From a thread recently forwarded to Voice on September 30th, a little Female Final Club mix-up has caused some dire distress. The club sent out an invite to all its punchees — from LAST YEAR. Strangely enough, one of the recipients of this invite was a boy. Here is the explanatory email the Pleiades sent out as an apology:

Dear All,

Yesterday you received an e-mail from paperless post from Pleiades Punch. There was a glitch in the system and this e-mail was sent out by mistake. It sent an invite from last year’s first event at random. We would like to apologize for any confusion caused and reassure you that this problem should not happen again.

Best,
Pleiades Society

Actually, this one is $24.80.

To which a “disappointed and deceived” young “lady” responded:

“Gosh-DAMNIT! What kinds of BS is this?!

That little apology just won’t do it, missy.

Kindly send $24.57 to my room. I don’t have any dresses and so I had to go out and buy one for Wednesday’s event and they won’t take it back. Shlepping out to the Phoenix in my little black cocktail dress was humiliating, but shlepping back was painful. I felt like a cheap slut stood up for a date.

For the rest of you, as soon as I get my money back, and I are going to the store and I will be spending that $24.57 on a cold pack of beer and some hamburgers and we’re gonna have our own gosh-darn Pilates Punch Event. You are all invited – no high heels allowed.”

Yeahhhh.

Please excuse the "quality", if that word can be used, of this image (it was taken on a phone so old it still says Cingular on the outside).

The photo above, we assure you, is a large group of blindfolded final club punchees being led about outside of Leverett dining hall around the wee brainbreak hours. They were hands-to-hip adorable. Speculators have speculatively informed us that this rump-shakingly elitist conga line would be the would-be Phoenix lads.

While certainly rather kinky, we do wish we had a better photo to start the punch season with. If you have any Final Club Shenanijinks this punch season please email them to: thehvoicemail@gmail.com

Love,
The Voice

For your entertainment, a better image of young men walking in suits:

Hi there. This is The Voice Ninja. Who am I? Why have you never seen or heard of me? It’s because I’m a ninja, duh.

Occasionally I’ll come out of the shadows when The Voice hires me for a little espionage. While it’s of questionable morality, sure, I like to think of it as community service. No but really, my feudal Lord (aka TF) caught me plagiarizing in lit-sex and they made me agree to either do this or take a gap year.

So here I am, hiding out in a tree, watching a final club’s induction…or what looks like the beginnings of one. Which final club you ask? Well…it’s the tacky one that looks like a Cantabrigian Hooters: The Owl. And this isn’t the first time they’ve let their owlets outta the bag.

What follows after the jump are the notes I took from the event. Some highlights: random dude with axe, typical bro behavior, and somebody playing Joan of Arc in the leaves.

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