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Kevin awoke to the sounds of shouting billowing from the front of his house, the Beta Delta mansion at Smithtown University. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and walked into the common room, where several of his brothers were huddled around the window.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Schmitty handed him his phone, which had an article published by The Tumbling Pebble cued up.
“Beta Delta Fraternity At Oakton University Charged With Goat Murder” the headline read.
Kevin looked out the window. A crowd of at least a hundred gathered at the edge of the bright green lawn. Picket signs with slogans like “Animal Lives Matter” and “God Hates Frats” and “Down With The Patriarchy” were hoisted in the air above a sea of blonde dreadlocks, pink bowl cuts, and tye-dye. The protestors pumped their fists in unison while chanting, “Goats not frats! Goats not frats! Goats not frats!”
Kevin looked at the article. Apparently, the Beta Deltas at Oakton gave a pet goat to their pledges at the beginning of the semester, and told them to care for it. Then, on the eve of pledge initiation, the goat’s body was found decapitated in the street in front of their house. A girl close to the fraternity told The Tumbling Pebble that the pledges were forced to slaughter the animal they had been raising to prove their devotion.
“Jesus. That’s some sick shit,” Kevin said. “But we’re Beta Delta at Smithtown — Oakton University is on the other side of the country. Why are there protestors here?”
“Beats me,” Schmitty said.
“It’s the goddamn student union,” said Pudge, a husky fifth-year wearing a bright pink polo five sizes too small. “They’ve been looking for an excuse to bring us down for ages. We share the same name as those idiots from Oakton, and that’s good enough for them.”
Kevin looked back out the window. The protest was escalating rapidly. The words “GOAT KILLERS” had now been spray painted on the grass, and a man in cargo shorts was standing on a table with a megaphone. It was Mitch Boener, the president of the student union.
“One in five college goats are raped at frat parties every year!” Mitch shouted. “But, do you know how many of those goats report their rape to the university? NONE OF THEM!”
The crowd howled disgust.
“I’m pretty sure he’s fudging those facts a little,” Pudge said.
Kevin pounded his fists on the window.
“We have to do something about this,” he said. “Schmitty, got any ideas? Schmitty? …Schmitty?”
Schmitty stared longingly out the window with a stupid grin on his face. His gaze was fixed on the middle of the angry crowd, where he saw the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Wearing skinny jeans, combat boots, and a choker necklace with a streak of purple in her hair, she didn’t look like any other girl he’d fallen for, but he was captivated nevertheless. The throngs of screaming protestors seemed to part around her. Even from across the lawn, he could see her big, brown eyes lit up with rage under pursed, trim eyebrows. He was mesmerized by her voluptuous lips as they formed pro-goat rhetoric, and amazed that the fibers of her tight white t-shirt hadn’t torn apart from the pressure of her busty chest.
“Schmitty…” Kevin said. “Earth to Schmitty…”
“Alright,” Kevin said, turning to the rest of the house. “Does anybody know how we can fix this?”
“I know!” exclaimed Moe, a Jersey boy who hadn’t worn sleeves since he started binging creatine his sophomore year.
Moe ran to his room, then returned with two fistfuls of little blue pills.
“Is that Viagra?” Kevin asked.
“Yup!” Moe nodded, beaming with pride.
“And why exactly do you have those?” Pudge asked.
“So I can fuck all night, dumbass,” Moe said.
“Whatever,” Pudge said. “But how are we gonna use boner pills to get back at those asshole protesters?”
Before More could answer, Kevin interrupted.
“Wait, you guys, where did Schmitty go?”
To Be Continued….
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