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I don’t care if it’s an old balls Delt Sig who saw Animal House opening weekend or a present-day ATO who watched it for the first time last night; every fraternity member has, at one point or another, wanted to be Eric “Otter” Stratton.
For one, he was the finest rush chairman on both sides of the Mississippi. But more importantly, he had that clutch combination of charisma and a cocky attitude that had dudes wanting to be him and chicks wanting to do him. He could charm the pants off any girl from Emily Dickinson College co-ed Shelley Dubinski to Dean Wormer’s coug wife Marion. Dude was a legend.
Alas, while many try to ascend the mountain of greatness, few actually reach the summit. The truth is, there are just not too many real-life Otters out there. You’ve probably only met a handful in your life, and probably only ever will.
We live in a society of self-kidders. Many who think of themselves one way and present themselves another. I’m talking Brads and Chads who think they’re in for a night of smooth pickup lines and steady HJs, but end up locked in a handicap stall in a puddle of their own puke and shit after taking 10 tequila shots too many. It’s not a fluke if it happens every single time.
I hope that, eventually, these Bradleys and Chadophers are able to muster the courage to look themselves in the mirror — I mean really look — and realize John “Bluto” Blutarsky is staring right back at them.
Now, I’m not talking post-credits Bluto, who’s destined for a U.S. Senate seat and a life with Mandy Pepperidge. And I’m not talking 28-year-old John Belushi, who essentially played the role as a sort of version of himself. I’m talking about the real-life collegiate caricature that Bluto represents.
The guy who probably doesn’t have any friends outside of his fraternity or small friend group. The guy who probably makes most women uncomfortable with his presence. The guy who enjoys loudly busting balls. Breaking shit. Getting rip-roaringly drunk. And so on and so forth.
Let’s be clear: there’s nothing completely wrong with being a Bluto. Blutos tend to have a shit ton of fun. They’re a staple of many friend groups. But there’s nothing worse than a Bluto masquerading as an Otter. Self-awareness is key.
Here’s a multiple choice hypothetical for you. You walk into an ABC party (“I see what he did there”) with nothing but a tiny strip of caution tape on your dick. Like, the strip is way too small. There’s nothing tasteful about the situation AT ALL. I’m talking you can see all of the balls and most of the shaft. Anyway, you catch the eye of this hot sophomore girl in your Intro to Business class who’s got a bubble wrap tube top-type deal going on. You likey. Which do you do?
A) Make a comment about how good she looks in the bubble wrap and then get her a drink.
B) Make a joke related to the class you share together and then get her a drink.
C) Engage in some light negging and then get her a drink.
If you picked any of these three choices, then you’re lying to yourself. Would you have preferred to say something slick and take this sophomore girl home all Otter-like? Of course you would have. Society tells us that’s what gets you ahead in life. But you forgot the fact that 75% of your unimpressive dick and balls is in clear view. You really think she wants anything to do with you? You’re not getting one word off before she runs for the hills, never to return. God, you’re delusional.
Here’s the bottom line: You’re probably a Bluto. Learn to live with it. Because, at the end of the day, we’re all on the same team.
Image via YouTube/Animal House