How A Dirty Frat House Is The Number-One Sign Of A F*cking Awesome Frat House

So, it’s your first night at your new college, sport. Congrats, you made it. Get ready for the best four years (and a few extra summer semesters) of your life.

Although class won’t technically start till next week, you will undoubtedly start your college career tonight -- at least the social aspect of it, which is all you care about, anyway.

It’s likely that your next few weeks will be spent partaking in an enchanting period known as “rush.” What’s rush, you ask? Rush is essentially when a slew of dudes will kiss your ass in hopes of getting you to pledge their prestigious fraternity (so, accept all the free beer, weed and pizza that it may allow).

Which fraternity is right for you? Well, clearly, the answer to that question is the one that attracts the most women; so, you’ll want to be observant, in addition to getting pissy drunk, at each frat house you party in.

Let me be the first to tell you: Messy is good. Scratch that; messy is GREAT -- especially in regards to all things fraternity-related. Now, you’re gonna want to take your talents to the frat whose house is, without any shadow of a doubt, the filthiest. It will almost always lead to an abundance of women.

Why? Because the dirtier the frat house, the better the frat. Durrr. If your frat bros are more concerned with mopping up spilt beer or piss than mopping up buxom women, you probably f*cked up deciding which frat to pledge.

Fraternities are like cats -- and, no, I’m not alluding to how the lacrosse team will refer to you and your bros as a bunch of pussies for the next few years. I mean, frats are very much like cats in the sense that they clean themselves -- which is why good fraternities are filthy ones.

Remember, frat houses are for parties, not Glade scented candles or comfortable trips to the bathroom.

If fraternities have time to clean up after themselves, they aren’t partying hard enough. Red plastic cups should pop up with the same frequency as Kevin Hart movies, and people should care, or not care, equally as much.

If the walls contain brown stains, don’t be alarmed; it actually is chocolate -- at least, I hope. Chances are it’s just fudge or pudding from last semester’s batch of “messy mixers,” and that could only mean scantily clad women lathered up in some sugar-based gravy. Yum.

As for the floors, you should DEFINITELY not be able to walk effortlessly ANYWHERE on the premises. If your feet don’t get stuck to a viscous coating of stale beer, like some drying plaster on the floor, this should be a warning sign.

Trust me, venturing through your frat house should feel like promenading on a canvas of two-sided adhesive tape. Make sure each step you take is accompanied by a loud squish sound, like you’re wearing a pair of orthotic sneakers.

That’s when you know a house’s party floor is gross enough to be deemed frat-star worthy.

While girls will almost always make a public spectacle about the filth level of a specific fraternity house -- like, "OMG, GROSS!" --, deep down, they fully respect it. Trust me, after your first sleepover at a sorority house, you’ll learn quickly that good sorority houses aren't too much cleaner.

Realistically, fun people just aren’t usually clean people. Think about Monica Geller. I suppose she’s amusing to watch for 30 minutes at a time, with the company of all her "Friends," but I doubt I’d call her up to hit the bong or do a keg stand. See my point?

By living in squalor for most of the year, you’ll also learn to appreciate coming home on breaks or for the weekend that much more.

After months of living in a place that smells like a Penn Station bathroom stall, you won’t even mind the fact that you're living with your parents once again. In a way, it’s like the universe’s way of leveling out.

As I hope you can see by now, don’t fear the filth. Embrace it; strive for it. Every time you breathe in your frat house’s aroma, take pride in its pungent perfume of grape Dutches and burnt rubber.

Don’t throw out your empty pizza boxes or styrofoam trays of half-eaten wings; flaunt them proudly, like your own special badges of degenerate bravery.

Godspeed, and always remember the two main rules of fraternity living: 1) Anything can be an ashtray; 2) if you hear squeaking, which is distinctly different than the sound made by walking, it’s a mouse. That’s when you call in the pledges. Mice aren’t fratty; they’re just gross.

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