Last semester, frat house Alpha Smegma Chi found itself fighting controversy after all of their pledges tested positive for COVID-19. TU’s COVID-19 contact tracing team located its source: the balls of Stephen Bolt, a junior business major.
“It was all a bit of fun,” Bolt explained. “The new guys just had to suck my balls for, like, five Mississippis, and they could have easily proven their loyalty to the group.”
Unfortunately, Bolt’s scrotum was not cleaned between each teabagging session. Despite hand sanitizing stations and antibacterial soap being posted around the frat house for this exact purpose, none of its members remembered to follow COVID-19 protocols in order to maintain a healthy, fun environment.
“Yeah, we definitely felt bitten in the ass,” Bolt said then paused, searching for his words. “Okay, not bitten. You know, COVID and all. Plus, I haven’t washed my ass in years because I’m not gay or anything like that.”
Now, in the new semester, Alpha Smegma Chi hoped to improve their image. Masks were strictly enforced, and surfaces were frequently disinfected. In each bathroom, posters explaining clean taint protocol were plastered on the walls.
Only one problem remained: the scrotal superspreading incident had everyone avoiding their frat. Their beds were cold, beer keg untouched and stereos quiet. In other words, Alpha Smegma Chi was in full pariah status, and the frat attempted several methods of improving their public relations. They offered free lunch (and added to the events’ invites “no balls, we promise”) to lure in students, but that method did not work. Parties were promoted throughout campus every week only to find no one in attendance.
“We were freaking the fuck out. How else are we supposed to scoop pussy?” Bolt said. “Then, my boy Jeremy Nichols came in with the best idea ever.”
Nichols, forced this semester to take a block one women’s and gender studies course, noticed the way girls seemed to dig all that “feminazi shit.”
“When I said some Margaret Atwood quote, everything felt like it changed,” Nichols shrugged. “The girls in the class started to talk to me more, and me and this one hot piece, Jennifer, were talking after. She was all, ‘hey, I think it’s really cool that you’re paying attention to the content of the course’ or whatever, and hours later, I had open access to some killer puntang.”
After this incident, Nichols returned to the frat with the news of his recent female encounter, and the members agreed on one last technique to get their parties bopping again: it was time to read some feminist theory. Now, every Wednesday and Sunday at 7 p.m., members are required to attend an hour-long study of the works of different feminist authors.
“Yeah, I think it’s pretty crazy how hegemonic masculinity means that guys are supposed to get pussy in order to fulfill our cultural construction of manliness,” Bolt said.
“Also, like, the systemic oppression of women in the workforce is a problem we need to address as a country.”
“Right!” Nichols exclaimed. “We aren’t getting anywhere until we can truly fulfill equality. Like, uh, paid maternity leave.”
Learning feminist theory seemed to have paid off, though. Parties were well-attended by girls who feel seen and heard by the frat’s pro-feminist agenda, and the COVID teabag controversy of last semester was forgotten completely. To this day, the frat successfully continues to preach feminist ideologies — even when the girl is passed out and moved into a guy’s bedroom.