Aliens Wrecked Our Kegger - Author Commentary Edition: Chapter 2

The Omicron Phi Fraternity house was buzzing with activity, all manner of dudes and bros scurrying about to deal with menial tasks. Few frats were this organized or well-managed, but then again, none of the other frats had Clyde’s ruthless scheduling enforced by Smasher’s friendly muscle. Although Clyde wasn’t exactly beloved for his dedication to efficiency, the results he consistently delivered made it an annoyance that the brothers put up with. Sure, he might drive them like a mad foreman at times; however, those memories always faded in light of the extraordinary events his pragmatism was able to cobble together. For last year’s beer relay, most of the other frats just had empty keg shells to spin around and card tables to play flip-cup on. Omicron Phi, on the other hand, had an entire inflatable obstacle course complete with unique drinking stations spaced out intermittently through the gauntlet. When the sororities arrived, there was never a question as to where they would spend their day. Clyde was a miracle worker, even if the secret to his magic was the sweat, and occasional blood, of his fraternity brothers.

On this particular day, Clyde was more worried about dealing with his actual brother than the ones he shared a house with. Dougie had, begrudgingly, put on a half-decent pair of jeans, but no shirt he owned could be found without stains, wrinkles, or the sort of funk that not even pre-soaking could fix. With no other choice, it was obvious Dougie would have to borrow a shirt from Clyde. A shirt he was going to be very careful with, or so he’d promised.

Giving Denim Tony a nod as they passed, Clyde ushered Smasher and Dougie into his room. Not many people had their own accommodations here, but being head of the social committee had its advantages. Well, that, and no one had ever managed to spend more than a week living with Clyde. His standards for cleanliness weren’t something most college-aged men could live up to. The closet itself proved that point well, since the entire space was organized by style, color, and general fit in a system so complex anyone besides Clyde would have needed an index to keep it all straight.

“Let’s see, something dark, since I’m sure you’ll spill at least a little on it, and maybe we’ll go with long sleeves to hide those spindly little arms.” Grabbing a shirt that had grown a tad too small for him, Clyde tossed it over to Dougie, who looked at it like a completely foreign object.

“Is this really necessary? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Smasher and Clyde both stared at Dougie, who was clad in a tattered shirt barely hidden under a threadbare zip-up hoodie. Finally, after realizing Dougie was actually waiting for an answer, Clyde responded. “That’s a shitty joke, right? Dude, you’re wearing a Spells, Swords, & Stealth t-shirt with at least three different colors of stains of it. This is a nice occasion; that shit isn’t going to fly.”

“Heaven forbid I don’t fit in with the frat guys.” Despite the lip, Dougie was slowly shrugging off his hoodie. “Then they might not like me enough to hold me down, beat me up, or call me names like pole-smoker, pillow-biter—”

The thunk of Clyde’s hand smacking the back of Dougie’s head was subdued, but still knocked the younger brother’s face a few inches forward.

“Jesus Christ, Dougie, what the fuck? You don’t say that kind of shit around here; this isn’t a some Call of Shootey game. Five of the brothers are gay, Tall Tony is ace, and Smasher here was adopted by two very nice women who help set up for every parent’s weekend.”

“My moms are the best.” It was hard to tell if Smasher was agreeing with Clyde’s point or just making a statement apropos of nothing. Not that it mattered; this wasn’t a topic anyone was brave or stupid enough to try debating with him over.

Rubbing the back of his head, Dougie at least had the good sense to look slightly ashamed. “Sorry, I thought that’s how these places worked.”

“Not this place. Damn Dougie, get it together. Next thing I know you’re going to walk one room over and drop a slur around Tiny Tony.”

“I thought Tony was tall?” Dougie asked.

“Tall Tony is tall.” Clyde started to rub his temples, a stress headache already starting to form. This part, at least, wasn’t Dougie’s fault. “We’ve got over a dozen guys named Tony here, so we had to start coming up with descriptors to keep them sorted. Big Tony, Denim Tony, Tall Tony, Tiny Tony, Hot Tony—”

“Hang on. You all collectively call a guy hot?” Dougie was at least putting the shirt on as he talked, smart enough to not quite push Clyde over the breaking point.

Clyde nodded. “Yeah, but it’s not what you think. Mother fucker is just always sweating, no matter how cold we turn it. Hot Tony is literal — dude can’t stop being warm. Sexy Tony is the good looking one.”

That didn’t especially answer the implied question, but Dougie had other things to focus on as he finally got the shirt buttoned up and turned around so Clyde and Smasher could inspect him. It wasn’t a perfect fit, given that Dougie had smaller shoulders and a slight hunch in his posture, but it managed to give the appearance of effort, so it would have to suffice. Clyde’s goal was to push Dougie through this well enough that their mom couldn’t say he’d half-assed it. Getting Dougie to join the frat was a minimal concern. Even if they offered, Clyde had a hunch his brother would refuse. That was a fight with Mom Dougie would have to pick though. He was on his own there.

“I’m presentable, so now what?” Dougie demanded.

“Now, you take the shirt back off and put on some work-out shorts,” Clyde informed him. “We’ve still got a few hours left, and it’s all hands on deck. All my other brothers are working. I can’t see why you should be different.”

“Hang on, I didn’t—”

“Smasher, stay here and make sure Dougie gets changed, fast, then bring him down. I’m off to check that the catering is on schedule and the kitchen is prepared to receive it. So help me god, if Hipster Tony forgot to preheat the oven again, I will tear his antique unicycle earring out.”

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So, let’s talk about the Tonys.

This ended up being a more distinctive part of the story than I expected, and an aspect that translated really well to filling out the cast for the movie version.

There are lot of fun aspects to the bit of all the other frat brothers being named Tony. It’s an easy to incorporate recurring annoyance to needle Clyde with for one thing, and he’s always more entertaining when agitated.

It also works as a nifty shorthand in a novella, where space it at a premium. We might only see a little of each Tony, but we do know something about them immediately. Tall Tony is tall, Sexy Tony is good looking, and Hipster Tony has a distinctive earring.

But I feel like the purpose of these commentary sections is to give you all an honest look behind the curtain of my writing process. So there is one additional facet to consider, and in full transparency, it’s the original reason I created the Tony’s to begin with.

Naming every side character Tony saved me from having to find actual names for all of them.