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.