Back when I was a Tri Delt, I used to go into the Blockbuster on 400 South and peruse the horror section. I would inevitably pause in front of a cinematic masterpiece called Delta Delta Die!, consider, and then move on to a different selection. It just never seemed like the right time...though I knew the time would one day come.
On my last day as an undergrad at the Blessed U, however, I decided I was ready for what was sure to be a rite of passage. After finishing up work at The Daily Utah Chronicle, my friend Lucy (Chi Omega) and I ran over to Blockbuster. Thankfully, the copy was still there, though I'm sure that someone came in right after us and was sorely disappointed someone else had it.
We grabbed some soup at Cafe Rio for our sick friend Pauly (no greek affiliation, though at one point, he lived in Tri Delt and later married a Chi O, which I think makes him our unofficial sorority sister) and headed to his house to celebrate the end of my collegiate experience with Diet Cokes and popcorn.
Pauly, Lucy and I settled into the theater-style seating that Pauly and his roommate had created with couches propped up on cinderblocks. After a few episodes of Campus Ladies that Pauly had DVR'd, we popped in the main event.
As the opening credits were rolling, one of us--I can't remember who--noticed that the music was perhaps a bit ... bow-chicka-wowy?
And then someone else pointed out that the characters seemed to all be wearing an awful lot of pleather.
And no one could act. Not like Freddie Prinze Jr. "can't act," or even Lauren Conrad in The Hills "can't act," but "an eighth grade drama geek would be doing better" levels of ineptitude. Some of them seemed to be reading cue cards.
But even after a flashback that involved some full-frontal male doodle, we remained convinced that Delta Delta Die! -- which I had seen on the shelves of Blockbuster for at least two years -- could not be porn.
OK, maybe it was made by a pornographer who was trying to break into the B-grade movie scene, and he just had all the costumes from his porno days left over.
And it's expensive to buy new music.
Or hire different actors and actresses.
And plots are complicated.
So as the movie continued (it's about sorority girls who murder fraternity boys, bake them into pies and sell them back to other fraternity boys for philanthropy week, in case you were wondering) we began playing a little game called "This couldn't possibly be porn because."
This couldn't possibly be porn because the case says it's 83 minutes long.
This couldn't possibly be porn because no one asked for our ID when we rented it.
This couldn't possibly be porn because some of these people are just way too ugly to make their living in porn.
This couldn't possibly be porn because there's a musical number in it.
This couldn't possibly be porn because no one's having sex. They're just having a lot of naked conversations.
And this continued until Pauly's roommate walked into the room, watched for a few seconds, and asked, "So ... why are you guys watching a porn?"
To which we all just laughed even harder, and finally, mercifully, turned off the TV.
(The funny part is, that wasn't the last time I accidentally watched soft core porn with Pauly. The second time, though, at least our excuse was that we thought the movie was French. You know how those Europeans are.)