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I showed up to the house very late. It was the point during a Friday night where I would usually be inebriated on the couch, struggling to focus on my phone, one eye closed in an attempt to see through the haze that always appears after a good night of boozing. Instead, I had been studying for a calc exam. Believe it or not, my Donald Glover like range of talents doesn’t extend to intuitively understanding how to find derivatives. Shocking, I know.
I walked into the living room to see my fraternity brothers gathered in a circle. Cal — a somewhat likable brother, who had only been kicked out of a sorority formal once on some trumped up charges of getting “overzealous with his date” — was standing in the middle of the circle. It was his birthday. In one hand he was holding a half-finished fifth of Malibu, and, like the alcohol percentage of Malibu, Cal looked like he was about 21 percent pussy. In the other hand he was holding a box roughly the same size and shape of a box of Franzia. On the side read: “OPEN AROUND PEOPLE.”
Completely ignoring the strip of tape holding it closed, Cal punched the side of the box until it gave way to his drunken blows. Then, like the pinata at an S&M party, three things spewed out: a taser, a dildo, and a note.
We were all pretty taken aback by seeing the contents of the box. Doing my best to avoid touching the dildo, I reached down and scooped the note off the ground. “ONLY USE TOGETHER” was written on it, same handwriting as on the box.
I thought Greek life had made me numb to bizarre, publicly erotic, and questionably illegal situations. But now, I could sense the same anxiety I knew so well as a pledge. Somehow, I was in a group of dudes circled around a dildo and a taser, with strict instructions to not use either on its own. These are the situations that separate the men from the boys.
Cal grabbed the dildo and taser off the floor, then threw the taser at me — his way of making me the chosen one, I guess. Battle Royale: Frat Edition was about to commence. Two guys, one dildo, no survivors. The guys around us started making wagers on who would come out victorious.
We stood face to face, exchanged nods, then assumed our dueling positions. Cal’s first strategy was to go after the taser in my hand with the dildo in his. Wielding it like a sword, he swung it back and forth. Luckily, I was able to predict his moves with ease since he was so plastered. He gave one last mighty swing with the silicon staff, which I dodged. This caused him to lose his balance. He shuffled his feet to regain control. I saw my opportunity, and I took it.
With finger on the button, I thrust the taser into the small of his back. I smashed the button, but there was no reaction from Cal. Not even a grunt. The taser had no juice, and now I was irrevocably fucked. It was a real “knife to a gunfight” situation.
Realizing that I had no way of defending myself, Cal spun around. The fleshy dong now looked like an executioner’s ax. He gripped it with two hands, raised it over his head, then brought it down hard, right on top of my skull. Experiencing the energy of a hammered, 22-year-old man connecting with the top of your cranium, via dildo, is exactly what it sounds like: disorienting, demoralizing, and one of the most painful experiences imaginable.
When I came to, I was staring at the ceiling. It took a second for me to recognize my surroundings. Two guys were standing over me taking pictures. Shout out to my brothers for never passing up an opportunity to record a comedic moment, but also fuck you inbred pieces of shit for not helping me when I could’ve been in need of medical attention. They told me I had been out for around 30 seconds. I looked over to see Cal passed out on the couch. I guess slinging dick takes a lot out of a person.
I decided not to get Cal a birthday present that year. We did end up burying the hatchet, though. Only after he apologized for nearly concussing me with a fake phallus that could’ve put O.G. Mudbone to shame..
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