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Inside The Pledge Voting Room On The Legendary Night Of FTK

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pledge voting

“Everyone shut the hell up so we can vote on this last guy and get out of here!” Wheels yelled to no avail.

It was 6:30 p.m. The chapter had been sitting in that room since 10:30 a.m. and they were getting antsy. The room lay scattered with empty Chick-fil-A bags, bottles handles half full with dip spit, and stripped off ties. Resources and patience were running low.

“Fuck ‘em, we got enough studs. Let’s just vote no; open bar starts in an hour and a half,” complained Tits from the back row. It was immediately echoed by brothers around the room. Tits was never one for formal events, especially when alcohol wasn’t present. Craig, however, was.

“C’mon guys, this is serious!” Craig said. “If we want to continue being the best fraternity on campus, we —”

A Nerf football flew through the air, hitting Craig in the back of the head and interrupting his speech. Craig was a legacy who was just initiated. He had swooning confidence and self-righteousness thanks to his recent IFC Rep election win.

“Don’t come crying to me when nationals asks how voting went…” Craig frustratingly mumbled under his breath as he sat down behind his computer and started typing a furious email to Wheels, the rush chair.

“Literally, Craig, no one would,” said Tits, causing a wave of snickering across the room.

“Fuck nationals, and fuck Jim Tucker!” yelled Gonzo from the corner — his one and only contribution for the day. Jim Tucker was the nationals rep who put their chapter on probation. He’s enemy #1 amongst the brothers.

“More like Jim FUCKER!!! Haha! Fuck Jim Fucker! Fuck Jim Fucker!” chanted Tits.

The rest of the chapter joined in. “Fuck Jim Fucker! FUCK JIM FUCKER! FUCK JI—”

“GUYS!” screamed Craig. “Are we serious here? First off, ‘Jim Fucker?’ That’s all you could think of?”


“Tits, shut up! If you say one more goddamn thing, you’re not going to open bar,” threatened Wheels.

Tits sulked back in his chair. “Fine,” he pouted, and went back to watching college football on his computer.

“Fellas, I don’t want to be here any more than you do,” said Wheels, even though they all knew that was a lie (he lived for this shit). “But we have one more kid to vote on, so lets get through it so we can have a great night.”

The chapter quieted down as the final slide got projected on the screen.

“Alright guys, this is Larry,” introduced Wheels. “He’s a finance major from DC, had a 3.4 in high school, was captain of his football team, and participated in ‘Zumba For Zambia,’ a Zumba marathon to raise money for the children of Zambia so they, too, can have a Zumba studio… or some shit like that. So who interviewed him?”

“Woah, what an awesome cause” sincerely and introspectively mumbled Boomer, the chapter druggie, who since his semester abroad in Bhutan has been acutely in tune with his spirituality. The chapter collectively rolled their eyes.

Grambo, the sophomore “assistant to the deputy rush chair,” stood up. “I interviewed him, and first off, I want to say I’m 100% voting yes. This kid is an absolute stud. He’s got a great resume, is a moose in the gym, and really seems to want this. In fact, he told me that his dad runs an investment firm and is looking to expand. If we got him, he said he would most definitely put our resumes on top.”

Nods of approval spread across the room, and the 12 finance majors jolted their heads up like spooked meerkats. “Kid obviously cares about his brothers,” said Jamba, a junior finance major on his third cycle of anabolic steroids who happens to be in the hunt for a summer internship. “I like him.”

Boomer stood up, adjusted his homemade tie cut from a tapestry used by the shaman in his village in Bhutan, let out a big yawn, and said, “Yeah, so going off of what Jamba and Grambo said, I really like this kid. He’s just got great vibes.” The chapter let out a groan.

“For the last time,” said Wheels, “having ‘good vibes’ is not an acceptable argument. We need concrete facts… And Boomer, did you just eat a weed brownie right in front of me?”

Red-faced and with a mouth full of cannabis-laced confection, Boomer sat back down. “I’m just saying, man. He seems like a cool dude.”

“Alright, so we got that he’s a cool guy, has got a good resume, and seems pretty loyal. Does anyone have anything bad to say?” asked Wheels.

There’s a moment of silence as everyone scanned the room.

“Motion to vote…?” inquiringly blurted out Tits.

Papers flew and cheers erupted from the chapter. Having a knack for working a room, Tits stood on the table and screamed “MOTION TO FUCKIN’ VOTE! THOSE WHISKY SOURS AREN’T GOING TO DRINK THEMSELVES!!!”

The chapter was in full anomie. Wheels was beyond frustrated, and just as he was about to give up, a voice rained down from the back of the room.

“Now, hold on just a sec!”

The room went silent. The voice came from Squirrel, a well-respected senior elder statesmen of the chapter.

A man of few words but much legend, the JI’s trade whispered rumors of his lore.

“I heard he got elected and won President as JI, but turned it down to have more time to start a Salvia ring,” said Beans.

“I heard he went dateless to formal because he knew there was a wedding of a senator’s son next door and he’d already made plans with the senator’s wife,” claimed Ace.

“I heard at the national conference, he punched Jim Tucker in the dick!” Gasps echoed through the crowd as they waited patiently for Squirrel to speak.

Squirrel grabbed his cane (intramural hockey injury) and gingerly rose to his feet while stroking his beard in contemplation.

“As you guys know, I’m a senior now. This is no longer my chapter; it’s all of yours. If you want to vote a certain way, that is your prerogative.”

A single tear fell from Wheels’ intently focused eye.

“However, there are certain times where I feel that I must intervene and impart some wisdom I’ve collected over my years, and this is one of those times. I was texting Allie, the Captain of the Acrobatics team, and she sai—“

Tits interrupted Squirrel with a fist bump and a “Nice bro, congrats on the sex.”

“You truly are an idiot,” Squirrel said sarcastically, loosely bumping his fist.

“Anyways, I texted Allie because when I looked at Larry’s Facebook page, I saw they were mutual friends. So I reached out to her to see what she knew about him.”

The whole chapter leaned in close, waiting on every word Squirrel preached.

“And she said…” He paused, as if to purposely heighten the already suspense-filled room.

“She said that he added her after she posted about tryouts in the school’s ‘Class of 2020’ Facebook page, and since then, hasn’t stopped messaging her asking if she wanted to ‘see his pet chinchilla.’ Which, in fact, isn’t a real chinchilla at all. How did she discover this? The picture of his dick wrapped in a plush washcloth that accompanied the request. She said, and I quote, “If there is one guy to blackball, its Larry.”

The chapter went absolutely silent, contemplating the surprising news they just heard. After about a minute of thought, a soft-spoken, round-bodied, baby-faced brother named Chilly stood up. The chapter turned and looked, wondering what could possibly come next.

Awestruck and overwhelmed by the moment, Craig passed out and fell to the floor.

“Godammit, Craig. Could you not be a pussy for once in your life?” Beans said as he picked him up and plopped him in his chair.

Chilly adjusted his pants, cleared his throat, and yelled with a tenacity never before seen from him.

“Fuck this kid! MOTION TO VOTE!!!”

The chapter erupted in absolute pandemonium. Papers went flying, brothers were pounding on the tables, and the smallest JI went soaring across the room like the midget in The Wolf Of Wall Street. Wheels and Squirrel, who normally would try to subdue the crowd in order to get a vote in, looked at each other, shrugged, and started chanting “FUCK THAT KID! FUCK THAT KID!” The whole chapter joined in.


Like King Leonidas in 300, Squirrel stood on the table and yelled, “Tonight, the drinks are on me!!!” Even though it was an open bar, the chapter let out a roaring cheer, put Squirrel and Chilly on their shoulders, and carried them out of the room, riding off into the sunset.

That night became known as FTK (Fuck That Kid) night, and is, and forever will be, celebrated by the brothers with a bonfire in celebration of all the possible pledges that weren’t followed by the rowdiest open bar of the year. To this day, pictures of Squirrel and Chilly hang on the wall as a reminder to the brothers to, no matter how tired they are, never rush pledge voting unless you want a chinchilla-dick cheeseball.

Image via YouTube

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