A frat house of deadly sins:
Lust, the guy who hits on everyone regardless of whether or not they seem inclined to reciprocate, also known as the guy who considers his own pleasure the endgame of any encounter, consistently failing to give a shit about other people’s comfort or satisfaction;
Gluttony, the guy who overindulges in everything regardless of whether or not it was offered in moderation or offered out of politeness, also known as the guy who’s always high off other people’s weed and drunk off other people’s beer, consistently failing to respect the unspoken standards of politeness;
Greed, the guy who lays claim to every object of ambiguous origin left behind after a party, also known as the guy who hoards things he’s fully aware he’ll never use before they expire or will simply never use at all, consistently failing to demonstrate an awareness of the basic concept of sharing;
Sloth, the guy who only demonstrates any agency when the possibility of getting someone else to do his work for him arises, also known as the guy who will actually expend more energy trying to get out of making a basic effort than the basic effort itself would have required, consistently failing to do much of anything;
Wrath, the guy who finds a way to pick a fight with anyone nearby regardless of the circumstances, also known as the guy who’s formed an elaborate system of self-justifications to excuse his violent behaviours rather than attempt to curb his temper, consistently failing to take responsibility for his actions;
Envy, the only nice guy in the house, also known as the guy who thinks the world and everyone in it owes him something regardless of whether or not he’s done anything to deserve it, consistently failing to recognize that basic acts of human decency do not entitle him to the regard and attentions of others;
and Pride, the guy whose stories keep getting longer every time you hear them, also known as the guy who can’t stand not to be the centre of attention and who only starts conversations with others in the interests of talking about himself, consistently failing to take into account the fact that literally no one likes a person who feels compelled to engage everyone around them in constant games of self-congratulatory one-upmanship.
They are insiduous people, these frat brothers, primarily because you know people exactly like them and could never quite put your finger on why they’re so goddamned infuriating.
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2087
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