*Juke leans back in his chair, with a glass of Welch's Grape juice and the sounds of "Triumph" by Wu-Tang filling the air from the radio.
One of the darker periods of my undergraduate chapter's history was the suspension that was imposed in the Fall of 2003. Due to some allegations of hazing, the chapter was stripped of activities for two years, which is essentially a death sentence for most chapters in terms of reputation and presence on campus.
Notice I said most. Delta Delta bruhs are like Bebe's kids...we don't die.
That sets the scene for this installment. Whenever a chapter is suspended at Albany State University, the custom is to build a black, wooden box over the plot as a symbol of both shame and to let the campus know that the organization is inactive. It was a sad day when we walked on campus and saw the black box being built over our plot. It was enough to move us to tears...briefly.
Students came by the plot, and they were all buzzing about the black box. Some people were sad to see us off the yard. Some of the students cracked jokes. But ultimately, we were all the center of negative attention, and this was not the image we felt was true to our efforts and deeds on the campus and in the community.
What followed would be the type of shenanigans that no one but 7 D.E.P. could display...
Just Because There is a Box...
...doesn't mean you can't use the plot. In a loophole that was much to the chagrin of the administration on campus, suspended organizations were never told that they couldn't still use their plots, only that the plots would be covered. HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE....<-----DEVIOUS LAUGH
The next week, we all went to the plot. After a quick minute to breathe and get up the courage, I climbed onto the box over our plot. As I climbed up, the campus began to take note that something was happening at the Alpha plot. I began the stepshow that we had performed two years prior, and suddenly, the spirit of the campus began to grow and move in line with our plight. It was the spirit of defiance...the spirit of uprising...the spirit of pure ignorance and silliness. Before long, five of us were on the box, performing for the campus and reminding the student body that suspension doesn't have to equal death. It simply means that officially, you can't function in the stated capacities.
Now this isn't meant to be the funny part, because it was moreso a moment of unity amongst a seemingly defeated brotherhood. But it did prompt some other shenanigans, such as...
The Stroll Off
Rickie, Brian, and I are called the "Triumvirate." This three-man team is probably the most known set of the Delta Delta chapter since our founders, primarily because we bothered to put ourselves in the public eye during our undergraduate years. So when the suspension came over the chapter, this created in us a need to maintain our prominence on campus, even with the current decree against us.
Now at this time, the three of us were fresh off of graduation, which means we, technically, did not have to abide by the rules of suspension for the undergraduates. So when the Deltas decided to have a stroll off on campus, we decided that we would enter as the representatives for our suspended brethren.
The "D" in 7 D.E.P. stands for De"phi"ant, by the way.
The battle came down to us and the Sigmas. Now let's list the pro's and cons:
Pros: We had energy, we had the creativity, and we had the spirit of our undergrad bruhs behind us.
Cons: Them n*ggas had abs...as in abdominals.
No HOMO, but clearly, the three of us were going to win the sexiness battle, and since the crowd was mainly women, we had to neutralize this advantage somehow.
The Sigmas went first. They came with a high energy stroll that got the crowd super crunk. It was a performance that would surely beat any other stroll team on the yard at that time. With this in mind, we huddled up.
"Rickie, how's your leg?" I asked.
"Ace, I can make it...what are we gonna do?"
"Sean Paul Stroll, but we will do it to a different song..."
I walked over to the DJ and whispered to him the song we needed him to play.
We stood on stage, nervous yet determined to remain the kings of the stroll. The sounds of "I Wanna Rock" by Luke came through the speakers, and it was showtime. Adrenaline is a powerful tool in any performance, and we were brimming with it.
As we went through the show, we saw the crowd jumping up and chanting "Delta Delta." The energy of the crowd let us know that we had their support and that they were behind us all the way. The underdogs...the dudes who seemingly could not win, had won over the support of most of the crowd and had paved the way for a difficult judging decision. After much deliberation, the judges decided it was a tie.
This did not sit well with the Sigmas, and in their determination to beat us, they jumped on stage, took off their shirts, and started dancing for the ladies. That was the slap in the face that no one should ever have to experience. There was only one thing left to do...
We lifted our shirts and jumped on stage, dancing for the ladies as well. I mean, we probably could have just started to fight em, but in the words of Riley Freeman, "These n*ggas was too glistening."
*Sidenote: We have always had a great bond with the Sigmas at ASU, so no animosity actually existed. But the spirit of competition will make people do some of the craziest things.*
Conclusion
All in all, the chapter has rebounded quite nicely from the depths of that suspension. Some of that comes from the dedication of the graduate chapter in rebuilding the undergraduate membership. Some comes from the quality of the members that were brought in after us. But a large portion of it comes from the fact that the brothers of 7 D.E.P. refused to let the memory and spirit of the Delta Delta chapter die with the black box. For that reason, the campus has always had love for the Alphas at ASU, and those historical moments will forever live in the hearts of the students who saw the Triumvirate fight for the love of Alpha.
*Fade to Black*
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
The 7 D.E.P. Chronicles: The Rise of the War Pharoah
*Juke turns up the radio as his favorite ol' school classic comes on. It is the classic Pharcyde hit "Runnin'." Perfect timing.*
Line names...everyone (more or less) should have one if you crossed into the wonderful world of Greekdom. It is a rite of passage of sorts, and is meant to symbolize some aspect of your character or some memory of your entry into the brother/sisterhood. Each line name has a story...and this is the story of a young man from Albany and how he became the War Pharoah.
Our hero: J Will.
Our setting: Albany, GA
The date: October 31, 2001
Seven young warriors were huddled in a small dwelling, awaiting word from the elder pharoahs(or prophytes for those who are completely lost) of their fate for this particular evening. The warriors had been meeting with the elders in order to facilitate their arduous journey into the realm of "the brotherhood." The tasks were numerous, and the punishment for failing severe, but these seven warriors were determined to succeed at all costs.
As the young men awaited their fates for that evening, they received word that the elder pharoahs were cancelling the meeting for that night. After waiting for four long hours, the warriors were released and allowed to return home. This, of course, did not sit well with the warriors, who felt that their progress had been delayed for yet another night.
"This is balderdash," shouted the Dark Warrior. In a fit of rage, he punched a hole into the wall of their detainment dwelling.
"I grow tired of this poppycock. The elders respect us not," said the Silent Warrrior (which, incidentally, was the most he had ever said in one sentence.)
In the corner, away from the discussion, sat J. Will -The Big Headed Warrior...pensive, in deep thought, and developing a plan to make some restitution of this situation. He called the Tallest Warrior over for consultation.
"Listen, I know we are not supposed to cavort with women nor entertain worldly musical debauchery during this process, but I am going to go to the Halloween party on campus. I need your assistance."
As the other warriors began to depart, the two warriors began to discuss the new plot.
"I will need you to take me to the campus festival. You don't have to participate, if you so choose. I will go in disguise and enjoy the events, and you can retreat back to the dorms, if you so choose."
"This is a dangerous mission, warrior. Are you sure you want to do this?"
The Big Headed Warrior nodded yes. He changed his garments and donned the apparel of the ancient spy warriors. (Roughly speaking, he dressed up as a ninja, thinking that would be sufficient.) In an effort to prevent the other warriors from suffering a horrendous fate if the mission failed, he chose to keep this a silent mission to allow for plausible deniability.
As the Tall Warrior dropped J. Will off, Will could feel the beat of his heart racing. Missions of this sort take precision, skill, and a tad bit of craziness.
J. Will approached the party with the confidence of a warrior possessed. Little did he know that the elders also had spies sent to watch for them.
"There is one of your neos," said the female spy to the Eldest Pharoah.
*Pause*
For those of you who decide to go on secret missions in which stealth and anonymity is paramount, please wear a mask that does not restrict your breathing. In the few seconds it took J. Will to remove his mask, breathe, and cover back up, he had been spotted and identified. Just a tidbit of wisdom from me to you.
*Play*
J. Will realized he had been spotted, but kept going. He entered the gates of the event, undetected by the spies at the door. Once inside, he saw a land of women, engaging in sensual, rhythmic body movements and other warriors from different tribes (other frats) enjoying the display. This was everything the warrior dreamed it could be.
At that moment, the young warrior's close friend, a young woman who he had known since childhood, approached the warrior.
"You have been spotted J. Run, n****!!!!"
Instantly, J. was in the race of his life. As the Elder Pharoahs moved towards him, J. Will began his escape. The young warrior darted out of the front entrance and began his race to his dorm, convinced that if he could just make it to his dwelling, the other pharoahs would not be able to identify him.
The warrior raced to the bookstore, where he was able to duck into a boiler room. The Elder Pharoahs lost him, but waited outside of the boiler room as they planned their next move. The sweat from the brow of the Big Headed Warrior began to accumulate as his nervousness mixed with the heat from the boiler system of the building. He waited a few minutes after the Elders left before emerging from his crypt.
As he resumed his escape, the police of the campus saw him, clad in all black, and put the spotlight on him as he ran. The sounds of "Stop right there" could be heard as the warrior continued his trek. At this point, the campus was in an uproar, with the police and the Elder Pharoahs attempting to catch the young warrior, and the bystanders cheering him on to safety.
After what seemed like an eternity, the warrior made it to his dorm room, where he disrobed, jumped in the shower. When the Elder Pharoahs knocked on his door, he emerged in his sleep garments, which confused the Elders.
"Were you at the party?"
"Listen, no disrespect, sir, but we waited four hours for nothing. After you released us, I went to sleep. Now may I please get back to bed?"
Convinced that they had made a mistake, the Elder Pharoahs left the scene, and the Big Headed Warrior rested with the "assurance" that he had not been caught.
The next night, the Elder Pharoahs met with the young warriors, but with the anger and disdain that comes with being deceived.
"Big Headed Warrior...is it true that you were at the party last night?"
"No sir," the warrior said nervously.
Though the young warrior had survived the previous night, he did not expect the Eldest Pharoah to trust the word of his female spy. It is amazing what women can convince men of, and in this case, the convincing led to the trial of J. Will.
The Elder Pharoahs huddled to decide what to do to the young warrior...
J. Will was taken to a containment cell, where he was forced to listen to the punishment of his fellow warriors. The excruciating pain of hearing his brethren thrashed was too much to bear.
"I was there, I admit it!" the warrior cried out, but to no avail.
After hearing the last of his brethren's punishment, the Elders returned to deliver his fate to him.
"You will not be punished, since your brethren have already received punishment for tonight. We release you to your fold."
The looks on the other warriors faces...desolate, downtrodden, and mad as hell...was enough to break the heart and spirit of the young warrior. The warriors yelled and cursed at him for his sophomoric antics and for endangering their progress. However, as these things go, the warriors were able to mend the fences and, shortly thereafter, ascended to the ranks of the brotherhood.
For the reasons above, upon rising to the rank of Pharoah, J. Will was given the dubious, yet painful honor, of being called the War Pharoah. His cunning, endurance, and craftiness had served him well in many missions, but it was during this particular mission that it earned him this distinction.
Today, the Pharoahs still laugh whenever the night of infamy is brought up. The details of the story, of course, change depending on who is telling it. But no one will ever forget the day that a young warrior sought greatness, but lost it all in the chase of a lifetime.
*And Scene*
Line names...everyone (more or less) should have one if you crossed into the wonderful world of Greekdom. It is a rite of passage of sorts, and is meant to symbolize some aspect of your character or some memory of your entry into the brother/sisterhood. Each line name has a story...and this is the story of a young man from Albany and how he became the War Pharoah.
Our hero: J Will.
Our setting: Albany, GA
The date: October 31, 2001
Seven young warriors were huddled in a small dwelling, awaiting word from the elder pharoahs(or prophytes for those who are completely lost) of their fate for this particular evening. The warriors had been meeting with the elders in order to facilitate their arduous journey into the realm of "the brotherhood." The tasks were numerous, and the punishment for failing severe, but these seven warriors were determined to succeed at all costs.
As the young men awaited their fates for that evening, they received word that the elder pharoahs were cancelling the meeting for that night. After waiting for four long hours, the warriors were released and allowed to return home. This, of course, did not sit well with the warriors, who felt that their progress had been delayed for yet another night.
"This is balderdash," shouted the Dark Warrior. In a fit of rage, he punched a hole into the wall of their detainment dwelling.
"I grow tired of this poppycock. The elders respect us not," said the Silent Warrrior (which, incidentally, was the most he had ever said in one sentence.)
In the corner, away from the discussion, sat J. Will -The Big Headed Warrior...pensive, in deep thought, and developing a plan to make some restitution of this situation. He called the Tallest Warrior over for consultation.
"Listen, I know we are not supposed to cavort with women nor entertain worldly musical debauchery during this process, but I am going to go to the Halloween party on campus. I need your assistance."
As the other warriors began to depart, the two warriors began to discuss the new plot.
"I will need you to take me to the campus festival. You don't have to participate, if you so choose. I will go in disguise and enjoy the events, and you can retreat back to the dorms, if you so choose."
"This is a dangerous mission, warrior. Are you sure you want to do this?"
The Big Headed Warrior nodded yes. He changed his garments and donned the apparel of the ancient spy warriors. (Roughly speaking, he dressed up as a ninja, thinking that would be sufficient.) In an effort to prevent the other warriors from suffering a horrendous fate if the mission failed, he chose to keep this a silent mission to allow for plausible deniability.
As the Tall Warrior dropped J. Will off, Will could feel the beat of his heart racing. Missions of this sort take precision, skill, and a tad bit of craziness.
J. Will approached the party with the confidence of a warrior possessed. Little did he know that the elders also had spies sent to watch for them.
"There is one of your neos," said the female spy to the Eldest Pharoah.
*Pause*
For those of you who decide to go on secret missions in which stealth and anonymity is paramount, please wear a mask that does not restrict your breathing. In the few seconds it took J. Will to remove his mask, breathe, and cover back up, he had been spotted and identified. Just a tidbit of wisdom from me to you.
*Play*
J. Will realized he had been spotted, but kept going. He entered the gates of the event, undetected by the spies at the door. Once inside, he saw a land of women, engaging in sensual, rhythmic body movements and other warriors from different tribes (other frats) enjoying the display. This was everything the warrior dreamed it could be.
At that moment, the young warrior's close friend, a young woman who he had known since childhood, approached the warrior.
"You have been spotted J. Run, n****!!!!"
Instantly, J. was in the race of his life. As the Elder Pharoahs moved towards him, J. Will began his escape. The young warrior darted out of the front entrance and began his race to his dorm, convinced that if he could just make it to his dwelling, the other pharoahs would not be able to identify him.
The warrior raced to the bookstore, where he was able to duck into a boiler room. The Elder Pharoahs lost him, but waited outside of the boiler room as they planned their next move. The sweat from the brow of the Big Headed Warrior began to accumulate as his nervousness mixed with the heat from the boiler system of the building. He waited a few minutes after the Elders left before emerging from his crypt.
As he resumed his escape, the police of the campus saw him, clad in all black, and put the spotlight on him as he ran. The sounds of "Stop right there" could be heard as the warrior continued his trek. At this point, the campus was in an uproar, with the police and the Elder Pharoahs attempting to catch the young warrior, and the bystanders cheering him on to safety.
After what seemed like an eternity, the warrior made it to his dorm room, where he disrobed, jumped in the shower. When the Elder Pharoahs knocked on his door, he emerged in his sleep garments, which confused the Elders.
"Were you at the party?"
"Listen, no disrespect, sir, but we waited four hours for nothing. After you released us, I went to sleep. Now may I please get back to bed?"
Convinced that they had made a mistake, the Elder Pharoahs left the scene, and the Big Headed Warrior rested with the "assurance" that he had not been caught.
The next night, the Elder Pharoahs met with the young warriors, but with the anger and disdain that comes with being deceived.
"Big Headed Warrior...is it true that you were at the party last night?"
"No sir," the warrior said nervously.
Though the young warrior had survived the previous night, he did not expect the Eldest Pharoah to trust the word of his female spy. It is amazing what women can convince men of, and in this case, the convincing led to the trial of J. Will.
The Elder Pharoahs huddled to decide what to do to the young warrior...
J. Will was taken to a containment cell, where he was forced to listen to the punishment of his fellow warriors. The excruciating pain of hearing his brethren thrashed was too much to bear.
"I was there, I admit it!" the warrior cried out, but to no avail.
After hearing the last of his brethren's punishment, the Elders returned to deliver his fate to him.
"You will not be punished, since your brethren have already received punishment for tonight. We release you to your fold."
The looks on the other warriors faces...desolate, downtrodden, and mad as hell...was enough to break the heart and spirit of the young warrior. The warriors yelled and cursed at him for his sophomoric antics and for endangering their progress. However, as these things go, the warriors were able to mend the fences and, shortly thereafter, ascended to the ranks of the brotherhood.
For the reasons above, upon rising to the rank of Pharoah, J. Will was given the dubious, yet painful honor, of being called the War Pharoah. His cunning, endurance, and craftiness had served him well in many missions, but it was during this particular mission that it earned him this distinction.
Today, the Pharoahs still laugh whenever the night of infamy is brought up. The details of the story, of course, change depending on who is telling it. But no one will ever forget the day that a young warrior sought greatness, but lost it all in the chase of a lifetime.
*And Scene*
Friday, June 04, 2010
The 7 D.E.P. Chronicles: Liquid Lesbian-The Drink of Champions
*Juke walks up to the jukebox, and presses J17. The song: My Girl Got a Girlfriend.*
Before I begin this post, let me start by saying that this is not to glorify drinking nor debauchery. This post is simply a memory of blissful ignorance, fueled by youthful zeal and premium vodka. Keep this in mind as you reminisce with me.
Who all remembers the Alpha House back in 2002? If you do, then you probably have some regrets locked up in that building somewhere, as most people did. Though ignorance was never the intended outcome, it was often unavoidable, and in many cases, the causes of said ignorance was undetectable.
Every frat (and even the sororities) have their signature drink. You can tell whose drink it is by the name and usually the color. For the males, the names usually develop from the animal symbol of the fraternity and some bodily fluid. Prime example: Gorilla Spit, Centaur Piss, etc. (I never understood why people would rush to drink something named as such. SMH)
Well, Gorilla Spit was the Alpha standard. For our chapter, it was handcrafted by the liquor connoisseur himself, Mr. Black Ice. As a master chef and expert of fine spirits, Black Ice dedicated his time and talent to making the most delicious, palate-pleasing libations for all who entered. He channeled the legacy of those prophytes who came before him to producing the finest liquor around, and for that, we salute him.
Interesting thing about the Spit, however, is that Black Ice would never drink his own juice. For any person who knew this odd fact, it should have given them pause. But of course, that didn't stop the patrons from rushing for a taste of that golden goodness.
But as we all know, the effects of liquor are wide-ranging, and subsequently, good sources for stories such as the ones to follow. The names have been changed to protect the guilty.
~Just cause you can't taste it...~
One of the hallmarks of a fine batch of libation is the notion that you can't taste the actual liquor in it. Many of your fine wines, brews, and spirits boast of this unique quality, but it can have some dire, yet funny, consequences.
So there was the case of a young lady, who we will dub Silly Rabbit, and her disdain for the "weakness" of the drink. As she tasted the first cup, she yelled at Black Ice, "What kind of weak sh*t is this? I thought you made something grown."
SIDENOTE: Prior to the start of the party, the juice was made with as much clear liquor as we could afford. Simply put, you could probably have lit a match and set the juice on fire if you wanted to. There was enough alcohol in the juice to crank up a car, but the craftsmanship of Black Ice ensured that the liquor would not be overpowering. We knew this...she didn't.
After 6 cups of the punch (we tried to stop her at 3) she decided to just party a little and stop drinking. For the first 10 minutes, she was very lively and talkative, and seemed to be unaffected.
Then the punch hit her in the back of the head.
It isn't funny, but if you have ever seen anyone go from talking in full coherent sentences to slurring speech in the middle of a conversation, you would laugh a bit. She was dead in the middle of conversation when she drooled for the first time. Of course, that was simply an accident. From there it was a slippery slope to the bottom of her drunken state.
We knew things were getting kind of out of hand when she started calling herself by her best friend's name. Don't quite know how much liquor it takes to confuse yourself with someone else, but she had that much. It progressed into her doing the skate during the slow jam section of the music set. Finally, it culminated with her dancing in the living room, by herself, after the party was over and we were cleaning up. Of course, we didn't let her drive that way, so her friends stayed with her until she sobered up a bit. They could have just driven her home, but I think they were worried she would throw up in the car, so they just stayed with her at the house until she got it together.
*Damn shame what the punch will do to you.*
~Passing out is never fun~
Now the bruhs were not the type of bruhs to be territorial or isolated from the rest of the population. We had many friends of other fraternities and even non-Greeks who were welcomed in our house to hang out. That was how we promoted unity with the campus and the community, and built some tight friendships along the way.
Those same individuals were also welcomed to our parties, and we always enjoyed their presence. But the problem is that we often had to take care of them as well in the aftermath of the infamous Gorilla spit.
Thus was the case of ADub, who had a life changing experience at the hands of the Gorilla Spit.
ADub came to the house around 8 pm. Though the party started at 10, if you were cool with us, we welcomed you early so that you could get your drink on and be ready for the crowd. ADub started drinking around 9 pm. He drunk consistently til 9:45 pm. This is never a good idea, but he thought it was this particular evening.
So I am not sure why he thought that the driveway outside was a comfortable place to fall asleep, but around 12 am, as the crowd started getting thick, we realized that he was blocking the entrance for the cars. He had been passed out for about 20 minutes, and we were scared for his life. We slapped him a bit, since we all know that slapping someone in the face is the universal and medically tested way to check someone's stability. He woke up, stumbled to his car, and decided to go back to sleep. It took three of us to lift him, but we eventually laid him across the trunk of his car, face down, and let him rest. After a few hours, we noticed he was still sleep, and since the party was over, we didn't want to disturb him. In all, he slept a good nine hours under the moonlight...a sad, yet hilarious ending to a pretty much forgotten night for poor ADub.
*Damn shame what the punch will do to you.*
~Liquid Lesbian~
So the Gorilla Spit at our house had the unofficial nickname of "Liquid Lesbian." How did it get that name? Well, of course Imma tell you...
Fall 2002...we had the biggest party of the year at the frat house. To give you an idea of how many people we had in the house...we charged only 2 dollars and made 1200 dollars by midnight. Yep, do the math.
Well, this particular night, the cheerleaders from school decided to come to the house and kick it. Some of their friends (non-cheerleaders) came with them as well. They, too, were fooled by the deceptively smooth taste of the concoction, and their consumption of the liquid gold was astounding. I didn't realize ladies could drink so much.
You know how people say that alcohol simply makes you do what you wanted to do anyway, but lacked the courage? This night made me a believer.
After about 20 minutes, we saw the cheerleader girls huddled up in the front room of the frat house. As we got closer, we realized that a good many of the women in that group (and others near them) had started kissing each other. In the mouth. With spit and tongue. Initially, it sounds like a dude's dream, but it seems that this was not the best thing for our party. After about an hour, the fellas were getting a tad bit upset that the women were focused on each other, and that is when it became apparent that "liquid lesbian" could actually have a drawback. We started limiting (secretly) the amount of liquor that we allowed people to have, in an effort to combat this phenomenon, but it was amazing how these sweet innocent young women turned YouTube worthy in a matter of minutes.
*Damn shame what the punch will do to you.*
In all, the beverage making skills of Black Ice are legendary. He has since retired from the libation game, but his mlegacy forever lives on in the memories of the Alpha House and the lives that were touched by the infamous Gorilla Spit. If the walls of the house could speak right now, I know exactly what they'd say...
Damn shame what the punch will do to you!
*End Transmission*
Before I begin this post, let me start by saying that this is not to glorify drinking nor debauchery. This post is simply a memory of blissful ignorance, fueled by youthful zeal and premium vodka. Keep this in mind as you reminisce with me.
Who all remembers the Alpha House back in 2002? If you do, then you probably have some regrets locked up in that building somewhere, as most people did. Though ignorance was never the intended outcome, it was often unavoidable, and in many cases, the causes of said ignorance was undetectable.
Every frat (and even the sororities) have their signature drink. You can tell whose drink it is by the name and usually the color. For the males, the names usually develop from the animal symbol of the fraternity and some bodily fluid. Prime example: Gorilla Spit, Centaur Piss, etc. (I never understood why people would rush to drink something named as such. SMH)
Well, Gorilla Spit was the Alpha standard. For our chapter, it was handcrafted by the liquor connoisseur himself, Mr. Black Ice. As a master chef and expert of fine spirits, Black Ice dedicated his time and talent to making the most delicious, palate-pleasing libations for all who entered. He channeled the legacy of those prophytes who came before him to producing the finest liquor around, and for that, we salute him.
Interesting thing about the Spit, however, is that Black Ice would never drink his own juice. For any person who knew this odd fact, it should have given them pause. But of course, that didn't stop the patrons from rushing for a taste of that golden goodness.
But as we all know, the effects of liquor are wide-ranging, and subsequently, good sources for stories such as the ones to follow. The names have been changed to protect the guilty.
~Just cause you can't taste it...~
One of the hallmarks of a fine batch of libation is the notion that you can't taste the actual liquor in it. Many of your fine wines, brews, and spirits boast of this unique quality, but it can have some dire, yet funny, consequences.
So there was the case of a young lady, who we will dub Silly Rabbit, and her disdain for the "weakness" of the drink. As she tasted the first cup, she yelled at Black Ice, "What kind of weak sh*t is this? I thought you made something grown."
SIDENOTE: Prior to the start of the party, the juice was made with as much clear liquor as we could afford. Simply put, you could probably have lit a match and set the juice on fire if you wanted to. There was enough alcohol in the juice to crank up a car, but the craftsmanship of Black Ice ensured that the liquor would not be overpowering. We knew this...she didn't.
After 6 cups of the punch (we tried to stop her at 3) she decided to just party a little and stop drinking. For the first 10 minutes, she was very lively and talkative, and seemed to be unaffected.
Then the punch hit her in the back of the head.
It isn't funny, but if you have ever seen anyone go from talking in full coherent sentences to slurring speech in the middle of a conversation, you would laugh a bit. She was dead in the middle of conversation when she drooled for the first time. Of course, that was simply an accident. From there it was a slippery slope to the bottom of her drunken state.
We knew things were getting kind of out of hand when she started calling herself by her best friend's name. Don't quite know how much liquor it takes to confuse yourself with someone else, but she had that much. It progressed into her doing the skate during the slow jam section of the music set. Finally, it culminated with her dancing in the living room, by herself, after the party was over and we were cleaning up. Of course, we didn't let her drive that way, so her friends stayed with her until she sobered up a bit. They could have just driven her home, but I think they were worried she would throw up in the car, so they just stayed with her at the house until she got it together.
*Damn shame what the punch will do to you.*
~Passing out is never fun~
Now the bruhs were not the type of bruhs to be territorial or isolated from the rest of the population. We had many friends of other fraternities and even non-Greeks who were welcomed in our house to hang out. That was how we promoted unity with the campus and the community, and built some tight friendships along the way.
Those same individuals were also welcomed to our parties, and we always enjoyed their presence. But the problem is that we often had to take care of them as well in the aftermath of the infamous Gorilla spit.
Thus was the case of ADub, who had a life changing experience at the hands of the Gorilla Spit.
ADub came to the house around 8 pm. Though the party started at 10, if you were cool with us, we welcomed you early so that you could get your drink on and be ready for the crowd. ADub started drinking around 9 pm. He drunk consistently til 9:45 pm. This is never a good idea, but he thought it was this particular evening.
So I am not sure why he thought that the driveway outside was a comfortable place to fall asleep, but around 12 am, as the crowd started getting thick, we realized that he was blocking the entrance for the cars. He had been passed out for about 20 minutes, and we were scared for his life. We slapped him a bit, since we all know that slapping someone in the face is the universal and medically tested way to check someone's stability. He woke up, stumbled to his car, and decided to go back to sleep. It took three of us to lift him, but we eventually laid him across the trunk of his car, face down, and let him rest. After a few hours, we noticed he was still sleep, and since the party was over, we didn't want to disturb him. In all, he slept a good nine hours under the moonlight...a sad, yet hilarious ending to a pretty much forgotten night for poor ADub.
*Damn shame what the punch will do to you.*
~Liquid Lesbian~
So the Gorilla Spit at our house had the unofficial nickname of "Liquid Lesbian." How did it get that name? Well, of course Imma tell you...
Fall 2002...we had the biggest party of the year at the frat house. To give you an idea of how many people we had in the house...we charged only 2 dollars and made 1200 dollars by midnight. Yep, do the math.
Well, this particular night, the cheerleaders from school decided to come to the house and kick it. Some of their friends (non-cheerleaders) came with them as well. They, too, were fooled by the deceptively smooth taste of the concoction, and their consumption of the liquid gold was astounding. I didn't realize ladies could drink so much.
You know how people say that alcohol simply makes you do what you wanted to do anyway, but lacked the courage? This night made me a believer.
After about 20 minutes, we saw the cheerleader girls huddled up in the front room of the frat house. As we got closer, we realized that a good many of the women in that group (and others near them) had started kissing each other. In the mouth. With spit and tongue. Initially, it sounds like a dude's dream, but it seems that this was not the best thing for our party. After about an hour, the fellas were getting a tad bit upset that the women were focused on each other, and that is when it became apparent that "liquid lesbian" could actually have a drawback. We started limiting (secretly) the amount of liquor that we allowed people to have, in an effort to combat this phenomenon, but it was amazing how these sweet innocent young women turned YouTube worthy in a matter of minutes.
*Damn shame what the punch will do to you.*
In all, the beverage making skills of Black Ice are legendary. He has since retired from the libation game, but his mlegacy forever lives on in the memories of the Alpha House and the lives that were touched by the infamous Gorilla Spit. If the walls of the house could speak right now, I know exactly what they'd say...
Damn shame what the punch will do to you!
*End Transmission*
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