First things first. In order to become frat guys, we knew that we'd have to ditch the laboratory get-up. And Dr. Bengsston knew he'd have to make two more sacrifices: he'd have to ditch his mullet and his mustache. No self-respecting frat dick would flaunt either hair creation.

Going for authenticity, Dr. Bengsston didn't just shave the works, he bleached his hair as well!

Breakfast: After a few keg cups, we started the day by shopping for some disrespect at the local McDonalds.

Being frat dicks in public came easily. We talked loudly despite our hangovers, we guffawed at racial slurs, and we really stuck it to the man by dining and dashing and leaving our dirty trays on the table.

Dinner: Wings and beer. We dared Pfaltzgraff to eat the Inferno. It nearly killed him. It was dope.

We got right down to business. We started referring to each other by our last names. Bengsston stepped up to the plate and took the first keg stand. At 12 seconds, he started things off on the right foot. Or was it hand?

Pfaltzgraff is a wuss. Always has been, always will be. He had beer coming out his nose and copped out at a measly four seconds.

There was a decent selection of sorority sluts courtesy of Delta Gamma. Henderson brought over Christine, who sported some hot bar pants for our enjoyment.

After last spring's Grab-A-Date, we knew that not only could Jen do a decent keg stand, she put out as well.