======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ==== ======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ====
Unbeknownst to many of you, I have been spending my recent months in a war-zone. When I am not working as a congressional lobbyist for whiskey distillers or in my position as the United States’ ambassador to the Republic of Texas, I am operating as a field correspondent in one of the most dangerous battlefields in the country…the party scene. I have been observing a war that many of you have been participating in. One that affects us all. But before I delve into this dark, twisted reality, allow me to set the scene for those of you who are lucky to not be involved.
GDIs have many flaws – chief of which is that they are GDIs – but in reality most of them are harmless. In fact, many of them are helpful. GDIs are the ones in our study groups who do all of the work while we skip group meetings to watch the sporting events we bet on. GDIs are the ones who practice for weeks for intramurals, only to lose to a team of mostly drunk, carefree fraternity men, even when we play two men short because one guy went to Vegas for no reason and another guy is passed out on our bench. Most importantly, GDIs are the ones who will end up working for us, doing all of the tasks that are below our caliber and pay grade. However, there is a group of GDIs who are much more than nerds and hipsters. These guys, my friends, are known as the Flatbills.
Flatbills are a very particular, very dangerous breed of GDI. They tend to fit a certain mold. Most of them played baseball in high school. A few of them were good enough to walk onto your university’s team, but definitely not good enough to earn a scholarship. They are, by no stretch of the imagination, athletes. Despite this, they act as if they are the coolest men the world has seen since the cast of Walker, Texas Ranger (which is cooler than an Eskimo’s dick in mid-February). They wear too-tight shirts with athletic shorts, drink shitty liquor mixed with energy drinks, and almost definitely have the most disturbing tribal/oriental tattoos you’ve ever seen. And yes, despite the huge amount of douchebaggery they exude, we are in a war with them.
This is not a war that we chose. If we had our way, the Flatbills would stay in their own hangouts and chase women with lower back tattoos exclusively. But this is not the case. Instead, they are invading. This is not Jets vs. Sharks, because musicals blow giraffe cock. This is Red Dawn, but instead of Russians, we’ve been invaded by UFC-watching, Affliction-wearing, steroided, Fred Durst wannabes. They’ve started coming to our bars, dominating our television, and (worst of all) chasing our women. This would be a minor annoyance if it weren’t for the fact that they’ve had some success. Countless sorority girls have fallen prey to the muscles and sugary “shots,” and I can no longer order a drink without seeing a backwards Yankee hat. I know what some of you are saying, “My bar doesn’t allow people like that in, so it’s not my problem.” Well here’s where you’re wrong. Sure, some bars ban Affliction and ball caps, but a lot of bars won’t. Why? Because a lot of these guys have…money. And bars don’t care about new money or old money; they just want to make a profit, which is great, because capitalism is my middle name. At the end of the day it’s not the job of the bars or the girls to prevent douche-tragedy. It’s ours.
So what do we do? Here’s my plan. Enough of us are in the financial sector that we can easily execute a hostile takeover of every brand that they love. After acquiring these brands (Affliction, Ed Hardy, 59/50, Red Bull, etc.), we set a meeting with the Flatbill Council in either a parking garage or an abandoned warehouse. We then inform them that unless they quit poaching on our land, we will sell all of these brands, at cost to us, to Walmart, to be marketed to the one group that they hate more than fratstars: poorer GDIs. It’s a risky move, but one that must be taken. Men, if we are to protect the sanctity of our bars and our ladies, we have to take a stand. Channel your inner Wolverine and do this with me (and if you don’t get the movie reference, then go back to Pakistan, because you are a fucking terrorist).