“Hey, little man. You must be cold. Just – look up at me. There’s one more thing you have to do… - well, it’s a ritual, so it’s several things.”

“I-I-I-I c-c-c-ca I-I-can---,”

“Wow, his lips are purple. Take a picture. He looks like one of those terrorist prison guys.”

“I-I-I-I – wow – I-I’m s-sor---”

“Shut up! He’s dead! Look at him!”

“I’m-I-I-I-I’m alive, I’m alive, I can---”

“Shut up! You have one more ritual. Get up. Get up, little man. You’re dying.”

“No-N-N-I’m ali-”

And The Skinny Freshman was then taken back to the Fraternity House, given a warm bath and, upon waking up as his body and mind dethawed in the tub, instructed to write a thoughtful letter to every woman in his life. He told them earnestly that he had none – they had all left, died or lost contact with him.

“Now that you ask this of me, now that I’m warmed up and my brain is working, now you mention it – I truly don’t know a single woman.”

“Well, we should probably get you one then, right?”