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Webster’s dictionary defines a GDI as a Good Dick Instigator – but we all know the real meaning: Goober Doofus Idiot. Giant Dorks International. Gosh Darn Imbecile. None of these titles are technically wrong.
GDIs, or “God Damned Independents,” suck. One has to wonder what led them to choose a life of sadness and solitude, instead of one full of sick rips and tight tits.
They’re the kids in your dorm playing Runescape until sunrise chuckling about how they posted hundreds of flyers reading, “GAMMA DELTA IOTA party tonight on the 4th floor” all over the hall as you stumble in from an epic night at the ’80s mixer. The ones who look at a beer pong table and think, “Wow, what a great place to play ping pong.”
I’m talking about the guys who are so uncool they wouldn’t have even received a bid from Oozma Kappa, if this was Monsters University. Personally, I’ve thought about it, and I would 100% without a doubt be in Roar Omega Roar, but we aren’t here to talk about me.
They’re easy to spot on campus because they all have “Hillary 2016” on their backpacks and Lenovo laptops. Seriously? Buy a fucking Macbook, you geed.
The only vague similarity between Frat Lords (like us) and GDIs is the amount of time we spend hugging the toilet. Frat Lords, of course, from partying too hard at an almost constant rate, and GDIs from the equally constant barrage of swirlies.
Look, I don’t have to tell you all the cool benefits of being in a frat – but I will:
∙ Cool handshakes
∙ Looking at nude bodies
∙ Discounts at autoparts stores
∙ History lessons
∙ The best Hotwheels racetracks
∙ Someone to play hopscotch with
∙ Chalk to play hopscotch with
∙ Cement to draw a hopscotch court on
Hate them or hate them, if GDIs were banished from campus like they ought to be, who else would there be to laugh at? Would these wonderful frat things still be special?
I’m not saying you can’t declare Geed-had on them every once in a while, but GDIs are a necessary evil. We will always love to hate them and kick those backpack wearing dorm-rats out of our parties until our undergrad days come to an end (and probably even when we become rich graduated DILFS).
Every semester, a great tip is to locate with pinpoint accuracy, the geed in each class that will do your bitchwork for you. It’s a classic carrot held in front of a horse scenario, but the carrot is “an invite to a big party” and the horse is the geed. Spoiler Alert: the horse never gets the carrot. But you make grades and stay off of social probation.
We’ve all been in a class with a big test coming up and without any form of study guide (hell, most likely you didn’t even bother purchasing the textbook.) This is a GDI-hate gray area. Throw a studious-looking GDI in your class a simple “my man!” and he will be tossing study guides back at you for the rest of the semester when he’s not calling home and reporting his social success to his mom.
A Beta has to exist for an Alpha to survive. Frat life wouldn’t be special if everyone was invited. GDIs are good because if everyone was in a frat there’d be no space in the castles for all the guys so I’d have to share a bed with my buddy Todd and he has sleep apnea so I’d get very little sleep. We need the geeds and the geeds need us.
Years from now, when you take whatever slam piece you’re with at the moment to Marble Slab for ice cream, you’ll remember with a certain fondness the ways in which GDIs really did shape your college career, as you watch the guy you used to cheat off of in Calculus smash toppings into the ice cream of the girl you are taking home to smash into your headboard.
A wise man once asked, “what’s cooler than being cool?” Well, I’m afraid that I don’t know the answer to that, but I do know what’s uncooler than being uncool — and that’s “not being in a frat.”
Thanks guys, for all that you do. You are a special breed, Geed..
Image via YouTube