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A President’s Guide to Pork Rinds and Money Laundering

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You’ve just walked into a room you don’t recognize. There’s shag carpet on the floor, a brand new couch, loveseat and entertainment center arranged cozily around a single-man room. It’s no larger than a jail cell, but it’s beautiful. You wish you could spend the whole day in this fraternal arcadia.

Then you remember this room belongs to your new treasurer. You curse your flawed, overly democratic system.

Let me take you back. There was a time in American history when the guy who lost the election for president became vice president. As elections got nastier and more personal, ‘Merica stopped doing it. There was too much residual bitterness and vested interests. Now our Commander and Chief gets his pick of VP, cabinet members, etc. with approval by congress.

In the fraternal world, we say fuck that notion. We follow the founders and elect everyone in the executive branch from the president on down. Pure democracy. Sometimes it’s a good thing. Other times it can lead to some real shitty situations. You know, like casual money laundering.

Four guys ran in your election. The first was a functional alcoholic, a smart kid who held a prominent position on the last executive board. The difference between his sober face and his drunk one is minimal, but not in a good way.

Second you had the rich “Ditto” type, who molds his appearance and move set around whomever he decides is the coolest person in the room. If you put him next to bacon, he becomes pork rinds—same meat group, but far less awesome in every other way.

The other guy was a jock with major time commitments who won’t win a thing. Forget about him.

You won, obviously, and the alcoholic drops out. The jock and Pork Rinds drop down, running for every position down the ladder. Pork Rinds wins the bid for treasurer, so the guy who’s never had to worry about or even consider money IN HIS LIFE is now handling your house funds. Great.

This is a positional mismatch. It’s the White House having a dude who considers people equal to bacteria as the Director of the Office of Science and Technology Policy. Except someone picked that guy. Your treasurer won because he was old balls and other old balls said “well he’s done so much, we’ve got to give him SOMETHING.”

Before he sets the budget or collects communal party money, he rents out a moving van and “recovers” that heavenly-soft shag carpet. All of that with house money. You don’t have “proof” he didn’t bankroll the furniture himself. “Came from storage, heh,” he promises.
You can’t PROVE he laundered money, aside from the questionably large withdrawals drifting out of your non-social budget. But this flawed democracy thing goes both ways. You do what any good fraternal politician does: tell a few mouthy undergrads the details—“Remember how gross Pork Rinds’ old room was? It’s great in there now! Best room in the house. He has new shag carpet, a new love seat, new entertainment center, new BED even!!”

“In other news, we’re missing some money. I just don’t know where it could have gone…”

Issues like this can’t be addressed at chapter. Your executive board stands to lose one to two things: all credibility, or the treasurer, which is a position that NO ONE wants in the first place. You don’t need proof to get someone kicked out—that damn flawed democracy thing again—and an infraction like this would surely land his ass in GDI Guantanamo. But like I said before, this dude’s rich. Kicking him out is like buying stock in a newsprint company. You’re just THROWING money away.

There’s only one solution. Motherfuckin’ vigilante justice!

All those mouthy kids you fed intel to will get drunk. Drunk kids love to fuck shit up. Maybe the drunk kids piss in the money-laundering treasurer’s room. Maybe the creepy guy with the pet rabbit will jizz on Pork Rinds’ pillow without a second thought. He was coming on someone’s something that night anyway—you just gave him an outlet.

Pork Rinds starts locking his door after a couple weeks of what can only be called urination decimation. But you’re a good president. You have a master key. You’ll let any of your concerned fraternal citizens see and contribute to the corporate carnage.

Kind of sucks for the next guy to live in that room… oh well! No one gets a new room until after next year anyway. Elections are just a few months away, and they couldn’t pay you enough to do this shitty job for another year.

Not your problem, Mr. President. Justice will be served. Let someone else worry about the (eventual) cleanup.

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