The 5 Historical Figures You’d Least Like To See at a Frat Party

Hmmm... why don't you make that THREE kegs of Busch Light

5. Henry Kissinger
I love getting into heated political discussions whilst heavily inebriated as much as the next guy, but there comes a point when you have to draw the line. Yes, Henry Kissinger was one of the greatest political thinkers of the 20th century, but that by no means gives him a place at a frat party. First of all, the guy is older than balls. We must consider the rule of three: If someone has lived to see three presidents die in office, they are too old to set foot in a frat house. Additionally, we must consider the other rule of three: If someone has spent three or more years of their life working under the Nixon administration, they are too heinous to set foot in a frat house.

4. William Howard Taft
Oh, for fuck’s sake! These things are already crowded enough. If we throw a 400-pound man into the mix, we’re completely forfeiting our ability to move. If he was excessively overweight but also cool, like Buddha, then it would be worth sacrificing our mobility, but in reality, he’s just a complete twat. And worse yet, knowing that the presidency didn’t satisfy Taft, and he became a member of the Supreme Court after his presidency, it’s probable that he would not be satisfied by frat parties, and would find it necessary to go The Keg afterwards – another establishment that is already too crowded and doesn’t need yet another morbidly obese man further clogging up the place.

I need a drink, and I need it NOW!

3. Susan B. Anthony
There are some things that feminists simply should not see. The 21st century is one of them. If Susan B. Anthony were to tragically find herself on the 3rd floor of SAE, there are a few possible outcomes. The most likely result is that she would spend about five minutes observing the social phenomenon before her, and then spend the remainder of the party obnoxiously screaming about the oppression of women. However, there’s always the off-chance that she would follow the mold, get unnecessarily trashed, and wake up the next morning on the roof of Swift next to some rando from Pike. Regardless, rather than experimenting with the frat scene, she would be better off where she is now: on the front of gold dollars that stopped being minted in 2001.

2. Charles Dickens
If Dickens couldn’t stand the living conditions of post-industrial England, there’s no way he could stand the living conditions of the DU basement. People go to frat parties to be social, not to watch some elderly British assbag sitting in a corner writing in a romanticized manner about the hardships of being dateraped. However, if Dickens were to experience a frat party, it would very likely have had a tremendous effect on his novels. Oliver Twist would have been ejected from his workhouse not for requesting more food, but for pregaming an 18-hour work shift. Other novels, such as Nicholas Nicklebro and A Tale of Two Titties, would even further deviate from Dickens’ traditional literary style.

Columbus wearing the traditional "party foul" tricorn hat

1. Christopher Columbus
For those of us who have been to frat parties at Northwestern, we know that there are already enough people on power-trips – doormen, bartenders, Sir Twattingworth III, and the like. The last thing we need is some dickbasket walking in, claiming the dilapidated ZBT house in the name of King Ferdinand of Spain, and transmitting diseases to sorority girls (syphilis, PiPhilis, GammaPhilis, etc.). Furthermore, his methods of colonization would hardly work at a frat party; the amount of germs being exchanged is already maximized, and it’s far too hot for anyone to accept a blanket. That being said, there’s something very charming about the notion of three wooden ships landing on North Beach.

Hate a Random Country: Costa Rica

One of the numerous heinous individuals populating this tainthole of a country

A few weeks ago, a member of our presteinous (that’s prestigiously heinous, if you’re wondering) blog was approached at an off-campus party and asked if we would write an installment of our unnecessarily abrasive “Hate a Random Country” series on his home country, Costa Rica. The member of the blog, who was most certainly not Evander Jones, got down from the table on which he was exuberantly belly-dancing and happily agreed to have the article written. That being said, this article is not being written only by request – it’s being written because Costa Rica is home to a massive concentration of twatitude that can be rivaled only by the Seneca Falls Convention.

“Costa Rica” is a country similar to “Democratic Republic of Congo,” in that its name in no way reflects the country itself. Spanish for “Rich Coast,” Costa Rica is truly only rich in two things: Trees and tainthood. I’ll focus mostly on the tainthood.

Red, white, and blue!? BRILLIANT!!!

For those of us who don’t give a flying fuckstick about shithole countries like Costa Rica, it may be a surprise to learn that the currency in Costa Rica is the “colón” – presumably named for either the human colon or Cristobal Colón, a.k.a. Christopher Columbus. After all, who wouldn’t want their currency named after a raging cockbottle who exploited their people? For fuck’s sake, Costa Rica. You don’t see Cherokees running around paying with Jacksons, or Northwestern’s defense running around paying with Anyones. Worse yet, the abbreviation for the Costa Rican Colón is, surprisingly enough, CRC – an acronym that, to Northwestern students, encompasses nearly all the School of Comm’s limitless atrociousness.

Besides their poorly-named currency, the country with a president named “Chinchilla” boasts many more aspects worth scrutinizing. For example, its coat of arms is the feeblest display of culture I’ve seen since Kappa Sig went to the Shedd Aquarium. The image consists of several features:

Contrary to initial beliefs, this is not a 5th Grade Social Studies project

• A landmass.  Presumably representing Costa Rica, the landmass is a strip of land with three unnaturally phallic geographic features.
• Two bodies of water.  Divided by the landmass, they likely represent the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans.  Because clearly, Costa Rica is the only fucking country that borders two oceans.
• Two ships.  Likely representing the Nina and the Pinta.  Or the Nina and the Santa Maria.  Or the Pinta and Santa Maria.  Or maybe just two generic coming-to-totally-fuck-your-people-over ships.
• A banner over the top reading “America Central.”  Apparently, no one ever informed these dumbshits that it’s called “Central America.”

The only thing rivaling Costa Rica's lack of defense is the Northwestern secondary

Perhaps the most unique fact about Costa Rica is that they don’t have a military.  Yes, you heard me.  To show you the full impact of this absurdity, allow me to put it into perspective.  On Monday nights, the backdoor of the Keg is more protected than the nation of Costa Rica.  On weekend nights, Burger King’s line-forming traditions are more protected than the nation of Costa Rica.  Two hammered college students bumping uglies in the basement of ZBT are more protected than the nation of Costa Rica.

You know, you’d think that a country bordering Nicaragua and Panama wouldn’t look too bad. But Costa Rica did it. And to be honest, that’s the one feat of Costa Rica that honestly impresses me. The nation’s four all-time Olympic medals aren’t impressive. The national soccer team’s four visits to the World Cup aren’t impressive. But damn – those Costa Ricans sure do know how to make themselves look like dickbrains. Well done, Costa Dickbrains. Well done.

Hate a Random Country: Kyrgyzstan

Kyrgyzstan: a geographical AND linguistic bitch

You’ve all experienced it. It’s 3:30am on a Saturday, you’re more plastered than an ex-convict uncle at an open-bar wedding reception, and you’re staring with insurmountable anguish at Sporcle’s “Countries of the World” quiz as the clock ticks down to 00:00 with all but one country entered. The moment of despair strikes when the missing country flashes on the page: Kyrgyzstan.

“MOTHERFUCKING SON OF A SHITCLOWN IN MY ASSHOLE!”

It’s a sad day for our society when hundreds of dollars in furniture damage can be attributed to the unreasonable spelling of one measly fucking nation. Not even a nation –- a “stan.” Indeed, the word “Kyrgyzstan” can only have been produced by a bowl of alphabet soup special-ordered by Helen Keller. And if that isn’t atrocious enough, the only redeeming value in Kyrgyzstan’s name –- the disgustingly high Scrabble score it would yield –- is canceled out by Scrabble’s unthinkably heinous “no proper noun” rule (I’m still bitter about that time I could have played “Kiribati”…fuckers). Kyrgyzstan is a haven for all things contemptible; the life-ruining spelling of the country is only the tip of the iceberg.

Nothing compares to the bitter Kappa Delta-Kyrgyzstan rivalry, not even the infamous Tri Delt-Pakistan decade-long feud

Kyrgyzstan’s sports culture, or lack thereof, is just as horrendous as the country’s use of 8 consecutive letters without a true vowel. Let’s start with the 2010 Olympics –- Kyrgyzstan sent a whopping TWO competitors (one for each letter in the country’s name worth 5 or more points in Scrabble) competing in three events. Of those three events, there was a “Did Not Qualify,” a “Did Not Finish,” and a “76th place.” Kyrgyzstan, for fuck’s sake, are you serious? Your athletic abilities are being scrutinized by a Northwestern student right now; that’s about as rough as it gets. If by some stroke of confused magic, the Kyrgyzstani National Soccer team was lined up against, I don’t know, let’s say the Kappa Delta Intramural Soccer team, the Kyrgyzstanis would certainly be the underdog. To add to the sad stature of their sporting lifestyle, it should be noted that one of the most popular up-and-coming sports in Kyrgyzstan is a game called “Bandy” –- a game which, judging from its half-assed Wikipedia page, appears to be some mixture of soccer, ice hockey, and sexually frustrated middle-aged men. Don’t get me wrong, though; to Kyrgyzstan’s credit, they did win two medals (not gold, of course) in 2008 in Greco-Roman Wrestling. So if you’re ever in a situation where you’re wrestling with someone but not allowed to attack the legs, know that if your opponent is Kyrgyzstani, your chances of winning the fight are very slightly diminished.

The hottest woman in Kyrgyzstan

Let’s turn this conversation to a lighter topic: Sex crimes. One very prevalent issue in Kyrgyzstan is “bride kidnapping,” in which a man abducts the woman whom he would like to marry. Studies show that approximately half of all marriages in Kyrgyzstan are a byproduct of bride kidnapping, or ala kachuu (which literally translates to “to take and to flee”). This clearly stems from a misunderstanding; what we call “bride kidnapping” is what Kyrgyzstanis call “chivalry.” Kyrgyzstani men merely want to save their future spouse the stress of one of those notoriously gaudy Kyrgyzstani weddings.

While we’re on the topic of customs and celebrations in this steaming shitwaffle of a nation, we might as well talk about the primary Kyrgyzstani holiday: Nowruz. Recognized on the spring equinox, the holiday centers around a game called Buzkashi, in which grown men literally ride around a field on horses trying to pick up a goat carcass off the ground. Essentially, it’s Central Asian Quidditch. However, don’t get Buzkashi confused with Kokpar, another regional sport that involves riding on horses and carrying around goat carcasses.

Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with Kyrgyzstan?