The column in which we question some seemingly out-dated or outrageous traditions and conventions of modern-day society.

Fraternities date back to the mid 19^th century when college students began forming secret groups that would enable them to discuss current events and literature that was not part of the strict university curriculum. These assemblies acted as an outlet to explore a variety of academic venues that permitted deeper relationships between the “brothers.” Once alumni members became successful enough to donate, The Chapter House was introduced in the 1890s to allow the boys to gather more conveniently. But the house quickly transformed from a marker of success and prosperity to a sunless cave covered in beer and sweat. Once meant to facilitate academic discussion, the most scholarly attribute associated with the modern frat is the Greek lettering nailed to the exterior of the buildings. One of the most puzzling questions becomes: how do the “frat boys” actually get accepted into institutions such as the University of Toronto?

Although they may seem like brainless creatures, overly concerned with tanning and picking up girls, several of them had to study very hard in order to be able to party every night. Fraternities are a cult-like lifestyle; the president is their God, the keg their holy grail.

The frat experience for a normal human goes something like this: firstly, one never knows where the frat house is actually located; you find it by following the trail of cigarette butts and obnoxiously loud music. Once you hurdle through dingy furniture scattered on the front lawn you’re filled with disorientation. How can a group of dirty men live in such a beautiful Victorian mansion?

Inside, each member has his own job designation. You will first be met with “the body guard.” He is not strong nor threatening, his role is to stand at the door and allow women in for free while charging men upwards of 20 dollars. Parched by all that hustling, you approach the sad realization that it is nearly impossible to get that cup of beer that you were so boldly promised. Unfortunately as a normal human, your intellectual capacity is probably too high for you to participate in the themes such as “Office Hoes and CEOs” or “ABC: Anything but Clothes.” Needless to say, you are the only fully clothed person in attendance and sweating as much as a wooly mammoth.

After having to press your body against the hundreds of topless frat boys you will finally reach “the bartenders.” They will pour you an exquisite glass of hot piss, in a cup that was probably used by a multitude of people before you. You will stand in that same spot for the remainder of the evening (partially because you’re close to the beer and partially because the floor is too sticky for you to move) captivated by the question: why are frats still a thing?