Toilet Gator – Chapter 3

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Sitwell Community College

Sitwell, Florida

10 p.m.

Sitwell Community College wasn’t known for academic accomplishment, or successful alumni, or even for getting basic knowledge into the heads of its students. It was, however, known for raging keggers, provided courtesy of Lambda Pi Delta, the fraternity that owned the rowdiest off-campus party house.

For the past decade, those soirees had been carried out by perpetual student Chad Becker, a long, flaxen haired hunk who never bothered to wear anything other than a loosely tied bathrobe and worn, leather sandals.

While Chad addressed the crowd of drunken degenerates, his frat brother Paul, a young, gangly looking dweeb, inserted a plastic tube into a funnel.

“Fellow Deltas,” Chad said. “I dedicate this next chug to the good people of Syria. May those vile Dakotans stop trying to build a pipeline through their lands once and for all so that Bernie Sanders can focus on his bid to become the president of Afghanistan.”

“You really need to pay more attention to the news, Chad,” Paul said as he cracked open a forty ounce tall boy.

Chad burped, then with slurred speech, stammered out a weak reply. “You really need to pay attention to your face. Because it’s ugly.”

Britney, a fake blond with one inch black roots, stumbled through the crowd on high heels that she was not comfortable walking on in any way whatsoever. Her press on nails may have been fake, but her concern was genuine.

“Chad,” Britney said. “You need to stop.”

“No,” Chad said. “You are the one who needs to stop.”

“Babe,” Britney said. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“College is for drinking, sugar tits,” Chad said before releasing a loud belch.

“This is just his sixth one,” Paul said as he picked up a tall boy.

Britney snatched the giant can out of the geek’s hand. “Spazenbrau? Are you shitting me, Paul? You let him drink six of these?”

Somewhere in the back of the frat house, a DJ got on his mic. “Lambda Pi Delta! Are you having a good time?”

The DJ’s question was met with a deafening chorus of “yeaah!” and “yoo!”

“I can’t hear you!” the DJ said.

The hoots and hollers grew louder.

“My main man Chad Becker is in the back chugging brews in the name of various social causes so you’re going to want to check that out. When the hell are you going to graduate, Chad? You’ve been going to a two-year community college since the Bush administration!”

“Never!” Chad shouted. “Party time for Chad forever! Woo!”

“Now it’s time to get down with a little Stank Daddy,” the DJ said. “Y’all need to get your dance on for Stank’s new single, Smack a Bitch.”

Britney persisted in shouting questions to Paul, who just shrugged his shoulders because he couldn’t hear anything over the blaring rap music lyrics:

Stank Daddy in Da House Gonna Smack a Bitch,
Bust Her Head with a Tire Iron, Leave her ass in a ditch.
Stank Daddy on the scene gonna make some greens.
Gonna smack a bitch until her ass starts to scream.

Gretchen and Eleanor, the two most notorious feminists on campus, sauntered past Chad, Paul and Britney and found a spot on the dance floor to boogie down.

“Should we be dancing to this?” Martha shouted. “It seems awfully chauvinistic.”

“No!” Gretchen shouted back. “Stank Daddy isn’t using the word ‘bitch’ to describe a woman, but rather as an insult to all of the various societal forces that are trying to keep him down.”

The rap continued…

Talkin ‘bout them phat ass bitches with them big ass titties.
Stank Daddy gonna chop ‘em up and bury ‘em under seven different cities.
Smack a bitch yo, smack a bitch yo, if you is a bitch you don’t pass go.

Britney got right up in Paul’s ear and screamed. “Why did you let him drink six of those?”

“He only drank five!” Paul shouted back.

“It doesn’t matter!” Britney cried. “Each can is a forty ounce! A regular beer is like twelve ounces so you basically let him drink sixteen beers!”

“Oh Jesus Christ, Britney,” Paul cried. “You take one math class and you think you know everything!”

Britney carried on. “And it’s a beer slash energy drink. So now you’ve got him drunk out of his mind and all cranked up at the same time!”

“Chaddy wants his drinky poo!” Chad shouted. “Paul, you son of a bitch, you beer me right now!”

Paul stuck the other end of the plastic tube in Chad’s mouth.

“Don’t you do it,” Britney hollered as she wagged a finger in Paul’s face.

“I’m powerless, here!” Paul yelled. “I’m the frat’s Beer Meister. If a brother asks for beer, he gets beer.”

“Cut him off!” Britney shouted.

“I’m sorry,” Paul cried as he cracked open the tall boy. “But I can’t allow anything to interfere with my sacred duty! I took an oath!”

Elsewhere on the dance floor, Gretchen and Eleanor were getting their groove on.

“I’m still not so sure about this song,” Gretchen shouted.

“Will you relax?” Eleanor shouted back. “This song has nothing to do with misogyny. Try to stay woke, babe.”

Stank Daddy’s lyrics filled the room:

Aw yeah I’m talkin’ ‘bout smackin’ up a bitch with a big ass vagina.
Knock her out with a baseball bat, nothin’ could be fine-ah.

Eleanor put her arms around Gretchen’s waist and the pair began to sway back and forth together.

“You know what we should do?!” Eleanor shouted.

“What?!” Gretchen yelled.

“We should totally go back to the sorority house and scissor the crap out of each other as a big F-U to the patriarchy,” Eleanor hollered.

“But will the patriarchy even now?” Gretchen screamed.

“The patriarchy knows everything,” Eleanor yelled as she took Gretchen’s hand and led her off the dance floor.

“OK,” Gretchen shouted. “But I have to tinkle first!”

Meanwhile, a group of looky lous assembled to watch Chad destroy his body. Stank Daddy’s jam died down and the DJ brought the music to a normal volume.

“Chug, chug, chug!!!” the crowd cried as Paul poured the Spazenbrau down the funnel and into Chad’s hatch.

Thirty seconds later, Paul crushed the beer can in his hand. “Empty!”

“Wooo!” cried the onlookers.

Chad stood up, surveyed his adoring fans, then released a giant burp.

“One more for the Chadinator!” Chad shouted to uproarious applause.

“Holy shit baby,” Britney said. “Are you ok?”

“Of course, foxy mama,” Chad said. “I’ve never felt…”

Slam! Chad collapsed to the ground.

“Oh my God!” Britney screamed as she dropped to her knees and slapped Chad in the face. “Baby! Babe, wake up!”

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One thought on “Toilet Gator – Chapter 3

  1. […] Chapter 1          Chapter 2          Chapter 3 […]

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