Pimps and Hos. Back To School. Let’s Get Physical. Why is it that campus parties are always given names that encourage girls to dress like strippers, school-girls or some other variant of the common whore? I’ve even been to a winter event that somehow managed to put a naked twist on things: Snowboarders & Snow Bunnies. In this case, “snow” was just another word for “Playboy,” and any female who didn’t trek across campus in a matching bra-panty-ugg ensemble wasn’t allowed in. Apparently, guys snowboard in warm pants and thick jackets, but us girls always hit the slopes in our lingerie.

Inequality? Sexism? I think so.

Wait! Don’t stop reading! There will be no feminist (or substantive...) rants in this article. I understand every man’s need to see some boobies, I understand every girl’s reasons for showing some boobies, and I’m pretty sure the frats will never be down for a night of “Pimps and Respectable Young Ladies.” Rather than even the score by suggesting a “Pope” theme for SAE’s next party, I’d like to bring another concept to the table: Pimpettes and Hos.

The P&H party - should it ever occur - will be just like any other. Drinks, music, awkward encounters. However, unlike your average rave, male attendants will be required to come naked. I wanna see man-boobs, I wanna see beer guts and (I realize I’m about to break rule numero uno in the unwritten book of macho laws, but...) I wanna see thighs.

Here’s the formal invite to my non-existent party:

What? Pimpettes and Hos

Where? Anywhere, as long as male attendants are dressed (or rather undressed) for the occasion.

When? On the coldest night of the quarter.

Why? Because Stanford boys don’t fully understand what it’s like to walk from Mirrielees to the Row on a chilly Friday night. Because the deservingly narcissistic frat boys need to be distinguished from the “but-his-faces.” And, most importantly, because Free Willy is every girl’s favorite movie.

Anything else, you crazy bitch?

Yes. I hate those awkward moments at parties when the lights turn on for a few seconds. You know what I’m talking about. They generally happen near closing-time, when the residents of a once clean and puke-free house want you to get the hell out The lights flash, and you suddenly regret not holding a lit phone to your partner’s face before agreeing to hit the dance floor. For this reason, and because I’d like to invoke maximum male-embarrassment, Pimpettes and Hos will be fully-lit at all times.

I suppose I should end this with a clever declaration of who can and cannot drink. As always, it will be “SUID to enter, vagina to get within 10 feet of the beer.” Sorry boys. Even naked, you ain’t gettin’ anywhere near the alcohol.