Hello, Dukies, and welcome back to your terrible lives. How do I know your lives are terrible? Because I haven’t been in them. See, I’m a helper, and you need to be helped.
Due to a record-breaking number of CAPS visits, rampant Asian rage in the library and the continued prevalence of “Call Me Maybe” on campus, Duke has hired me, your resident advice columnist, to get your lives back on track. So I’m here, ready to provide you with all the support, love and caring that your Tiger Mom never gave you, you little prodigies. And I’ve decided to start my advice-ifying with the topic on all of your minds: rush.
Yes, the zeitgeist of Duke’s campus has become decidedly more greek lately, which is weird because Germans hate the Greeks. Now I can’t speak to SLG rush, as I know nothing about SLGs and can therefore only assume that they are irrelevant to life. I also don’t want to talk about rush for those “cultural frats” because honestly, they scare me. Like I heard that if you rush, you’re never allowed to talk to white people again—which would suck because we are GREAT.
As for the stresses that come with the only legitimate rush, don’t fret! Your Dearest Dookie has compiled a list of tips that can help you make the most of your rush experience.
First: Trust no one.
If you should expect one thing from rush, it’s that anything anyone tells you will be a lie. Freshmen are inevitably lying about everything, because they inherently suck and must lie to seem cool. But worse still are the rushers. You are inevitably going to hear that every single sorority has the best sisterhood, the best parties, the best everything. Frankly, that’s impossible. That’s communism; this is America. Men’s rush, however, is even worse about this. During guys’ rush, you will see girls, strip clubs and brands of alcohol that you will literally NEVER see again. Although frankly, after visiting the Durham strip clubs, I could do without ever having seen just how dirty the D must be.
Second: Defy drunk expectations.
I have never understood why guys’ rush gets drunk and girls’ rush doesn’t, when it should definitely be the other way around. I mean, lesbi-honest: A sober, girl-on-girl conversation with a total stranger is as painful as those eating-disorder hunger pangs. But what makes even LESS sense are the frats. I mean, the creation of a brotherhood based almost entirely on intoxicated interactions is clearly a flawless plan, but they have all these funtivities planned that are difficult sober and downright IMPOSSIBLE drunk. I don’t know if you’ve ever skated on a wooden floor covered in beer, but it’s basically like having sex in a small shower: It’s slippery, hard and not nearly as fun as you expected. And there’s nothing “sick, brah” about face-planting while wearing what is potentially the most homosexual of footwear: rollerblades. Seriously, the gays have a trademark on those things.
So freshmen, switch up the status quo. Girls, take a few shots of tequila—it’ll be more bearable, and maybe you’ll find sisterhood has some added benefits, ifyaknowwhatImean. And gentlemen, control your drunk-ass, because if I have to hear another one of you sing a terrible, karaoke Bruno Mars song, I will NOT “catch a grenade for you,” but instead challenge you to have sex with one. Pledging starts now.
Third: Pull a Michael Jackson.
No, I don’t mean pedophilia, plastic surgery or estrogen supplements. (Although don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, ladies. They’re literally titty steroids.) I mean making yourself as white as possible. For girls, you’re golden as long as you’re white, Asian (but not like ASIAN Asian) or “exotic” enough to make up for that … um … melanin issue. For my guys, it doesn’t matter much what your color is on the outside, as long as on the inside you’re whiter than John McCain and Bob Saget eating mayonnaise sandwiches while debating whether Vineyard Vines or J. Crew makes better golfing apparel.
Fourth: Do it for the team.
Freshmen, as you go through rush, remember your priorities. The greek scene is just like Mean Girls, and if you don’t watch out you could end up like Gretchen Wieners, with subpar social status and less candy canes than Glen Coco. A frat or sorority is just like a sports team—it’s not about being friends with the individuals on the team. It’s about winning. Just ask any team LeBron James has ever been on.
And that’s all there is to it! Wow, that was easy. If giving advice is this simple, I should have all of your miserable existences remedied within the semester. So listen up, minions, and take notes. It’s time to make your problems Dookie’s.
Dear Dookie would like to thank the Greeks for their invention of fraternities, the propagation of all things feta cheese and the maintenance of America’s number one status. If you have a problem you think the Dookie could solve, spill it at deardookie@gmail.com.
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