Frat Parties.

Back in my day, party-goers
blew birthday candles, not Frat Boys.

I love parties. Parties give me a chance to experience the elevated feeling of 'fun' that I often hear so much about on my friends' Facebook statuses. I love the cake, I love the Pinatas, I love the Musical-Statues, the Disco Ball, the Parcel to Pass, the Way My Brother Causes The Clown To Have An Emotional Breakdown, the Balloons,the Party Poppers, and Dancing to S Club 7 with Your Dad Because All The Boys Think Glasses Are Uncool.


Parties are a great chance to socialise with people, dance, drink, eat, and HAVE FUN.

At least, I thought they were.

WHY SAMANTHA? WHY? 

Since the days (15 years ago) when I got invited to parties (because it was obligatory to invite everyone in the class, unless you were going ice-skating and then you chose four close friends who could fit in your mum's car and I guess I was the fifth because I never did get to go did I Samantha, DID I?)  parties have changed - A LOT. I have recently re-entered the partying world, because I discovered contact lenses and mouth wash, and because I realised I don't actually need to be invited, I can just turn up.


And the best party to just turn up at uninvited? That would be a Frat Party (popularly known as a Farty- okay, I made that up, but they should be).

I was totally prepared for my first Frat Party- I'd listened to the lyrics of Katy Perry's Last Friday Night, I was wearing a smoking hot black dress, and I had enough cheese and crackers for eight people. I couldn't wait to let the shindig's shenanigans begin.


Frat Parties are like movies. First, you feel like you're in a teen movie: people are drinking, doing sexy-things, grinding, and all to a banging soundtrack. Then, you feel like you're in a horror movie: where are your friends? why is there blood in the showers? why has it all gone dark? Finally, you feel like you're in a public safety announcement about why you should never, ever accept drinks from strangers.

"Don't worry, it's not roofied" smiled a Fratster as he handed me a drink of the brightest blinding red I have ever seen. How reassuring. Thank you. Thank you for taking the time to assure me that the drink I am about to awkwardly sip in the corner does not contain date-rape drugs. I feel much better now. Or as they say in the 90s- NOT. 

More bacteria than your bum'ole.

Party juice, or jungle juice, or that-shit-that-got-me-so-drunk-I-tried-to-steal-sweetcorn-from-a-Fratster's-freezer-and-got-kicked-out, is a weird concoction of alcohol and additives. Even without the addition of rohypnol, this mix will get you very messed up - in a very short amount of time. But whilst I should be concerned that I am possibly being poisoned by vodka mixed with energy drink, food colouring, and unidentified substances, my primary concern with Frat juice is that it comes in a bucket. A bucket. 


Hundreds of prepubescent girls and sweaty boys are dipping their germy cups and hands into a vat of communal alcohol, leaving their bacteria and dignity behind in the sugary bucket. I'm sorry, but that is gross. Such a flagrant spread of personal germs is how people get sick with colds and infections. And AIDs. 


There's not much else to enjoy about your time at Pi Dicky Rapey Sigma Tu Tu or whatever hellhole you end up at, because the list of things wrong with fraternity parties goes on. 


Firstly, there is no food (totally justifying the Sweetcorn Stealing Incident, right?). Seriously. On the list of things that make a party, food is at the top. I want mini-pizzas, I want cupcakes, I want bags of Doritos that I can hijack and defile with my wine and tears. Frat "Brothers" have more spending money in one day than I will have in my whole pathetic life, so please, please invest in some crisps and salsa, cut up a few carrot sticks, throw on the disposable tablecloth, and let's all have a good time. Please? 

The original Frat boys.

The Frat Famine relates to another highly horrific element of Farties- the fact that boys will try to rape you. It turns out, less food = more drunk = more rapeable (an honours-thesis worthy formula for most frat boys). One convenient element about sex in fraternity houses is that it is not necessary to leave the dance floor in order to copulate. In the terrifying event you and your friends do end up in a Frat boy's room however, I have an incredibly valuable piece of advice to remain abstinent and chaste. Make them put Lord of the Rings on, steal their ties, insult their  inadequate knowledge of the Arwen-Aragorn-Eowyn triangle, paint their nails, and leave. 

But before you leave, make sure you check out all the Frat house has to offer. Take a look at/piss in the disgustingly dirty bathrooms and try to wash your hands in a sink filled with vomit, wine, and discarded underwear. Explore the house and ensure you turn the light on in the living-room to reveal a lucky fratster and 15 year old Kaitlin-with-a-K getting to know one another. And most importantly, say hi to the bouncers, because y'know, what house party doesn't need armed security guards at the front door?

Whilst experts have often claimed that parties are fun, they must have excluded Farties in their calculations. The inherently homosexual environment is paradoxically coupled with the efforts of boys in nipple-revealing wife-beaters to get a bit of Hanky Panky with the underage ladies. Luckily, they are aided by the shocking male-to-female ratio of 1 male for every 72 virginal beauties.

Wait till your mother finds out about this.

But by far the creepiest thing about Frats is that they are all Brothers. Gay brothers. Which woman took the time to birth 150 boys and why are they all different ethnicities? Like, if you're brothers, why don't you look alike? And if you're related, why are you always "joke" humping one another and waving your penises in each other's faces? And where is your mum anyway? Isn't this her house? It's nice and all, but she really needs to hire a few babysitters if she wants to keep all of her sons and her house in order.


So there you have it, now you know all about Frat parties without actually having to attend one. Or alternatively, if boiling hot rooms and remarkably un-hot boys are your thing, pop along for a night you'll never remember.

Prizes go to anyone who has read this far and anyone who caught the semi-obscure mean girls reference in this post.

Like this blog on Facebook in order to make me feel better about my life- http://www.facebook.com/Satiring

Tweet