Bryce: How was that party?
A fratboy. There is a very specific doucheness to them. Trust fund wasps who quote unquote rock rainbows, partially popped polos, pleated khakis, don’t let me tell you about them, let them speak for themselves. The following is a manifesto:
I live in a frat house. I go to frat parties. I can recite the Greek alphabet before the fire of a match burns out. I can rattle off all of my founding fathers as well as my fraternity obligations, but I don’t know the words to my school song or my accounting professor’s last name. I don’t go to class. I never study. I devise elaborate schemes to cheat on my exams. I don’t buy books. I pay people to write my papers. I have an endless supply of doctor notes from student health. I give more than $2,000 of my parents’ money in social dues each year to promote my frat’s alcoholism problem. I drink because I am cool. I drink a lot because I am cooler than you. I urinate in public. I do keg stands and have keg parties. I am the master at drinking games. I own you in quarters. I have never not drinken in the game “I never”. If I can’t find my beer bong I know I can find one next door. I don’t binge drink-I continually drink. I have a pre-party for the “pre-party”. I own one baseball hat. I live in my khakis. I don’t own a shirt that is not polo, lacoste, brooks brothers, or vineyard vines. All my ties are vineyard vines. Sometimes I wear sandals in the winter because I can. I drive a bmw my dad paid for, and when charged with speeding, careless and wreckless, and DUI, I bought it off my record. My hair is a mess yet totally in style. Ladies love me, but more importantly, I know ladies love me.
Have you recently graduated college and are now finding yourself yearning for the good ol’ days?
The days when you didn’t have to wake up until your first class at 11 am?
The days when your biggest financial worry was whether or notВ you could afford three (or possibly four) slices of dollar pizza?
Or maybe the days when you’d spend your Thursday-Sunday nights at your favorite frat house, partying the night away in a booze-soaked basement that smelled like a mixture of sweat, Jungle Juice and bad decisions?
Well, fear not, because Flick Candles has you covered.
The candle company is now offering up a newВ scent to help you with your nostalgia overload: Frat House Basement Party.
The candle’s description reads,
This lovely scent mixes old vintage movie posters with a splash of something that will definitely give you a headache tomorrow morning. However, none of that matters because you will not be able to get past the overwhelming smell of sweat and Jungle Juice. Keep the good times going 24/7 with Frat House Basement Party as the intoxicating aroma grinds up on you. Sure this candle costs money — but when you’re involved in Greek life, so do your friends.
If frat houses aren’t your thing, the candle company offers other compelling options, such as Blueberry Bromance, Defriend, Cancelled Vacation and even a few political favorites such as Bernie Sandalwood and Chris Christie Cream Pie.
A closer look at US college life where the culture is dictated by loud heterosexuals and blurry eyed bullies
Party hard: The Gazoni Family fraternity, with some of the ‘brothers’. Photograph: Chris Taylor/BBC
Party hard: The Gazoni Family fraternity, with some of the ‘brothers’. Photograph: Chris Taylor/BBC
Last modified on Fri 29 Dec 2017 22.32 GMT
I grew up in a permanent state of confused awe at the US education system, thanks to portrayals in films and on TV. Students were always played by adults and, since none wore uniforms, it was hard to tell them apart from the teachers. At my bog-standard comp, we were allowed to wear “our own clothes” on the last day of term, a thrill denied the kids at Jefferson High in Happy Days, where every day was a mufti day. The 70s frat-com National Lampoon’s Animal House further muddied my understanding: more grown men dressed in the varsity jackets of Yankademia, who threw toga parties in unisex boarding houses branded with Greek letters, doused each other with Bud and spied on girls.
I’ve grown up since then, but US college life hasn’t, according to fly-on-the-keg documentary Frat Boys: Inside America’s Fraternities (Thursday, 9pm, BBC2). Among the brayingly entitled half-jock, half-future-Congressman hybrids featured, baseball caps are still worn backwards and Miller Lite is drunk from a training shoe for a dare. Everybody is loudly heterosexual and one frat house features a fish tank built into its bar (as if in tribute to the one in Animal House) and a shelf of empty vodka bottles to “showcase what we drink”.
Ben, a third-year University of Central Florida stude-dude describes a fraternity as “a brotherhood of like-minded people who are just kinda together to meet a common goal”, that goal being to get wasted, have a good time and keep bras as trophies. (He adds, helpfully, “a sorority is the same thing but with women,” though we don’t get to see those.)
It’s an easy spectator sport to watch these masturbators of the universe list their career ambitions like Apprentice candidates on a three-year holiday (“Dentist… sports agent… financial adviser”); one cuts to the chase with “drive a fast car, live in a big house”. He already lives in a big house – frats supply $3bn-worth of property across America’s campuses, costing students up to $2,500 a term in rent.
The producers know they’ve struck gold when one alpha male we’ll assume isn’t majoring in women’s studies declares without irony: “I’m not the type of guy who’s going to bring home 10 different girls a month; I’ll do two or three girls, cos that’s the kinda guy I am.” But this leads to the doc’s more serious thrust: ritualistic abuse of “pledges” during induction, and sexual assault on female students, the sort that has yet again come to light during the case of Stanford student Brock Turner, convicted of intent to rape another student. Meanwhile, this doc shows phone footage of male students stripped to their pants, being humiliated and actually branded. Eight years ago, Harrison Kowiak, 19, died of a head injury during an off-campus rite. Because most US colleges are private and donor-reliant, these crimes rarely get fully investigated, an inevitable consequence, says one victim from Syracuse, of what she calls frat life’s “patriarchy of power”.
The US education system is a foreign country – and they largely get away with doing things differently there, as this film hammers home. Mind you, the pitiful sight of a frat-house initiate effectively “fagging” for Florida’s equivalent of Flashman may ring bells to products of our own public-school system. This future President Trump adviser tells us his motto is: “They say money can’t buy happiness but I’ll take my fuckin’ chances”, while his willing slave sprays his sweat tops with “wrinkle-release”. If only this were a national lampoon.
December 18, 2012
If you’re going to be judged by anything, it might as well be by the type of beer you drink. This prototypical scale goes from light, to crafty, to dark, and then off the deep end. It’s not all encompassing, but you’ll get the idea.
Lonestar: A true Texan’s beer, you take pride in your home state and don’t care that the hip youngsters have taken a liking to it. Or, you’re said hip youngster/poor musician/artist/indie elitist and this is all you can afford to drink (and it’s hip, duh). This also applies to Pabst Blue Ribbon drinkers, except they’re not as likely to listen to Willie Nelson.
Bud Light: You can be found screaming at your TV during football season, you or someone you know seriously says, “Mericuh,” but in a nutshell you’re just a good ol’ guy or gal that likes to have a good time. Frat-boy like tendencies sometimes surface, but Key Stone Light better exemplifies such leanings.
Keystone Light: Typical Keystone Light drinker hangouts include someone’s (your parent’s) garage, the bed of an oversized truck with knobby tires, or a killer house party filled with lots of crushing of cans on heads. By the end of the night, someone usually says, “Like, dude bro, like yah bro let’s grab another case of stones and get like real drunk and then let’s go muddin’ in my truck!” These types of dudes (or dudettes) are likely to get into barroom brawls.
Any craft beer: Your taste buds are discerning and so is your selection of friends, music, and food. You’re often viewed as open-minded, perhaps even intellectual, and you enjoy meeting other craft beer enthusiasts. These beer drinkers have the propensity to come across as being snobbish, but they really just expect everyone else to have good taste.
Porters and Stouts: It can be difficult to distinguish the difference between these two, but lovers of these dark brews are very much alike. You’re earthy, self-indulgent, a coffee and chocolate lover, and own a nice collection of pint glasses. You’re all about quality, not quantity.
Steel Reserve: Often referred to as a “high gravity lager,” this potent, dirt-cheap malt beverage guarantees you spending a lot of time on the ground. If you can chug a 40 or two, expect some type of arrest, hallucination, or schizophrenic behavior. It’s rare that anyone can make it to a fifth or sixth can, but when you do, there’s no turning back. Your dignity? Gone. Ability to remain a functioning member of society? Non-existent. Steel Reserve is the gateway beer that leads to drinking at a public park that will eventually become your home. Generally, it’s safe to say this beer is “I don’t give a fuck” in a can.
Support Local Journalism.
Join the San Antonio Current Press Club
Local journalism is information. Information is power. And we believe everyone deserves access to accurate independent coverage of their community and state. Our readers helped us continue this coverage in 2020, and we are so grateful for the support.
Help us keep this coverage going in 2021. Whether it’s a one-time acknowledgement of this article or an ongoing membership pledge, your support goes to local-based reporting from our small but mighty team.