Literature
The Berries of Pleasure Island
Every frat had its traditions. Some of them kidnapped school mascots. Others had weird initiation rituals in the frat house basement. The “Party Boy” frat, aptly nicknamed, had one key tradition. They partied as much and as creatively as they could. In recent months, they’d become particular fans of Pleasure Island Beers, the cheapest beer they could get that didn’t taste like horse piss. In one of their weekly barbeques, the members of the Party Boy frat were doing their usual things. Jamming in flip flops and hats not being worn as they were intended, stuffing their faces with queso, chips, hot dogs, pizza, and whatever else anyone decided to grill or deep fry, and they were all washing them down with their Pleasure Island Beers. On the porch sat three friends. Largest was Dave, a pasty pale, dark haired guy with a clean shave. Of course, his shave was the cleanest thing about him. He was easily over 300 pounds, and seemed unafraid to pack more on with the way he shoveled down pretty