In the wake of “The Rape of Betty Childs” last week, and also due to an appointment with the dentist, I never got around to posting a Friday Morning Video. But I’m glad I waited, because this is so, so much better.
Why am I posting it here? Because, Lerlines, where would Betty Childs have been without the Pis? Where would Bluto be without topless pillow fights?
WordPress is being annoying, so you’ll have to click through the image to FunnyorDie.
Recently, one of the fine sisters of Delta Gamma (U Maryland) took her sisters to task for being a bit more loserly than she appreciated. I’m not sure what her role is in the house; I’m guessing she’s in charge of social events, or possibly rush; she’s most definitely not a freshman or sophomore, I know that. In any case, displeased with the public personas of her fellow DGs, she composed a brilliant diatribe on just how disappointed she is in her sisters, and how they’d pretty much better get into shape, lest she get really angry and, say, cunt-punt them.
People have read the letter and called it “insane” and “deranged”; I think it’s brilliant. Despite a stuck caps lock, her grammar is surprisingly good, and she’s a terrific monologue writer. (Tip: use this at your next audition. You won’t be sorry.) Michael Shannon brings it to a David Mametesque level, which usually, to me, means something like “Good god, shut the fuck up and stop repeating yourself,” but in the context of Glengarry Delta Gamma, is an eloquent pouring-forth of profanity bordering on true beauty. It’s a glistening waterfall of verbal daggers.
I’m in agreement with the rest of the internet that “cunt-punt” is most certainly the best phrase, and here’s why: it’s not just the rhyming, or the visual; it’s that it’s not using “cunt” as a derogatory term. Instead, it’s expressing a very specific act of violence AGAINST the cunt. It’s “kick him where it hurts,” only it’s her, and it rhymes.
Then there’s the part where she issues a number of invitations to her sisters, such as asking them to email her back and let her know of their level of mental retardation, and also punch themselves in the face so she doesn’t have to do it for them.
Here’s what I love the most about the letter, though: I KNOW HER. OK, well, I don’t know DG Rebecca. But there was a junior my freshman year, and we’ll call her Mary Jane, who so terrified me that I’m STILL afraid of her. Mary Jane is a wonderful person, by all accounts: she volunteered for Special Olympics as a hugger, for instance, and I loved most of my sisters well enough to know that if they loved her, that she must have a sweet chocolatey center, unlike Rebecca, who may actually be as horrible as one imagines shrill sorority sisters to be. But Mary Jane suffered no fools. NONE. And man, did she have a mouth.
You see, the true secret of Greek life is this: no way will 60 women all like each other equally. It’s just not emotionally possible. After living with someone for a few years, you forge your close bonds, and your less-close bonds, and one or two, you might even just not get at all. For the record, no, I did not dislike any of my sorority sisters, but some of them–well, we just didn’t get each other.
Of course, not even Mary Jane ever threatened physical violence, but that was 15 years ago, before all those violent video games made everyone crazy.
But when it comes down to it, you’re all in it together, you share the same rituals and handshake–yes! Rituals! Handshakes!– and I know that if I’d been at a party, and someone had done something untoward to me in Mary Jane’s presence, they’d have received a tongue-lashing that would have terrified even DG Rebecca into submission. Why? Because I was Mary Jane’s sister, goddamnit, and she’d fucking cunt-punt any boot-licking asswipe who’d ever disrespect me, even if I was some pledge whose name she couldn’t quite remember. It’s a family; the name “sister” is not an accident.
I hope nationals doesn’t come down too hard on DG Rebecca. Despite using extremely poor judgment in scribing an email (seriously, why couldn’t she scream at them in chapter?), being generally racist and unapologetically privileged, she probably has the group’s best interests at heart. Given a chance, she’ll be the fucking president of the goddamn national alumnae association someday, and do NOT fucking think she will accept that you assholes think you’re not going to donate. Delta Gamma gave you the four most fun years of your entire sorry existence, so fucking pay up and stop putting us off in your whiny little bitch voice.
Either that, or Rebecca: bone up on your screenwriting skills and go to Hollywood. You have a future there.
Suck on that, David Mamet.
** She also mentions Sigma Nu, specifically, and how the DGs would be unhappy if they invited Zeta over. Speaking as a Zeta (Bethany College, ’97) who regularly enjoyed the company of the Sigma Nus: thanks for the callout. It’s appreciated.
slumber party movies 