods Tagg grunted, stumbling toward the bathroom. “Ah thank I drank too much pisswater.” “Christ, he sounds like the hick I bought my moonshine from,” Winston said, playing with Claire’s long, blonde hair. “Ya know, Ryan, one of the Alabama boys that I bought mine from plum-fuckin’ died making my batch.” “Whoa, you fuck with Alabama moonshine?” Ryan asked in disbelief. “Bro, you’re straight scoring points in my book! Ya know, I heard what you did to those pussies downtown. And don’t even get me started about Connor. Fifty-thousand volts to the nipples...yikes! How’s that cuck gonna breastfeed his girlfriend’s daughter?” “Sounds like my man Winston like-like-like-like-like, loves to play a little rough!” Claire said, discreetly reaching down and pinching his ass. “Matter fact, you should totally strap me to that chair and punish me!” Suddenly, Tagg barged out of the bathroom. “Ah can’t stahp throwing up!” he groaned, limping into the living room. Chunky, cloudy vomit dribbled down his mouth, all over his polo and the polished hardwood floor. “Fuck!” Ryan yelled, yanking Tagg’s collar. “Yo, Winston, help me get this guy on the lawn. I swear to God, if he fucks up my carpet…” Winston split from Claire, and he and Ryan restrained Tagg’s shoulders. But using his backwoods Mississippian strength, Tagg flung himself free. He took a few steps back, pointing a trembling finger at all three of them. “Y’awl…faggots only want tuh take muh 1500 dollars puh semester. Go da fuck awn. Y’awl can keep da free strippers, the free food, the free booze. I done told muh momma I was givin’ up da bottle anyways.” But at the very mention of alcohol, Tagg’s stomach rose to his throat. His hazy eyes shot wide open. He turned around and proceeded to empty his entire stomach into a small, ornate purple vase. Now Winston was both disgusted and impressed that Tagg managed not to spill a drop on the floor. I’ll be damned, he thought. Now if he can just improve his aim in beer pong, we might have ourselves a team. But Claire, who had been howling with laughter before, now let out a gasp. And Ryan’s skin turned from spray-tan gold to AIDS-patient white. He walked over to Tagg, who was nearing blackout on the floor. And as Winston already knew, it wasn’t a matter of if he wanted to fuck him up, but how badly. “Son of a bitch ain’t worth it,” Winston muttered, giving Ryan a back pat. “Don’t worry. I’ll make him put up money for a new vase. Even if it means I have to shock it out of him.” Ryan reared back and kicked Tagg in the gut. He groaned, drooling vomit onto the floor. “It’s not about the fucking money, bro!” Ryan snapped. “Let’s go,” Claire whispered in Winston’s ear. “He, like, totally prefers to deliver his beatings in private.” Claire turned around and headed upstairs. After hesitating, Winston stumbled behind her. He made a quick detour to the hall bathroom, slamming the door to muffle Tagg’s guttural groans. Struggling to keep his balance, Winston braced his hand against the wall above the toilet and began to piss. All this hazing...this ain’t what Chadwick would’ve wanted. I reckon he’s rolling in his grave. Winston entered the dark den. The fireplace was crackling. Winston panned over and saw Claire Dansby in nothing but red high heels and a matching thong. She leaned over the back of the torture chair, her modest breasts in full view. “I reckon I’ve changed my mind,” Claire said mischievously. “I, like, totally want you to have a seat.” *** “Here comes the douche parade,” Chad announced. The five students and their dog lay in wait behind the hedges at the BDE frat house. “Here’s the plan,” Chad continued. “I’ll go in through the front door and distract Ryan and the brothers. Ladies, they’re expecting hookers, so Frank will be our pimp and escort you in. When it’s safe, everybody peel off and look for Ryan's purple Venitian vase. If things get funky, I’ll give Tweed the signal to let Chonk off his leash to raise hell. Meanwhile, Tweed will set up the mortar on the quad. When we come out with that vase, we’ll rig it up to the explosives and give these motherfuckers the biggest light show of their goddamn lives.” “Ah, doth I have the privilege to be bestowed the pleasure of your company in this venture?” Frank asked, slipping his arm around the blushing Gigi. “You certainly may!” Gigi replied, in a cringe-worthy Italian accent. Gag me with a fork, Sarah thought. At least Gigi and Winston are off the menu. “Look!” Tweed yelled, gripping Chonk’s leash. “It’s their fascist National Defense, protecting their fortified cesspool.” Connor from the 300 Hall stood in front of the door in an oversized suit and tie. A group of pledges approached him. “G-greetings, gentlemen,” Connor stuttered. “What is…um, what’s the password?” In response, one of the brothers reached out and twisted Connor’s nipples. He screeched like a cat in heat, and the brothers walked inside. Now alone, Connor began to rub his nipples to soothe the pain. Suddenly, a flying dart pierced the side of his neck, and he immediately hit the floor. Everyone looked up at Tweed, who slipped his blow-dart gun back in his pocket. “May the gods and goddesses protect you!” he called out in a war cry. “We’ll be on the quad ready to fuck these pigs up.” Tweed and Chonk jogged to the backyard. Chad took a deep breath and confidently walked into the house, leaving only a pimp and his two prostitutes. “I bid you!” Frank began, “Disclose to me the cuisine that most suits your refined palate.” “Who, me?” Sarah asked. “Well, I’m your typical bleeding-heart liberal vegan, so-" “Ah, I beg your kindest pardon,” Frank interrupted. “But my heart yearns to lick the heart and taste the health of Miss Gigi instead.” “Oh!” Gigi piped up. “I enjoy Asian food, but you probably already knew that. And I’m lactose intolerant so I can’t have dairy...including that lovely milkshake from earlier.” “Lactose intolerant,” Frank repeated slowly as if he had never heard of it. “Ah, it appears as if the heavens have opened the floodgates of opportunity. I, Francisco Rossi, shall prepare a masterful smorgasbord for this beautiful woman upon which I gaze. Yes! We shall use our feet to squish the ripest grapes. We shall use our hands to squeeze the finest teats. Will you have me?” “Oh, my!” Gigi gasped, raising her eyebrows. “Um…well, what do you cook exactly?” “Italian, my love. But that you already knew.” *** In the frat house, Chad swam through a sea of pastel polos, elbowing his way into the living room. While the frat boys took shots and pumped fists to the Drake music on the speakers, Ryan leaned back in his recliner - a Jack and Coke in hand. “Well, look who the dog dragged in,” Ryan snickered, lighting a Black N’ Mild. “Ryan Motherfucking Hughes,” Chad greeted, feigning excitement. “You know I just couldn’t stay away.” “Better be careful where you tread, my man,” Ryan muttered, blowing a wisp of wine-flavored smoke into his face. “Remember where that got you last year, cuck?” Before Chad could answer, Frank barged in with Sarah and Gigi on each arm. “Pray tell, would you testosterone-fueled carnivores crave some fine wenches?” Frank polled the room. The frat boys hooted and hollered for these “hookers.” Sarah broke away from Frank, making her way to Ryan. “You must be the head honcho around here,” Sarah said, eyeing Ryan from the pomade in his hair to the boat shoes on his feet. “I don’t see any chairs, so do you mind if I make myself comfortable on your lap?” Sarah promptly took her “seat,” planting a kiss on Ryan's cheek. He ran his hands up and down her smooth, long legs. “You’re a lot younger than your colleagues from last year’s rush party,” Ryan observed. Clearly, he was referring to the real hookers who were supposed to have been there. “I age like fine wine, my man,” Sarah lied, brushing her chest against his face as she stood up. “You don’t lift a finger and I’m going to make you a stiff drink.” While Sarah distracted Ryan, Frank and Gigi made their way up the long, narrow staircase. On the walls were portraits of fellow BDE brothers from different chapters and bygone eras. One painting caught Gigi’s eye. She froze, admiring a vintage portrait of a young southern gentleman with a beard, monocle, three-piece suit, and white gloves... Winston, she thought, his goofy smile now seared in his mind. And just like that, a flurry of memories from the past few weeks hit her all over again. The department store infiltration. The gang versus Lionell. A hundred hours-worth of Winston’s eating vlogs... Suddenly, Frank reached down and held Gigi’s hands. “My Gigi! Let us abstain from this scheme, and pawn the vase ourselves. That we may make international voyage to my motherland: Italy!” “I...I can’t,” Gigi said, torn but confident. She turned away, head held high, and continued down the hall. “My stars,” Frank sighed, following her. “Cupid doth struck your heart long before me?” “Yes,” she admitted as they arrived at the door leading to the den. “Woe is me!” Frank cried out dramatically. “And you are in love?” “Madly.” She grabbed the doorknob. “And to whom have you offered your heart in full?” Gigi’s mind raced as she twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. “His name? His name is…WINSTON?!” In the den, a topless Claire glistened with sweat. She was wrapping her arms around a seated Winston, giving him an exotic lap dance. Winston whipped his head back to see a spellbound Gigi and Frank. One thought seared in Winston’s mind. Why the hell is Gigi wearing my purple V-neck? Undeterred, Claire turned to face them, grinding her ass on Winston’s thigh. “It’s, like, crazy impolite to enter without knocking. You might, like, totally see something for my man’s eyes only!” Tears welled up in Gigi’s big, brown eyes. Frank slammed the door. Her jaw trembled as she braced her hands against the wall to keep her balance. Searching for the right words, Frank unwrapped something from his pocket and slipped it into her mouth. “What I have bestowed upon thee,” Frank explained, “is a homemade white chocolate espresso truffle with a raspberry core. I bid you not to chew it. Invite it to melt on your tongue and coat your throat. All your worries shall fade into obscurity.” Gigi opened her eyes, smiling through tears. “It’s...oh! It’s so sweet and rich. The raspberry. I’m tasting it now! And the coffee. It’s...perfect!” “Alas, may this be the eve where you venture into the wonderful world of dairy!” “Will you make me Caprese salad next?" And just like that, Gigi forgot about everything she had seen in that den. Gigi’s phone rang. “Guys, get down to the kitchen - quick!” Sarah hissed. “The vase is under the sink! I’ll distract Ryan while you guys come get it.” Frank and Gigi hopped out the first-story window. Hand-in-hand, they walked around the back door leading to the dining room. In the backyard, Tweed was in position with his fireworks rig. He gave them a rock-on sign as Chonk waited on standby. In the dining room, the party was reaching a climax. Every square-inch of counter space was sticky with liquor. Pizza crust was scattered about like animal bones. And every chair was occupied by a frat boy’s sweaty ass, with a complementary sorority girl on their lap. “Gigi, come!” Ryan slurred, as Sarah still sat on his lap. Gigi hesitated like a deer in headlights, then walked over with a fake smile. Frank slipped away into the kitchen. “I need you to ask him something,” Ryan commanded, pointing at Chad. “Ask him why he failed to pledge with us last year.” Chad gritted his teeth at the request. But Sarah slipped into her role fluidly, running her tongue up Ryan’s cheek. And in the corner of her eye, Gigi watched Frank open the cabinets under the kitchen sink. Gigi cleared her throat, pretending as if she'd never met this Chad before. “Pray tell the reason,” she played along, “why a pathetic cretin of a specimen failed to pump the necessary amount of testosterone into the heartbeat of this fraternal organization!” “It’s because Ryan fucked his mom!” Sarah teased, nuzzling Ryan’s cheek. “And poor Chad got butthurt and backed out.” “Um...yes, that’s...quite a shame!” Gigi said, trying to hide her shock and pity. Chad glared daggers at all three of them. Fuck you, his expression said. But Sarah and Gigi knew that Chad reserved his anger for Ryan and Ryan alone. Before Chad could make a comeback, the doorbell rang. “Get the door, cuck,” Ryan commanded, raising his eighth glass of Jack and Coke. Chad stood up, balling his fists. He walked past the frat boys, feeling a hundred condescending gazes on his back. He swung the door open to see two tired-looking middle-aged blondes on the doorstep. And unlike the youthful Gigi and Sarah, these real prostitutes were caked with makeup and smelled of fast food and their last client’s cologne. “Ry!” one of the ladies called out in a deep smoker’s voice. “You were supposed to pick us up from the curb, asshole!” Ryan shot out of his chair, nearly knocking Sarah over. In his narrow, inebriated mind, this whole scheme fell together like a grade school puzzle. Chad’s sudden return to the frat house. The young, fake "hookers" who he’d never seen before. And the final piece of that puzzle was Frank, who was now slowly creeping out the back door with Ryan’s purple vase... “Yo, we have intruders in the frat house!” Ryan bellowed. “Everybody stomp their asses!” Chad lunged at Ryan, decking him in the face. Ryan collapsed onto the dining room table, taking the tablecloth and drinks with him. Gigi, Sarah, and Chad sprinted out the back door. “Tweed, release the beast!” Chad yelled. Tweed let go of Chonk’s leash. The salivating 200-pound mastiff charged toward the back door like a bath salt zombie, blocking the exit and attacking the raging frat boys with kisses. “Fuck you, greedy pigs!” Tweed yelled as Frank arrived with the vase. “Dear Camus, this thing smells like filthy capitalists!” He quickly tied the vase to the mortar. “There’s...something sloshing around in there, my dude,” Sarah chimed in, holding her nose. “You did it, Frank!” Gigi cheered, panting. “And on the rooftop shall we soon break bread, my Gigi,” Frank declared as the crowd of brothers closed in. “But soft! I must disappear for but a moment!” Frank sprinted into the woods before the oncoming Greek invasion could spot him. While Gigi watched him leave, Sarah snatched her wrist and checked her pulse. “Your heart’s beating, roomie,” Sarah said, winking at her. “That Italian boy must've really done a number on you.” Gigi blushed, shaking her head frantically. “Um...it must have been the chocolate!” The fireworks rig was ready, just in time for Ryan and his army to form a blockade in the yard. One of the frat boys dangled a pizza crust in front of Chonk, who had clearly switched teams. “If you don’t give that back, I’ll shank you in your sleep,” Ryan’s voice trembled, eyeing the stolen vase. “Fair warning: you guys might wanna back the fuck up,” Chad sneered. “Hit it, Tweed!” Tweed lit the short fuse, launching what was actually an urn into the sky. Everyone marveled as it exploded into a million pieces, scattering Tagg’s vomit and the ashes of the late Chadwick Hughes all over the yard. Ryan wiped his filthy face between erratic shrieks and fell to his knees. Out of nowhere, Frank plowed through the hedges in his Benz. “I pray you sheepish fools get in the automobile!” he yelled. Sarah, Gigi, Tweed, and Chad slipped in, and Frank sped away. *** Later at Firewater Hall, Winston took the stairs to the seventh floor. Sarah was smacking the door with a hammer, trying to re-align it with the hinges. “Hey, sis,” Winston greeted, sober. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Gigi is, would ya?” “Yep, I do,” she responded, pounding away without looking at him. "And I’m not telling you where she is.” Sarah had just drawn a line in the sand. And after a lifetime of growing up with her, Winston respected her too much to dare cross it. “So, what project are ya noodlin’ with so late at night?” Winston asked. “Oh, this? Well, I made the mistake of sacrificing my own privacy so that I could keep a closer eye on my roommate and a certain sibling I know. But after Gigi told me what happened tonight between my aforementioned sibling and another woman, I decided that I no longer had anything to worry about.” With one final pound of the hammer, the hinges snapped back into place. *** After Frank dropped Gigi off at Firewater, she walked toward Rumwood Lake. Sober, and with a pounding headache, she arrived after midnight. She peered at the watery grave that had claimed the late Chadwick years ago. Gigi reached into her purse and pulled out Winston’s Single Action Army revolver. Then, she reared back and tossed it into the center of the lake. Plop. With a long sigh, she turned around to leave. Then, remembering South App etiquette, she reached into her purse and fetched the nearly-empty pint of Jäger. “I’m so sorry, Chadwick!” she yelled, pouring the rest of the liquor on the ground. “You didn’t deserve what we did to you back there.” Footsteps approached from behind. “Ah, the late Sir Chadwick,” Frank marveled. Before she could react, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “His remains doth pepper the greenery of the brotherhood he so bravely founded. I’d say that’s precisely what he wanted.” He began massaging her headache away. Gigi closed her eyes and smiled. “Um...you followed me here?” “I wished not for you to walk alone, as bawdy fraternity brethren of high sexual prowess are prone to hunt these streets at night.” “Thank you, Frank,” she responded softly, nearly falling asleep standing up. “Thank me you shall not. Follow me you shall.” Frank led Gigi to the edge of the lake. Under tree limbs, there was a small canoe in the water. He stepped in first, then held Gigi’s hand to keep her balance. She yelped as the boat rocked, clutching Frank’s sleeve. But when all was still, he grabbed an oar and rowed toward the center of the lake. “Alas, perhaps you subscribe to the silly tales surrounding this sacred lake?” Frank asked, bringing the boat to a stop. “You were...pouring one out for Chadwick, were you not?” Gigi froze, embarrassed to be seen practicing such a superstitious campus custom. “I...um,” Gigi fumbled. “It’s my wish to pay respects for those who are no longer with us! So that I may be as kind to the fallen as I am to people on this Earth! Seeing as they can no longer speak for themselves, and-" “How anxious you are!” Frank interrupted, unwrapping a chocolate truffle. “I bid you lay back and fill your thoughts with imminent fine Italian cuisine.” Frank placed the truffle on Gigi’s tongue, then kissed her. They fell back into the canoe, making out in each other’s arms. A mellow high enveloped them like a two-person cocoon. Meanwhile, Chadwick’s spirit finally rested beneath that lake, granting Frank and Gigi privacy until the morning light. |
Peter Grant is a probationary constable on the verge of being shuffled off to a desk job as a pencil-pusher by higher ups who think he doesn't have what it takes to make it as a full constable until he discovers a surprising ability: he can see and talk to ghosts. This gift quickly attracts the attention of Inspector Nightingale, Scotland Yard's only investigating wizard who decides to take Grant on as an apprentice. Together they work to solve a shocking murder that hints at an unexpected resurgence in magic around London.There's an anecdote that the first Harry Potter book had its British title changed for US publication because publishers felt that Americans wouldn't know what a philosopher's stone was. A part of me likes thinking that that's also why this book had its title changed. "Ben, we can't just publish a book in America with this title! They're Americans, who knows if they even know what a 'river' or 'London' is?" But back to the book itself, this was a marvelous little story full of personality and dry British humor that made it hard to put down. Peter and the rest of this cast have a ton of charm and they all get along well with some minor friendly teasing. I feel like there are a lot of books that shoot for friendly teasing and wind up overshooting into just being mean territory or else confuse being mean for friendly teasing but this book hit the mark perfectly, you always get the sense that these people really like each other and would never say a truly unkind thing. This even extends to a character I thought would serve as kind of a hardass minor antagonist inspector who disapproves of Nightingale but turns out to by sympathetic and open to using their help pretty early on. There are plenty of lines that got me to chuckle but those don't distract from some real emotional moments either. Aaranovitch does a masterful job knowing when to delve into the absurdity and when to lie back and let the characters have a moment or two to have quiet, meaningful interactions. The world building is decent as well with some fleshed out mythological ideas that I believe draw on English folklore about Mother Thames and Father Thames. Excellent pacing contributes to this book's success as it clips along at a fast pace and you quickly get engrossed in the action and find yourself unable to put the book down.
Eragon is a farmer in Carvahall on the far edge of the Empire until one day a dragon egg arrives at his feet by magic. Eragon bonds with the hatched dragon whom he names Saphira but one day agents of the Empire destroy his farm and kill his uncle while searching for him, forcing Eragon to flee Carvahall. With the help of an old storyteller named Brom, Eragon must learn to become a Dragon Rider and either take up arms against the Empire or else join the evil Galbatorix and help subdue the last remnants of resistance in Alagaesia.There's a commonality among fantasy readers that almost all of us got into fantasy as children and it is the sad truth that some books that are exciting and interesting to us as kids do not hold up when we reread them as adults. We've already hit a few of the most common ones in this series: Shannara, Dragonlance, and Drizzt are frequent entries on the big "disappointing to reread as an adult" list even if I enjoyed some of those in this very series. Now we come to Eragon, possibly the poster child of this phenomenon (along with the Belgariad which is surprisingly in the same rank on this list). Written by its author when he was just a teen, it sold extremely well and probably introduced many to more epic fantasy in the early 2000s but now tends to be looked on with disdain as a terrible book. Does it deserve that reputation? Well, there's definitely no shortage of flaws here. The plot is taken from every major nerd franchise you can think of, the worldbuilding is cookie cutter, the characterizations are basic and stereotypical, the writing is shallow with many awkward word choices and sometimes even self contradictory descriptions (a man being described as both thin and stout in the same sentence), the mysteries are often easy to guess, and the chapter titles are often hilarious in how hard they try often coming up with such overreaching, unintentionally laughable titles like "The Doom of Innocence" and "The Madness of Life." And yet....for all those flaws, even 17 years after first reading it and being able to pinpoint the many, many things wrong with it with laser precision, it still somehow has the ability to pull me in immediately and to hold my attention with ease.
Fiver, the young runt of a rabbit warren, begins experiencing visions of the impending destruction of his home. He convinces his brother, Hazel, and several other rabbits to leave the warren and set out in search of a new home. After a long journey, the settle but realize they don't have enough female rabbits for the colony to last longer than a generation. They ask a local warren for them to share their women only to find that the other warren is a police state that is hellbent on destroying the fledgeling colony. It's is up to Hazel as the leader to find a way to save the warren from destruction.Oftentimes it is hard for acknowledged genre classics to crossover into becoming literary classics. Harry Potter has certainly cemented its legacy as a fantasy classic but whether or not it should be a literary classic as well is hotly debated. A Song of Ice and Fire seemed to be beginning to gain clout in consideration of becoming a literary classic but with its publishing future uncertain, who knows if it will attain it? And even unquestioned titan of the genre Lord of the Rings only barely clings to literary classic status and it's continued presence in the canon is hotly contested with an even split between supporters and detractors. So when I say that Watership Down is both a fantasy classic and a literary classic, I want it to really sink in just what a feat that is. And this reputation is not undeserved. WD is a masterpiece of worldbuilding. The rabbits in it feel both like real rabbits and real characters, they manage to both be distinct from humans in recognizable ways without sacrificing complexity of character. Compare this to Redwall where the fact that the characters are all animals is largely incidental to the plot (you could change most of the characters of Redwall to humans without changing much of the plot), and it becomes clear just how integral the rabbits being rabbits is to Watership Down both in terms of the plot and just how much of their views, personality, and philosophy it affects. He also deserves for being applauded for taking what could have been a ludicrous idea (what if I did a standard hero's journey and fight against a police state but with bunnies?) into a surprisingly epic story. Thematically the book is concerned with (what else?) survival and destruction, how cleverness helps with survival and things of that nature, and of course freedom vs tyranny. These are all fairly common themes in western literature and the book doesn't really add too much that is new to consider but it does handle these weighty topics with appropriate gravitas.
Garion lives a comfortable life with his Aunt Pol until one day the Old Wolf, a storyteller who sometimes drops by, insists that they leave at once to help him find a stolen item. Thus begins a chase to retrieve something before some unspecified people can do whatever with it. Along the way, Garion will learn his true parentage and his real purpose in life.By sheer bad luck, I wound up with two fantasy books people tend to like when they're young because it helps get them into fantasy but hate when they're older because they see how cliche they are. It is interesting that they are on the same tier though. So like Eragon, does the Belgariad deserve its bad reputation? Well...yes. I hate to be so blunt but it really is a bland book and Eddings storytelling instincts are abysmal to the point that I'm struggling for anything positive to say about it. I suppose the characters are inoffensive though I can't say they're particularly interesting or memorable either. Some of the worldbuilding elements are kind of interesting though those elements are often the ones the story does not capitalize on. Mostly though, it's easier to find things the story does horribly wrong. For example: the story opens with a brief prologue on the gods and how the world came to be that feels interminable but in chapter two, the whole tale is repeated by a storyteller who goes on to be a prominent character and I can't for the life of me figure out why such repetition needed to occur in the same 30 page span nor why Eddings included a pointless prologue when another character was going to have a good in-universe reason to lore dump so early in the book. And as I'm sure you can tell from my summation of the book, a good bit of the actual plot is shrouded in mystery which can be a useful storytelling technique but generally where are we going, why are we going there, and what are the stakes are not things you want to keep secret from the reader for so long because it's hard to get invested without such knowledge. Of course, the plot is relatively easy to guess because this is a book for children. If your age is in the double digits, you'll pretty quickly guess what was stolen and who everyone from the Old Wolf to Aunt Pol to Garion all are well before the book has gotten around to answering those questions. And by "well before the book gets to it", I mean that this first book never actually confirms what was stolen, only that it's important. This makes the read very frustrating because Garion desperately wants to know who he is and the adults around him all make a point of saying that they know who he is but won't tell him who he is not for any specific reason but just because they won't, flatly refusing to even offer a reason why. This kind of contrivance is maddening with such an obvious mystery but it gets even more maddening when, after Garion finally learns the Old Wolf and Aunt Pol's identities, he never thinks to ask why such important people are interested in him and call themselves his family. For a character who could not stop asking who these characters were for the first 150 pages, it's confusing that he has no interest in any follow up questions.
Inda Algara-Vayir is the second son of a prince of the Marlovan Empire and so has the privilege of attending the royal military academy. There he displays an astounding facility for command both in strategic brilliance and the ability to win over the loyalty of other students, including the loyalty of the second prince of the Marlovan king. This potent combination leads the king's brother and advisor to fear Inda and plot to find a way to remove him from the nation so that he won't impede on the brother's plans.Inda is a book series that owes almost all of its success on this sub to to one Fantasy read along 3 years ago that earned it a number of die hard fans that haven't been able to shut up about it ever since. I can say that thought because I'm one of them. Yup, saw the book sale, saw the read along, decided to join in and have been a fan of the series ever since. In fact, as a serial series starter, Inda holds the distinction of being one of the five series I've read to completion instead of just reading the first book of since I joined this sub. So for me this is up there with First Law, Kingkiller, the Hyperion Cantos, Powder Mage, and Mistborn.
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