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Do not look directly into her eyes. No really, don’t, because in them is an evil hellfire that will turn your dick and balls into a pillar of salt. The She-Devil is the most conspicuous of all the people you will see in a fraternity/sorority homecoming pairing, mostly because she’s in charge. In fact, it’s because she’s in charge that she is a She-Devil at all. She-Devils aren’t born, they’re driven down to the spiraling, seemingly bottomless depths of their bitchy madness.
The fraternity guys who they’re tasked with organizing are the ones who drive the She-Devils to their ruthless and terrifyingly focused state. It is a state so intense that if one of the aspects of the homecoming competition were “puppy neck breaking” her wrists would be arthritic by the end of the week. And really, can you blame the She-Devil? These poor girls are fighting a hopeless uphill battle, like Sisyphus, but instead of rolling an impossibly heavy boulder to the top of a steep, giant hill she’s just asking a group of indifferent alcoholics to do some charity work and paint shit. Sadly the latter is the harder task. Way harder. Plus, boulders don’t mumble “fuckin’ psycho bitch” when they think you’ve left the room.
One key characteristic of the She-Devil is that at some point she will stop making sense altogether, which makes her all the more terrifying. She’ll lose it and shriek completely random things to the guys like, “Your alumni NEED this banner painted by 2:00PM! And you have to help! THEY TOLD ME!!!” Then she’ll storm off, leaving a wake of stress induced PMS so powerful that it could only be subdued by a Midol that human technology is hundreds of years away from being capable of creating. At this point she’s not even shedding her uterine lining, it’s just magma and evil coming out of that Sarlacc. You’ll also be left wondering when the She-Devil actually spoke to your alumni. She didn’t. She’s either lying because, well, they do that, or she thought the ghosts of your founders came to her in a dream, even if they aren’t dead, and gave her explicit instructions that she was sure your fraternity would follow to the T. Why? Because she’s fucking nuts. There’s no rhyme or reason anymore. Any logic that once existed within her is as dead as the hobos she murders at night to relieve the stress of running a homecoming pairing.
If you want to really understand how a normal, mild mannered sorority girl becomes a She-Devil, read this piece that I wrote a few months ago. It’s pretty much the same thing.
The Lackadaisical Fraternity Liaison
This guy is the “yang” to the She-Devil’s densely black-hearted “yin.” He answers most questions with responses like “yeah sure,” and “uh we can probably handle that.” Of course he’s not writing ANYTHING down at the meetings so within twenty minutes he’ll have forgotten all the tasks he agreed to do and the dates and times for which people are supposed to show up for things. This guy gives up points like a West Virginia defense. Only a text from the She-Devil that reads, “WHERE THE FCK R U? GET HERE NOW,” will remind him that something important is going on…somewhere. At a certain point his main function becomes simply telling the She-Devil where the pledges are, but even that isn’t so easy. He’ll respond to the furious girl who just came up to his room from downstairs and violently shook him awake, “Uh not sure where the pledges are. Did you check downstairs?”
When the Lackadaisical Liaison does grace a homecoming event with his presence there’s a pretty good chance he’ll be drunk, and an even better one that he’ll be infuriatingly useless.
She-Devil: Oh wow, glad you’re finally here. Anything you can think of that would help?
Lax Liaison: Why’s there Mexicans on our banner?
She-Devil: Because our theme is Cinco De Mayo. You chose it…
Lax Liaison: Oh yeah…that would explain the seven margaritas I drank before I got here. (*points to banner*) We should’ve painted a mustache on the Mexican dude.
She-Devil: Well the banner is already hung.
Lax Liaison: Well can we get it down? Slap a mustache on that guy? He should really have a mustache.
(*the Earth’s crust rips open, flames erupt from the crevice, and Lax Liaison is pulled down into hell by a thousand demons*)
Lax Liaison: Whoa, sorry, jeez.
(*She-Devil’s day dream ends and Lax Liaison is still alive and well, much to her disappointment*)
She-Devil: We’re not pulling it down!
The Overworked Sorority Girl
They say Andy Warhol took forms of meth so that he could stay up all hours of the night and work. He wasn’t a fan of sleep. This girl isn’t much different. She’s part Elle Woods, part Ozark ice junkie. She’s whacked out on Adderall and painting/pomping her ass off around the clock. The only difference is that instead of creating timeless works of art everything she has put painstaking work into will be bashed and ripped to pieces at the end of homecoming by a pack of drunken fraternity guys taking out the frustrations of a workweek that they were barely a part of by comparison. But, I mean, can you blame them? If you don’t want something to be violently broken into a thousand pieces then don’t make it look like a giant piñata.
You can find this girl alone and weary, in either a fraternity basement or somewhere in her sorority house, quietly crafting away at four in the morning, like a lonely worker in a srat sweatshop. After a while you actually start to wonder if she isn’t more comfortable being alone with her painted “friends” than around actual humans, like Laura Wingfield with her glass menagerie, if instead of porcelain unicorns her friends are unintentionally racist caricatures of salsa dancers (assuming we’re sticking with the Cinco de Mayo theme).
The Overworked Sorority Girl is super talented, make no mistake. Without her the pairing would be even more screwed than it probably already is anyway. That said, Overworked Sorority Girl also has the capacity to evolve into a She-Devil. Often she is the She-Devil’s heir apparent, and those lonely nights spent whispering to herself as her ADHD roommate’s medication flows through her veins plants the first seeds of crazy that could eventually blossom into a cyclone of tyranny, horror, and emotion.
The Unhelpful Pledge Master
If the Lax Liaison is useless, then this guy is flat out counterproductive. The She-Devil needs pledges to work on various homecoming projects, but guess what? Those are HIS PLEDGES. A pledge who is painting or pomping, or what the fuck ever, is a pledge who isn’t driving actives or cleaning a mess most sanitation officials would simply quarantine and burn. If there’s a cooler full of half empty Keystone Light cans and rancid, uncooked burger meat that someone brought home from the tailgate while blackout, puked in, tossed into the shower, and started running hot water over in order to clean the mess, then who does the She-Devil expect to deal with that? The active who actually did it!?!?!
Only when he realizes that someone from the fraternity legitimately has to help with homecoming work does the Pledge Master finally relent. Of course, by that point the She-Devil has nearly had an aneurism and the Overworked Sorority Girl is having nightly family dinners with the painted characters that Adderall and exhaustion have convinced her are real.
So eventually the Unhelpful Pledge Master will say “fine, fuck it” and turn his pledges over so they can help with homecoming. Truthfully it might all be a brilliant hazing ploy. Keep the pledges away from the She-Devil until she’s reached a boiling point, and by that I mean holy water starts boiling every time she’s within seven feet of some, and then finally release them to her wrath and employ. Meanwhile the Pledge Master can kick back and take a well deserved day or two off.