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Have you noticed that frat guys always seem to have the same playlist at every party? It's like there's a national fraternity DJ association that mandates the playing of "Sweet Caroline" and "Livin' on a Prayer" at every gathering. I guess they believe in the power of classic rock to unite the bros.
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Frat guys and their snapback hats – it's like they're trying to bring back the golden era of baseball, even though the only bases they've been to recently are the ones at the keg party. Maybe it's a secret signal to let everyone know they're ready for a round of flip cup.
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I was at a beach party with some frat guys, and they were all flexing their muscles. It's as if they think the more defined their biceps are, the better they can handle a game of beach volleyball. Newsflash, guys – it's not a volleyball game; it's a sand aerobics class.
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Frat guys are like human peacocks. Instead of colorful feathers, they display their fraternity letters on every piece of clothing they own. It's like they're in a constant competition to see who can spell out their allegiance in the most creative font.
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You know you're at a frat party when there's more hair gel in the bathroom than toilet paper. It's like they're stockpiling for a hair apocalypse. Forget the survival kit; they've got enough gel to withstand any hair emergency.
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You ever notice how frat guys have a signature move when they walk? It's like they've all taken a class on the confident saunter. It's the kind of walk that says, "I know where I'm going, and I've got at least three different types of hair gel on me at all times.
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Frat guys and their ability to turn anything into a competition – I once saw them arguing over who could shotgun a soda the fastest. It's like they're on a mission to prove that even the most mundane activities can be transformed into extreme sports with the right amount of enthusiasm and misplaced competitiveness.
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I was at a party the other day, and there were frat guys playing beer pong. They take that game so seriously; it's like they're training for the Olympics of questionable drinking games. I half expected a coach on the sidelines yelling, "Chug, Chad, chug! You're representing Sigma Beta Gamma Kappa Zeta!
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Frat guys and their excessive use of body spray – you can smell them coming from a mile away. It's like they've discovered the secret to time travel, and it involves transporting the entire men's fragrance section of a department store to the present.
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