I didn’t think the popped-collar boy existed until I went to an SMU party.  Not only are the popped-collar rumours true, but it turns out frat boys have been wearing their sunglasses backwards for so long they’ve forgotten that the damn things actually keep the sun’s UV rays from reaching their retinas.  (I say this because I have seen way too many idiots wearing backwards sunglasses and using their hand to shield their eyes from the sun.  Epic fail!  Thanks SMU!)  When I get really bored, I like to go to Sherlock’s and watch 35-year-old former frat boys pretending to drive $100K cars to get into a bleach blonde’s goop crusted panties.  (Because saying, “I’m in a fraternity,” doesn’t work outside the Ivory Tower.)  They are usually fake-baked, wearing Birkenstock sandals, and have more oil in their hair than BP has in the gulf.  And because of all this, I have decided that colleges should offer some sort of formal societal integration course for frat fucks so that the rest of us can tolerate them once they are unleashed into the wild.  Just a thought.