you love your brother

My room overlooks the UCLA Sig Phi Ep frat house, and for the past week, the brothers have been hard at work decorating their shitty rundown house for a special "Eden" party tonight, sawing and nailing into the wee hours of the morning. They built a fence and a created a waterfall in front of their house, plastered a giant papier-mache tree above and around the front door, erected a mosquito net canopy over the sundeck, stapled artificial palm fronds to walls and ceilings, and cut the letters E, D, E and N out of plywood in a gothic font and placed them atop the roof, each letter lit up by its own personal light. All this for what amounts to little more than a four hour kegger.

When they're not constructing elaborate sets for debauchery or in the act of debauching, the Sig Phi Ep brothers like to play ping pong. Most every day from about 3 PM to 3 AM, I can hear people playing ping pong outside my window.

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One frequent ping pong participant stands out in particular. I can always tell when he's playing.

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FUCK!

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SHIT! GODDAMMIT! FUCK!
calm down dude…

One night, I had just retired to my futon when all of a sudden, I heard yelling emanating from the Sig Phi Ep house. "GET UP! OUTSIDE! NOW!" It was 3 AM. I laid there listening to a bunch of guys frantically file into the backyard. I assumed it was a silly hazing ritual. Then: "EAT IT, FAGGOTS! HURRY UP AND EAT IT! YOU DON'T WANT TO BE LAST! HURRY! YOU DON'T WANT TO BE LAST!" All I could think was "Man, some people take ping pong way too seriously."

As I write this, I can hear a Sig Phi Ep brother's cell phone ring Eminem's "Without Me". Last week, a Sig Nu party blasted Nelly's "Hot in Herre" no less than three times. As long as there are frats, there will be MTV.

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