Look, I have a healthy distrust of law enforcement as much as the next leftist political science student. To prove it, I have ACAB tattooed across the knuckles of both of my hands. And FUCKP OLICE tattooed across my toes.
For real: the Vancouver Police Department already leeches 20 per cent of the city budget, which could be going towards vital social support for Vancouver’s housing, toxic drug and affordability crises.
So when the noisy bastards next door in the frat village start literally banging pots and pans together at 3 in the fucking morning during finals week, 911 is the last number I would ever call. But that leaves the question: How do you shut down a shitty, shitty function without betraying your abolitionist principles?
Let me take you through my journey to radically and anti-oppressively get my neighbours to shut the fuck up.
get off my lawn (frats are yelling outside of the nest)
— Ubyssey Blog (@UbysseyBlog) September 26, 2022
Ask them politely to quiet down
Of course I tried this first. I’m not a monster. What I am is a 6’2, 100-pound Model UN delegate with a sexy little mustache. Long story short, they called me an incel and broke my glasses with a stray beer pong pitch.
But, I've read critical theory, so I kept scheming.
Infiltrate their party and spread chaos from within
The next night they were at it again: EKSPP’s Hawaiian Hula-Hoop Pineapple-on-Pizza Hoedown Hamstravaganza (“it’s appreciation not appropriation, bro!”).
I had a political theory paper to finish by midnight (“Looking for a Third?: How Independent Candidates Queer the US Bipartisan State System”), but they were blaring “Girls Want Girls” by Drake so hard I couldn’t hear myself think.
Enough was enough: I put on my bro-iest floral shirt and took a page from the enemy’s playbook.
I snuck into the kitchen and grabbed as many of the six-packs off the counter as I could fit in my XL basketball shorts. I chatted and bided my time.
When they realized they were out of beer, they sent Brad out to get more. I put Brad’s replacement PBR in my pants (and the replacement replacement PBR) as soon as their backs were turned.
Eventually, people started to notice the mystery of the disappearing booze. I started chatting up random dudes and blaming the theft on a different wasted guy each time.
In no time, they were at each other's throats, accusing each other of bogarting the beer. The energy between the bros became hostile. I hoped that the rancid vibe shift would shut the function down, leaving me to grind on midterms in peace.
I hoped wrong: the stolen lager triggered a loud brawl. The boys started throwing punches, and soon, breaking glass.
Although I didn’t call the cops, another neighbour did. Another failure for broken windows policing. I meant to shut the party down, but I didn’t mean it to end like this: with RCMP sirens and PBR poured down the sink.
Plant fossils in the yard and get the frat house designated as a historical site
The night before the next rager, I snuck into the yard under cover of darkness. I brought some weird rocks that look like bones and a beetle in amber that I got from a museum gift shop.
I threw in a couple of those teeth dentists soak in Coca-Cola to show how bad soda is for you (the decay makes the teeth look super old). Then, I sent in an anonymous tip to the UBC archeology department.
The next morning, I woke up to archeologists swarming the frat house like bespectacled ants. The nerds took the bait: UBC archeology mistook my trash for evidence of a new species of hominid, discovered right here in Vancouver.
“This completely changes our narrative of human evolution!” the archeologists exclaimed as they unearthed a painted shard of clay dated to circa 4000 B.C.E. Their real origins: a dumpster behind the Pottery Barn in Nova Scotia, c. 2017.
Soon, the yard was fenced off with caution tape.
An archeological dig site is obviously no place for a rager. My party animal neighbours quietly went inside to play Settlers of Catan and they even invited me to join in. No cops necessary.
The Dingbat is The Ubyssey's humour section. Send pitches and completed pieces to blog@ubyssey.ca.