This had been a shit week.

Everyone thinks college is all fun and games, but when you're looking at your math grade plummet after a bad test on Tuesday, it kinda takes the wind out of your sales. Even now, on a Friday afternoon, you are sitting at your desk in your room at the frat house, working on an essay. Real “Animal House” of you, huh?

But tonight will make everything better; your fraternity has been planning all month for a party that’s happening tonight at the frat house. It should be a real rager. Every detail has been looked into:

-Alcohol- beer, punch, a half dozen types of liquor, you name it.

-Music- DJ already setting up

-Entertainment- Dance floor, Beer Pong, Bar, even Strip Poker in the basement

• “Party Favors”- Your dealer “Sketchy Greg” came through; weed, a little coke, even some Viagra for those with “Whiskey dick”

-Guest list- Your Social Chair had been sending invites on social media to every hot girl you and your brothers could think of, and you personally had sent pledges with handwritten (by the pledge with the least crap handwriting) invitations to the sororities. You had taken that extra step for a couple reasons:

1. People appreciate the little touches

2. Sorority Girls are hot, so you want as many at the party as possible. And even if you don’t hook up with them, it always helps to be in their good graces, and make the fraternity look good.

3. It was an excuse to make the pledges perform mindless and mildly humiliating tasks, which is always a plus.

-Transport- the pledges were providing a “sober shuttle” to and from the house. For as much as you all play at being Bluto and friends, you still want everyone getting to the party and back safely.

Yes sir, it was looking to be a good party. And you needed it. Besides the worries about your math grade, you hadn’t gotten any since you and your ex, Maddie, broke up about 6 weeks ago. Hopefully that would change tonight.

As you put the final touches on an essay on Plutarch for your Ancient History class you heard the pledges clomping around on the ground floor of the frat house, presumably screwing up whatever simple task they had been given.

“Alright, quitting time” you say to yourself, as you close the laptop, grab a pregame beer out of the mini-fridge in your room, and head downstairs to amuse yourself by berating the pledges for their general failure to be useful for anyone or anything. As you leave your room, you make sure to lock it. In addition to not wanting some rando at the party robbing you blind, you also don’t want one of your brothers using your room to have sex in. No, the only drunken reprobate that would be having sex in your room tonight would be you. Hopefully.