Fubar by Ron Carpol Read Free Book Online

ET D REAM
    F OR THE NEXT FOUR MONTHS , between mid-September and early-January, things mostly fell into a cycle: going to school as little as possible, getting tan at the beach, getting drunk, smoking dope, scoring X, and hitting clubs.
    And the routine around the house was pretty much the same each week. On school days all the pledges and actives would have lunch together, with the pledges being the waiters. The cook was a cranky, Aunt Jemima look-alike, with a fake Jamaican accent, who could cook anything, as long as it was fried. On Monday nights everybody would have dinner together. Then afterward, the actives would have their meeting in the Chapter Room and we’d have our pledge meeting upstairs in the pledge dorm. Saturdays were workdays for the pledges, where we were supposed to clean up the house. But instead, we picked up Mexicans from Venice street corners and paid them to do the cleaning while we drank beer and smoked pot all day watching college football games.
    I only showed up at the fraternity house the minimum times required in order to give the actives less time to know me since everybody seemed to dislike me so much. I’m sure, like most other people, they were jealous of my money, my new 4Runner, my Rolex. Besides, it really bothered me that Lyman was sopopular with the other pledges; always kissing everybody’s ass by helping them with homework, explaining assignments, tutoring some guys, especially Rawlings, and preparing them for tests.
    I tried to fit in the pledge class as best I could, considering that most of them were total dipshits. Almost every day I wore either my emerald green fraternity sweatshirt or T-shirt with ΣOΛ printed in white letters on the front like most of the guys wore. And on colder days I’d wear the turquoise and blue CAS windbreaker over it.
    At the beginning of pledging, my only contribution to the pledge class was being over twenty-one and being able to buy beer and liquor. But as week after week passed, something really strange happened. For the first time in my life I was actually starting to, kind of at least, beginning to make a couple of friends: Vysell and Batman, even though they were both eighteen.
    Batman and Vysell hooked-up a fast friendship, but more and more, a little bit at a time, I started hanging around with them. It was an odd feeling–strange but good–to be accepted by these guys.
    Late one Sunday afternoon at my apartment, after watching two pro games and drinking beer and smoking pot, I felt like really impressing these guys and played the videos of me fucking the San Francisco Sleeping Beauties; all thirteen of them that I drugged with roofies over a two-year period.
    Naturally these guys thought it was great, which it was.
    _____
    So far, eighteen pledges were still left. What I really needed was another Columbine here, sparing only me and Vysell and Batman. Or if absolutely necessary, sparing only me.
    Daily, I’d stare, one-at-a-time, at the actives’ photographs on the dining room wall trying to figure out who the two Jews were who blackballed me. It was driving me crazy. I had no idea whatsoever who they were so whenever I was on the Third Street Promenade, I’d stop at Borders or Barnes & Noble andlook at books about Jewish holidays and Jewish customs to try to get a clue.
    One time I even asked Grossberg who the two Jews were since I’m sure he knew. But he wasn’t his usual friendly self.
    â€œNobody here was in my Bar Mitzvah class,” he answered snidely.
    All I thought about was getting some scheme together to oust as many pledges as fast as possible. So far I didn’t trust Batman or Vysell enough to confide in them about this.
    Finally it was at the pledge meeting the day before Halloween when I got my first shot at getting somebody dumped.
    Ovary was sitting hunched over on the edge of his bed reading a letter, holding it just a few inches from his eyes, guarding it carefully. It