An Ode To Our Favorite Fallen Fraternities

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Though everyone experiences school differently, I think we can all agree on one thing: the quality of our college years are inarguably defined by the people we choose to surround ourselves with. Whether you’re a traditional sorority girl, a school athlete, or the leader of a ruthless street pack of dirty longboarders, your friends are pretty fucking important in shaping what are supposed to be the best four years of your life.

Some of us consider our fraternal friendships to be the most important. And, unfortunately, some of us have also witnessed those friendships collapse before our eyes, under IFC’s swift hammer of justice insanity.

At the risk of sounding like a total downer and ruining your day, watching your favorite fraternity’s executive office pull their charter is more or less like watching your parents put down the family pet. You’re totally helpless, due to your lack of authority and general shameful reputation. You owe so much to your old pal, but when it comes down to the defining moment, you can’t do jack crap to help. And then you’re left wondering, did they know, did they really know, exactly how much I cared for them?

So here’s to the boys that welcomed us into their homes when we were naive freshmen, completely unaware what Greek life would offer us. They opened their doors and allowed us to wander the dimly lit, historic halls that the brothers before them forever stained with mixed drinks and shame. They let us shack in their twin bunks, cry on their front porches, and create lasting friendships in the bathrooms with girls we would probably never see again.

Here’s to the boys who topped off our drinks when we ran dry, blasted crappy mainstream music into the wee hours of the night, and let us watch as they brawled with their enemies next door. They hosted the parties that contained some of the weirdest shit we’ll ever see, and made sure we were drunk enough to block out the stuff that was too horrifying and potentially psychologically damaging to have witnessed.

Here’s to the boys who accepted you as one of their own when you started dating one of their brothers, or at least respected you enough to keep the sexual jokes to a minimum while you were in the room. They put up with your countless nights of shacking and allowed you to be a grade-A wingwoman in return, bringing your most fun sisters to themed parties and setting them up with the shy kids for formals.

Here’s to the boys who cared, not just about their academics and partying, but about each other. They grew to form a bond that is stronger than an ordinary friendship, and in the celebration, they lost it all. Our poor fraternal friends fell too deep into trouble to emerge unscathed, and hearts broke across the campus as nationals arrived shortly after to remove the large greek letters off the front of the house… or at least the ones that hadn’t already been stolen.

In the end, executive office can’t take everything. They can take the house, but they can’t take the memories of late nights spent under (and sometimes on) that roof. They can take the property, but they can’t take back the fact that you’ve peed in pretty much every square inch of the yard. They can take their letters, but they can’t take the hundreds of dollars worth of t-shirts you have with those same letters proudly stamped on your chest. They can take back social events, but fuck them, you’re going to continue to party with your boys anyway.

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Lucky Jo

Lucky Jo is a former and current TSM writer who likes her men how she likes her coffee: way too hot and unforgivably bitter. She graduated from the University of Missouri in 2016, proving that C's do in fact get degrees. She now spends her days working for a social media marketing agency, hiking with her dachshund, and trying to bring back the scrunchie. Hate mail and goat memes can be sent to

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