Of course, a monkey wrench is thrown into the situation when Sarah -- the pledge who most resembles a sea cow -- suffers an asthma attack. Naturally, the girls misdiagnose the attack as yet another instance of Sarah accidentally inhaling too many powdered donuts at once, until Nicole (she of the freaky poodle 'do) calls 911 and an ambulance comes and whisks Sarah away. Well, I use the term "whisk" lightly. They first have to call a forklift to get her on a reinforced steel stretcher and then call the National Guard to help get her in the ambulance. And they have to call a second ambulance in order to lug portions of her ass to the hospital. When the Sigma Chi pledges are informed of the National Guards' misfortune, Jarreau can't believe it. I'm beginning to warm up to Jarreau. I believe the boy might just have a snarky bone in his body. Of course, that bone is in his ass and is being driven home by yours truly. But I'm beginning to take a shine to the snippy little sailor boy.
At line-up, the boys are forced to admit that they only have the banner and not the t-shirt. George says, "So, you fucked up?" and Alex says they have. Ohmigod. There's no telling what repercussion this will bring! Extra quasi-homoerotic spankings all around, I'm sure!
We're reminded by MTV's Prank War Scoreboard™ that the girls have the t-shirt while the guys have the banner. That's for those of you who can't muster the brainpower to follow this clusterfuck of a television show.
Back at line-up, George is grilling Alex as to why they don't have the t-shirt. Alex takes a long gulp like he's hyperventilating and basically says that they were outwitted by a bunch of snooty sorority whores who will eventually grow up to be mindless drones in their local Junior Leagues, married to men who are having affairs with prostitutes during the day and ignoring their wives' sexual needs at night. Or something like that. George asks if the guys think they can have the t-shirt by the following night's line-up, and Alex is confident that they can meet that deadline. Cameras are shut off and the gurney of inanimate objects that will be shoved up their asses this evening is wheeled out. Tonight, a Timex wristwatch, a compass, and the second Traveling Wilburys album are among the items waiting to be inserted into anxious rectums.
Back at the student center, the guys approach the DZO pledge table and say they have to come to a compromise to get this t-shirt. The girls say that if they come over and clean the sisters' house, then they can get the t-shirt. The guys agree to it and go to report their good fortunes to Brad, who apparently has two shirts and is growing quite fond of the skullcap that he wears everywhere because he is under the impression that guys dig it. Brad says that if the pledges want to pledge a sorority house, then they should go for it. Brad's having an awful lot of fun insinuating that the pledges are gay. I'm guessing that he's finally just verbally expressing his sexual fantasies, unaware that a camera is trained on him while he does so. Brad tells the camera that it's almost like the guys are Cinderella asking for permission to go to the ball, and that if they want to pledge a sorority, then maybe that's where they should be. This prompts me to put down my pad of paper on the endtable next to me, remove my bifocals and gently rest those on the pad of paper, rise to my feet, and scream, "What the fuck are you talking about, you infected pus bubble?!" Apparently, this is what passes for "humor" in Brad's world, just like the words "infected pus bubble" crack my shit up. Brad suggests that the guys give all the girls pedicures afterwards. George is wondering why they want to do this, since they're not exactly maids. He finds it "girlish." You know. kinda like anticipating the midnight hour so you can spank the naked flesh of teenage boys, all in the name of "brotherhood."