SPE SPE SPE SPE

There’s no real easy way to break this to you non-fratstars, so I’m just gonna tell it straight to try and make you actually care: SPE is fuckin’ out, Sig-Ep is fuckin’ in. It’s okay—shhhhh aww, don’t cry. . .We did lose our insane-status party mansion, over one hundred years of beer scum stuck in the floors, and badass American tradition. Good luck to whatever poor bastard the Sigma overlords hire to clean up the place, though; for the love of Pete(’s couch), there’s a half-pipe in one of the rooms on the second floor.

All SPE-skater-skating jokes aside, the whole situation is fucked. Here’s how it all went and continues to go down. Coming back to school as a fraternity, we SPEs knew we were on Thin Ice-Ice Baby. I think, technically, the higher-ups with offices and paper weights and other useless shit call it “double secret probation.”
Because SPE is so badass, we had, like, a lot of overdue movies. We might have set a car on fire, and maybe we threw poop on the Hall. Hell, we might as well have left a pressure-sensitive pipe-bomb in a Cohn’s bag on the 4th floor of Clem-dawg with a note that said “Free Adderall” on it. Point is, we’ve been a pain in our University’s and our National Headquarters’ pompous asses for a hot minute now.
It’s kind of funny how they pulled it off—stealing our house and temporarily ruining our lives, that is.

We wouldn’t paint our door red, which I think the grand wizard guy in his castle at Sig-Ep headquarters may have actually cried about. Really, though, Nationals’ issue with us was that we wouldn’t adhere to their notorious Balanced Man Program. I say notorious because it’s notoriously lame and known for taking over respected SPE chapters nationwide, including both the Kentucky and Alabama SPE chapters as of this year. For SPE at U.Va. to convert to Balanced Man would have essentially mandated that we turn our major-rager basement into a computer lab. Fuck that. Sorry Big Brother, this ain’t Beta. Fiji isn’t even lame enough to do that.

Basically, we told Nationals to suck it. Again and again and again. And they had to, which was awesome; awesome until they had compiled a three-foot-high folder of unspeakable atrocities we’ve committed at the University since 1980. See, turns out we weren’t only a total pain in the ass to those weird creeps wearing robes and wielding ass-paddles back at Nationals, but the University hated us, too. Hoooo kneeew??? Nationals even went so far as to say that we “duck-taped a brother from a fellow Sig-Ep chapter inside a closet and wouldn’t let him out for hours.” That’s just hilarious, and I honestly wish I’d been there because the guys from other chapters are mostly tools.

Anyway, I’m losing my point again—must be all the residual drugs they forced on me during hazing catching back up with me. Which brings me to my next point: hazing is just stupid. I don’t think anyone who is smart enough to get into this school is stupid enough to believe that anyone is stupid enough to be hazed. If you feel dumber after reading that statement, you should. That was the point. That sentence was supposed to make you feel syntactically just about how dumb the idea of hazing is. My life is a haze; what the fuck is hazing? In all fraternities, the exits are clearly marked.

So, our Nationals and the University tag-teamed us harder than Peter North and Ron Jeremy in Jenna Jameson Jacks the Jocks 7. Nationals had their eye on our house for damn near twenty years, scheming like that lurking dude you didn’t see in the corner of Coupe’s who is walking out with the hottie you bought, like, seven drinks. “Yeah, damn him, I know that guy,” you’re thinking. I know—been there, bro. Back to the point: the Sig-Ep Creep Council consistently demanded we conform to their conglomerate plans for global domination. They wanted us to add to their Sig-Epic-ness, but we already knew that we were way more epic than them to begin with, so we couldn’t do all the ridiculously lame things they were telling us and still consider ourselves legit bros.

When Nationals decided this summer that they were taking our house, they just needed a reason to do it. The University was all for it, and whether or not they’ll admit anything (which they won’t), there was some serious coordination between these two forces to give us the boot. Three days into our University-sanctioned “Brother Work Week,” someone called in an anonymous hazing allegation, and the wheels started moving real quick-fast to give SPE the “peace out.”

Work week, for those of you who are thoroughly GDI, is a SPE tradition wherein each year a week before school we clean/repair the house to prepare it for a whole semester of super ragers. It is also a time where brothers and pledges engage in some thorough work-out activities to try and look a little less like the marshmallow man for the ladies. Is that so wrong?

Within a day of this anonymous hazing allegation, SPE’s charter as a fraternity was “suspended indefinitely” by Nationals, who had a wet dream later that night about finally stealing our house and making it super lame. They flat-out lied to us and said we would be reinstated pending the completion of a community service project and some other fire department philanthropic bull on account of us being pyros and what not. We continued on for a few more weeks as a semblance of a frat and completed the community service project, but then the ceiling, or rather the skylight, quite literally fell down on us.

Dean Groves called the whole fraternity over to Newcomb and told us we had nine days to leave the house. Oh, but he did offer us on-grounds housing and help getting a meal plan and counseling if we wanted to talk about our personal problems. . .pshh. Lame. Sounded dumb to me then, sounds even dumber now.

So yeah, we broke all the rules, and you finally got us. Of course you did.
Someone was going to. Regardless, it was a helluva run. I’ve done shit people will never do again. And despite what you think, you’re not badass for kicking us off, so sit down, ‘cause you just ruined, like, twelve people’s lives. What were you thinking, making us move all our shit out of a ballin’ bachelor pad in nine days and into some refu-SPE-camp off-campus where our hellish ways will spread like a virus to the surrounding neighbors? Yeah, that was a real dick move, dick squad. These girls we live next to now hate us already, and we haven’t even thrown a rager yet.

Further, and more seriously to the powers that be: don’t act like you don’t know that this alleged hazing shit goes on in every fratter, except, like, Beta or whatever other pseudo-frats that have to pay new members to join. I wasn’t going to go stoop to this level, but I’m just going to reiterate for one final time the “Pill/line?” scenario involving St. Anthony’s Hall’s detailed “hazing operations” email that went out by mistake last year. Yeah, they do drugs, too—so does everyone else in the world. Get over it. Even Bono does cocaine. I think I also get to say fuck the Hall, not simply for tradition’s sake, but also because the only reason the Hall got away with this legitimate indicator of hazing was because President Casteen is a Hallie. He killed the issue before it could even be investigated.

To finish up with this hazing nonsense, hazing, like all petty human fabrications, is made up in the mind. One can only ever haze one’s self. Anyone knows that. Again, the exits are clearly marked.

The only way to end this half-truth, half-rant right now is to tell you a story. The other day, I saw a girl get hit in the face with a dodgeball. It was the second coolest thing I’ve seen in six and a half years. It was Friday. It was 2 p.m., and I was hammered. Like I said, awesome. And even though the rest of my drunk fraternity brothers wearing jorts said I was too drunk to play, I thought to myself, “God damn. This is America. This is what being in a frat is about. Right here.”
SPE dying is commentary on how sissy this society is becoming as a whole (I can’t believe they don’t have P.E. dodgeball anymore!). Frankly, I’m pissed off. Kenny Powers wouldn’t stand for this. I’m probably going to beat my kids even when they don’t do anything wrong to make up for positive reinforcement. The real problem is we’ve been pussy-ized. We’ve been sensitized, not desensitized. Dammit, I don’t even know what hand sanitizer is? That’s why I put the question mark at the end of that statement. I know it wasn’t a question.

This is just the first of many indicators that all fraternities are dying, if not in five years than in ten. I mean, think about it: we’re a nation that texts girls instead of figuring out how to creep into their dorm room and say, “Homework sucks. Let’s make out.” Or something equally cool. Girls eat that shit up. Trust me, I learned this at SPE.

In five years (or three, or whenever Sig-Ep opens their coveted Balanced Man Chapter here at U.Va.), kids probably won’t even know how to drink beers or how to talk to girls anymore. Either way, they definitely won’t be hanging out with the Sig-Ep super-douchers who live in the house that will always be SPE. It will always be our house, because we had it first.

So here it is, Nationals: piss off. Here’s a big final bloody middle finger right your way, you ass-paddling scumdawg millionaires.

And let it be known, gentlemen, that we will not sit here and listen to you badmouth the United States of America.