How to end a fraternal evening

Look, I have a healthy distrust of law enforcement as much as the next leftist political science student. To prove it, I tattooed ACAB on the knuckles of both my hands. And FUCKP OLICE tattooed on my toes.

For real: The Vancouver Police Department is already taking 20% ​​of the city’s budget, which could be spent on vital social support for Vancouver’s housing, toxic drug and affordability crises.

So when the loud bastards next door in fraternity village literally start banging pots and pans at 3 a.m. during exam week, 911 is the last number I would call. But that leaves the question: how do you shut down a crappy, crappy feature without betraying your abolitionist principles?

Let me guide you on my journey to get my neighbors to shut up in a radical, anti-oppressive way.

Politely ask them to shut up

Of course, I tried that first. I am not a monster. What I am is a 6’2, 100 pound Model UN delegate with a sexy little mustache. Long story short, they called me incel and broke my glasses with a stray beer pong throw.

But, I read critical theory, so I continued to intrigue.

Infiltrate their party and wreak havoc from within

The next night they were back: Hawaiian Hula-Hoop Pineapple-on-Pizza Hoedown Hamstravaganza (“That’s appreciation not appropriation, mate!”).

I had a political theory paper to finish before midnight (“Looking for a Third?: How Independent Candidates Queer the US Bipartisan State System”), but they were shouting Drake’s “Girls Want Girls” so loudly I couldn’t stop. hear think .

Enough was enough: I put on my floral shirt and took a page from the enemy’s playbook.

I snuck into the kitchen and grabbed as many six-packs off the counter as I could fit in my XL basketball shorts. I chatted and bided my time.

When they realized they were out of beer, they sent Brad to get more. I put Brad’s replacement PBR in my pants (and the replacement PBR) as soon as they turned their backs.

Eventually, people started noticing the mystery of alcohol’s disappearance. I started chatting with random guys and blaming the theft on a different guy each time.

In no time they were at each other’s throats, accusing each other of beer bogging. The energy between the brothers turned hostile. I was hoping the change in rancid vibe would shut down the feature, leaving me to grind the midterms in peace.

I was hoping wrong: the stolen beer sparked a violent fight. The boys started punching and soon breaking glass.

Even though I didn’t call the cops, another neighbor did. Another failure for the broken windows police. I wanted to stop the party, but I didn’t want it to end like this: with RCMP sirens and PBR poured down the drain.

Plant fossils in the yard and have the fraternity designated as a historic site

The night before the next rager, I sneaked into the yard under cover of darkness. I brought some strange stones that look like bones and an amber beetle that I bought from a museum gift shop.

I added some of those teeth that dentists dip in Coke to show how bad soda is for you (cavities make teeth look super old). Then I sent an anonymous tip to the UBC Department of Archeology.

The next morning I woke up to archaeologists invading the fellowship like bespectacled ants. The nerds took the bait: UBC archeology mistook my trash for evidence of a new hominid species, discovered right here in Vancouver.

“It completely changes our narrative of human evolution!” exclaimed archaeologists as they unearthed a painted clay shard dated to around 4000 BC. Their true origins: a dumpster behind the Pottery Barn in Nova Scotia, c. 2017.

Soon the yard was fenced off with duct tape.

An archaeological dig site is obviously no place for a hater. My party neighbors quietly walked inside to play Settlers of Catan and they even invited me to join in. No cop is needed.

The Dingbat is The Ubyssianhumor section. Send pitches and completed plays to [email protected].

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