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The Story Of Roddy Payne: The Importance Of Hazing The Pledges

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Read part I of Roddy Payne’s tale before this one by clicking here.

When my ass was a sophomore, I changed the face of fraternity pledge education. I was given the keys to the pledge educator program for my fraternity. I would be “teaching” them, “training” them, and “yelling” at them — so much yelling at them. Every pledge trainer around town wanted a piece of my shit. None of them could do what I did. I was just a man with a mind for excellence and a voice like a fucking lion’s roar. Sometimes when you bring the heat like I do, you get lost in the inferno around you. A true educator, when he’s staring his darkest hour in the face, will do whatever it takes to haze balls. He will fight and fight, because surrender is losing, and losing is for geeds. I ain’t no geed — I’m a fucking legend. This is my story.


I stared at the TV in disbelief. After sucking my team’s cock all off-season, we had just been upset by some midwestern school with a shit-for-brains coach. The combination of whiskey, numerous lines of cocaine, and the team’s loss sent me into an angry rage so powerful that I punched a hole right through our living room wall. I fumbled in my pockets for my cigs and walked out back. As smoke billowed from my mouth, lightning struck in the distance.

“Looks like there’s a shitstorm heading our way,” a voice behind me said.

As I turned, I was greeted by the last face I wanted to see: the pledge class legacy. I don’t know what it was about his chubby, entitled face, but it caused me to erupt like Mount Vesuvius. My whole body was filled with a murderous rage. I quickly whipped out my phone and fired a group message to all of the pledges.

House basement. You all have fifteen minutes.

Your boy was about to unleash hell on these poor bastards. I’d never conducted a lineup before, but I’d been on the other side of many as a pledge myself. I was hungry, but a little nervous at the same time. I had a sacred tradition to uphold — the tradition of kicking ass. The older brothers were counting on me. Derek was counting on me. The fate of the free world was counting on me. The pressure began to build up in my mind. I couldn’t fuck this up.

The weight on my shoulders would’ve crumpled some men, but I’m not some men. I knew I was the right motherfucker to step up to the plate and knock this shit out of the park and send the pledges into parts unknown. I didn’t need motivation. I’m Roddy fuckin’ Payne, after all. This is what I was born to do. Leader of men, hazer of pledges. It’s in my blood. I was amped. I was ready. Most importantly, I was pissed off.

I got to the basement and there stood my pledges, all thirty-five of them. I hated them all. There they stood, quivering, staring at me, some with fear in their eyes, others with smug grins. All of them were the cream of the crop from well-respected high schools and families. They’ve been coddled, I thought to myself. They don’t know pain, struggle, or misery. It is my job to teach them how to be men.

“Do you know why I called you all here tonight?”

They all shook their heads, except for one: Garrett. “Because you wanted some new friends?” he sarcastically remarked under his breath. Wrong move, buddy boy.

“Do you guys think this is funny? Everyone to the wall! SIT UNTIL I TELL YOU TO MOVE!”

While the class did as they were told, I shot a message to a brother upstairs asking him for the package, and told him to meet me out on the front lawn in ten minutes.

“You think this a joke, Garrett? You think this is some kind of game? Well, guess what. You’re all just pawns in Roddy’s game now. You live, breathe, and think about Roddy 24/7/365 or suffer the consequences. I AM YOUR MASTER AND YOU ARE MY BITCHES.”

The group of human sardines began to sink lower and lower to the ground as time went on. I eventually decided to let them up, and told them to go up the stairs and to the front lawn. There waited Kevin, a box, and two handles of Kentucky Deluxe. There was much anticipation among both Kevin and the pledges as to what was in the box. I opened it up to find the four logs of Copenhagen I had drunkenly bought the night before.

“Since some of you are in need of some exercise, I’m going to give it to you. We will be running in a formed line around Greek Circle until I think that you’ve had enough. After each lap, you will be taking a pull of Kentucky Deluxe. We will finish the bottles before we stop. Is that understood?”

The whole class nodded. “What’s the dip for?” Kevin asked.

“Well, Kevin, my boy, they will be doing this with half a can in each of their mouths.”

Their faces turned sour.

“If I suspect that you’ve spit out even a TINY bit of your half can, we will begin again.”

As the rain began to fall, the pledges took off in two columns. I cackled lightly thinking about how long that chubby legacy would last before throwing up.

“Just don’t actually kill one, Rod,” Kevin mentioned as he walked back into the house.

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The Therapist

Not a licensed therapist, but that doesn't stop me anyway.

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