Subject: Re: Why sorority girls are worse than $cientoligist
Date: Wed, 28 Apr 1999 02:45:13 GMT
References: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6
On Tue, 27 Apr 1999 18:54:28 -0400,
"=?iso-8859-1?Q?K=F6nig=20Preu=DFe?=, GmbH" <email@example.com>
>Well, I'd like to hear it. I like most all your stories.
>The last sorority initiation that I heard about involved
>picking up a peeled grape off a block of ice, so, I do
>hope that your initiation involved some form of sexual
>depravity. I'm all ears and baited breath. And a semi.
Well allow me to state first that my own particular treatment during
Hell Week was partially due to my status as Pledge class President. I
took a teensy bit more shit, but I am/was a clever lass and did well
with what was handed to me.
I guess the first question that must be asked is, "Tarla, why the fuck
did YOU join a Sorority?" The answer is simple. I was already plenty
wierd. The years from 16-20 were basically my desperate effort at
attempting to be normal. So I arrived on campus, didn't know anyone,
it seemed...except Harry Beck, whom I had known since 5th grade. Beck
and I were supposed to get married and have 5 beautiful Catholic
children, but HE never got around to realizing that. I think he's a
hotshot in the Phoenix Fire Dept. now. Anyway...my first day of school
and I wandered into the Student Union. It was packed solid, Sorority
and Fraternity tables lined the walls. That was where people went and
bullshitted and drank coffee and smoked cigarettes and played cards 20
hours a day between classes.
I was wearing a hotpants jumpsuit made of some pink material and these
little pink Capezio slippers and I heard this VOICE come out of the
crowd and KNEW it was directed at me (since everyone in the room
turned my way) "Hey, Little Girl, you want some candy?"
It was my first test. "What kind of candy you got, Mister?" I replied.
"C'mon over here and we'll see if I can't find something you'll like."
People chuckled, and went back to what they were doing. I walked over
to the table where the guy who yelled at me was sitting. Now that I
remember it, he reminded me of Legume.
I remember watching the frat people at the tables against the wall.
They were all really good looking and seemed to know each other and
were so friendly and I knew they were popular and I needed to be
popular, AND if I were in a Sorority, I'd always have a place to sit
in the Union; so I thought, what the fuck...and went through pledge
Skip tales of my dazzling personality and quick wit...cut to Hell
The purpose of Hell Week is to humiliate pledges. So the brilliant
upperclassmen come up with all sorts of clever ways to embarrass
pledges...by doing exactly what was done to them. It rarely varies. MY
goal was to turn Hell Week to my advantage. Let me admit this right
now. I was the most godawful pricktease in Phoenix at that point. I
LOVED to wear the shortest skirts and make double entendres and take
any chance to be sexy but unattainable, so when we were told that we
had to come to classes in "costume," I used that as an excuse to show
off my ass.
One day we had to come as babies. I pulled my hair up into pigtails,
donned a babydoll dress that ended at the top of my thighs and wore
ruffled panties and maryjane shoes with ruffled socks...oh I was a
precious little tart. Another day we had to come as sports players. I
came in a baseball jersey, short-shorts knee socks and cleats. No
matter how they tried to foil me, I found a way to look great.
So now it's Friday and we have a meeting. I walked in to the room and
was greeted by a room full of upperclassmen holding candles. They told
me to strip down to my underwear. I did. They handed me two candles
and told me to kneel on the floor facing the wall and holding the
candles with my arms extended at shoulder level. Then they spent the
next half hour grilling me over everything I'd done wrong in the last
semester, AND everything that my pledge class had done wrong since I
was the President. The extended grilling is the only difference
between my treatment and that of my pledge sisters. They only had to
hold the candles for about ten minutes.
I was then sent into a dark room where the rest of my pledge class was
waiting, huddled in their undies talking in low tones and giggling.
The door burst open and a mass of clothes were thrown at us. We were
told to dress in whatever we could find and assemble in the main room
in two minutes. We did so.
We were blindfolded and crammed into a number of different cars. We
were not allowed to speak during the drive. They took us somewhere out
into the desert. I found my way back and I sort of remember it being
in the area northwest of Paradise Valley. That area was desert then. I
wasn't the least bit scared. I knew they wouldn't hurt us. I thought
it was all great fun.
We were herded out of the cars and into a group. They yelled at us a
bit (still blindfolded) and then they started telling us how foul we
were...that they could smell us. That was when they started pouring
bowls of oatmeal that had been spiked with tuna, worchestershire
sauce, and raw eggs...three days before and left outside in the lovely
Arizona climate, over our heads. It was amazingly rank.
Then we were told that we were the fattest bunch of pledges they'd
ever seen and that we needed calesthenics. So they made us lie down on
the ground and do sit ups. Every time we'd bend forward, they'd stick
raw eggs in the crease of our thighs or just crush them on our heads.
They made us jog around a bit (still blindfolded) and made us sing
some stupid songs and used any excuse to cover us in rotten
vegetables, sticky stuff, smelly stuff, and mock threatened us with
dire consequences if we took off the blindfolds before the allotted
time. Of course, as soon as we heard the last car drive off, we tore
off the blindfolds and started laughing. We looked like utter shit.
The upperclassmen had thrown a set of car keys off into the desert and
after a short search, we found them and began trying to fit the entire
pledge class of about 12 into a single car. I was driving. We dropped
everyone off except Cindy and I. We headed for carwash to clean our
hair. By now, the oatmeal and eggshells were causing a helmet effect.
We stopped at a light, and Cindy nudged me. Two fine looking specimens
occupied the car next to us. We smiled at them. They started laughing.
And that was the end of that.
When you look at Prince Charles, don't you think that someone in the
Royal family knew someone in the Royal family? --Robin Williams