| Because of the, um, somewhat pointed nature of these cartoons, I thought it behooved me to provide a little prologue regarding their nature and origin. Those who are familiar with the story (or who just don't care) may scroll down to view the cartoons.
In 1990 I moved with (my then-girlfriend-now-wife) Margaret to Pullman, Washington, so that she could attend the Washington State University's College of Veterinary Medicine and I could help prevent her from suffering Chef Boyardee Mini Ravioli poisoning. Pullman is a relatively tiny town on the extreme Eastern edge of Washington State, about ten miles from the Idaho border. It is a town surrounded by sagebrush and wheat fields, prairie and endless sky. In other words, it is the perfect place to plunk down an institute of higher learning and expect those who attend to concentrate on their studies, with few distractions. That works fine, if you are a focused and determined graduate student....quite another if you are an undergrad from a wealthy family, turned loose from all vestiges of parental control for the first time.
Prior to our arrival at WSU, I doubt I had devoted ten seconds to thinking about fraternities and sororities. There was no Greek system at the University of Hawaii (where I grew up), nor was there any at Evergreen, where we did our undergrad tour. So ignorant of the Greek system was I that, when someone attempting to give me directions to a job interview in Pullman told me the place was "next to the Sig-Eps", I misheard the phrase as "Sick-Ups." I was amazed at the idea that there was an on-campus organization dedicated to vomiting. (I soon came to learn that there are many; they are generally referred to as "keggers" [rim shot].)
I want to state right up front that I had a very slanted perception of these people. Even if you take a way the minor age difference, the differences in upbringing, politics, social standing and economic status, I was the guy behind the sandwich counter. I was not their peer, let alone a superior. So my take on these people is not what one would call, um, indiscriminate. That having been said....
I'm going to avoid making any substantial observations about the sorority system at WSU, despite the fact that my four years of dispensing Yo Cream frozen yogurt and Diet Coke to sorority girls would seem to give me at least some insight into them. All in all, sorority girls seemed to me like cheerful, pretty teenage girls from well-off families anywhere in America; a little impressionable, a little self-absorbed, a little ditzy (or at least under pressure from their peers not to appear too intelligent), but overall very good-natured and inoffensive.
The boys were another matter.
The leaders, the senior members of the fraternities, they were one thing. My impression of them was of people raised from birth to assume the reins of power to be handed them by their parents. This is not mere class-resentment grumbling: this is how the world works. I imagine these boys having it drilled into their heads from an early age that they will be running the world someday, and they'd damn well better prove themselves up to the task. Whenever I saw them interacting with non-Greeks, I felt like I was watching an ambassador to a backward Third-World country chatting with the natives: courteous, genteel, but with a palpable undercurrent of smug superiority.
These people I could handle. They were overprivileged whitebread pricks, but they were at least civilized overprivileged whitebread pricks.
The lower echelons of the fraternity system were populated in large part by some of the most offensive samples of American male post-adolescence I have ever encountered. Every stereotype, every uncomplimentary characteristic summed up in the pejorative "Frat Boy" was there. That simply amazing combination of money, ignorance, testosterone and the unassailable conviction that everything you see around you is rightfully yours. These guys were loud. They were crude. Whenever they came in my store, they were invariably either hammered or hung over.
And they were, by all appearances, cosmically stupid. This assertion isn't just due to the preponderance of "dudes", "rads" and "'n shits" that peppered their speech; like their female counterparts, there seemed to be a subtle pressure being exerted on these poor guys to keep them from displaying even a glimmer of intelligence. My favorite single example came from a third- or fourth-year student who sauntered up to my sandwich counter and said, "Yeah, uh, can I get a eight-inch roast beef samwich?" This is not a typo. He actually said, "a eight-inch" instead of "an eight-inch". What astounded me most at the time was the fact that it actually took more effort, phonetically, to eliminate the "n". Say it aloud. "Aneightinch" rolls easily off the tongue; "Uh-eightinch" requires far more effort. And let us not forget the "samwich", sadly also not a typo. Here was a guy no more than two years from college graduation, and he couldn't manage to assemble even a proto-sentence. I hope Dad's golf buddies were willing to overlook this impediment during the job interviews, because I've met any number of espresso-slingers who were far more articulate.
To top it off, these upstanding citizens elected to be walking advertisements for rape. If you've never lived or worked in close proximity to the Greek system, you may not even believe what I'm about to tell you. Greeks love to put on "events", which are large parties usually centered around some sort of theme. All well and good; what could be more fun than a party, except perhaps a party centered around a theme of some sort? The shirts printed to commemorate these events, however, were often nothing but thinly veiled advertisements for forcible sex. Here are a few examples for you:
She Wasn't Good at Wrestling, But You Should Have Seen Her Box"
"Lick It / Slam It / Suck It" [for a tequila-related event]
"Handcuff Dinner: Cuff 'Em and Stuff 'Em"
I could go on. Thankfully, I won't. This culture of only-slightly-subliminal sexual violence may have changed since our experience back in the early 90's, but I wouldn't bet on it.
Anyway, to make an already-too-long story a little shorter, I tried to get out a little of my shock and disgust in a series of cartoons I entitled, "Rad Brad". (I originally planned to name the strip "The Adventures of Rad Brad and Totally Tina", but as I mentioned before, I quickly discovered that sorority girls weren't nearly as deserving a target.) I have only made two cartoons to date ("all this hot air for two lousy cartoons?"), though I've had a few others in the back of my head for a few years now. If I ever get them done, I'll post them as well.
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