" Never had Faber College--and with a kind of surprise they remembered that it was their own college, every inch of it their own property--appeared to the Animals so desirable a place. As Flounder looked down the quad his eyes filled with tears. If he could have spoken his thoughts, it would have been to say that this was not what they had aimed at when they had set themselves years ago to work for the overthrow of the smug elites of Omega House with their precious, pretentious manners and unauthentic hygiene.
"These scenes of terror and slaughter were not what they had looked forward to on that day when Bluto had first stirred them to rebellion. If he himself had had any picture of the future, it had been of a society of fun-loving party animals set free from the constraints of political correctness, civilized behavior, and elitist GPAs, the frat brothers all equal, each drinking according to his capacity, the strong free to shoot spitballs at the weak, everyone telling it like it is and fuck your feelings. Instead--he did not know why--the college had come to a time when no one dared speak his mind, when fierce, growling incel militia roamed everywhere, and when you had to watch your comrades shoved into unmarked vans and taken to Bluto's and Otter's infamous pleasure dungeons after confessing to such crimes as rioting, studying, or attempting to vote.
"The list of principles that had originally replaced Faber's elitist "Knowledge is good" seemed different every day, and where Flounder thought he remembered "Make Faber Great Again", "Only The Best Job Training", "It Wasn't Over When the Germans Bombed Pearl Harbor", and "Succeed Bigly", the inspirational messages had been changed gradually to "4 letters good, 14 words better", "Covfefe", "Fuck you Libtards" and "i dont care do u?". Finally, the senior Delta Animals had washed off the entire list of principles diuretically and simply written in their own vomit, "We support Our Leader, Comrade Blutarski."
"Further, Flounder's memories continued to trouble him, as they conflicted greatly with the pronouncements of Bluto and Otter as to the reasons for the rebellion. Had their conflict with the elitist Omegas really arisen because the Omegas had been intellectuals? Liberals? Politically correct and obsessed with social justice at the expense of the innocent Party Animals? Flounder wasn't sure this had been the case, but Bluto continually assured the first-years that it was, and Bluto was surely the wisest of them all.
"Bluto himself was now never spoken of simply as "Bluto." He was always referred to in formal style as "Our Leader, Comrade Blutarski," and the Deltas liked to invent for him such titles as Father of All Party Animals, Terror of Mankind, Protector of the Panty Raid, The Ayatollah of Rock and Rollah, and the like. In his speeches, Otter would talk with tears rolling down his cheeks of Bluto's great and infinite wisdom, his very stable genius, and the deep love he bore to all white working class Animals everywhere, except for the libtards, the losers, the nerds, the pussies, and the urban thugs from the University of Chicago. It had become usual to give Bluto the credit for every successful achievement and every stroke of good fortune.
"There was no thought of rebellion or disobedience in Flounder's mind, not yet. The days when he would dream of seeing Bluto's head on a pike where he could grin and wave gently at it, were still far in the future. He knew that, even as things were, they were far better off than they had been in the days of Dean Wormtongue, and that before all else it was needful to prevent the return of the elitist, snobby Omegas who looked down on them and called them deplorable. Whatever happened, Flounder would remain faithful, work hard, carry out the orders that were given to him, and accept the leadership of Bluto. But still, it was not for this that he and all the other animals had hoped and toiled. It was not for this that they had built the Deathmobile and faced the bullets of the ROTC. Such were Flounder's thoughts, though he lacked the words to express them.
"At last, feeling this to be in some way a substitute for the words he was unable to find, Flounder began to sing "(You Make Me Want to) Shout". The other bros sitting round him took it up, and they sang it three times over--very tunefully, but slowly and mournfully, first a little bit softer, then a little bit louder, but in a way they had never sung it before.
"Before they could finish singing it for the third time, Comrade Leader Blutarski, dressed in an imperial Roman toga and accompanied by two greasy incels with AR-15s and horn rimmed glasses, appeared. Without a word, he snatched Flounder's guitar from his hands and smashed it to splinters. He then explained, between belches, that he didn't want to hear any more 'thug music', and that from now on, the Animals must sing only wholesome, morally uplifting White People music, such as "Louie Louie" and "Cat Scratch Fever."
"That boy is a P-I-G, pig!" muttered Babs, but nobody paid attention to Babs. At Animal House, women were to be ogled and groped, not heard."
Orwell's masterwork about the Delta Frat "animals" and their failed attempt to create a white working class paradise of armpit farts and hamberder food fights on the rubble of a once-prestigious east coast liberal arts college, pledging success without grace, class, intellect, social justice or manners, is a thinly disguised, deeply bitter satire about the fall of the American dream in the land that rebelled against and defeated King George (personified here by the unhinged, ranting, stuffed shirt Dean Wormtongue) and made a new land on the premise that all (white) men were created equal and that this land was made for you and me.
In America, the "party animal" class of white men spent upwards of two centuries fighting to be considered the equals of both the wealthy oligarchy and the scientists, professors, and other intellectuals, while fighting just as hard to prevent any other kinds of people from presuming to be equal to them.
The predictable--some say the inevitable--result was that they ended up less equal than they had ever been before, bowing beneath a more severe and graceless oligarchy than this land had ever seen as a king's colony, working harder for less pay than any white working class before them, objects of contempt and pity to the civilized world, and an object lesson to other dictatorships on how to oppress the proletariat by convincing them that various untouchable castes are really the bourgeoisie.
Few readers will forget Orwell's revolutionary allegories: Bluto's rousing "Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?" speech. The Battle of the Cake Float and the expulsion of Dean Wormtongue and the Omega frat. The eternal pledges of white male equality, the pledges of abstinence from violent hazing, military activity, golf, brown-nosing and examinations, and how the head Delts broke these pledges one by one. The decline in Faber's status and resources, the failed attempt to impose tariffs on town businesses, the declaration of all bad news to be hoaxes, the increasing workloads, and the final epic spectacle of Bluto walking on his hind legs in crown and lodge attire among the heads of Omega House as they praise his golf scores and his brutal bullying of the party animals until Flounder and Pinto can no longer tell which one is Comrade Bluto and who are the mad, elitist monarchs. Very highest recommendations.