"No shit, huh? This is the real deal?"

Vic grinned and leaned forward as if sharing classified information. "I shit you not. The real deal."

The two drop-dead gorgeous fraternity hopefuls mimicked Vic's actions, leaning in close and lowering their voices to a conspiratorial whisper. Of course, the matching propeller beanies each of them were forced to wear detracted ever-so-slightly from their natural good looks. The brunette said quietly, "So if we go ahead and volunteer for this whole, whatsit, farmboy initiation thing, we'll earn major brownie points with the brothers?"

Vic grinned again. "Thaaaat's right."

The brunette turned to his beanied buddy with the jet black hair and whispered gleefully, "Dude, they'll show up with the other hopefuls and bam! you and I will already be there, ready to go, in costume and everything! We will SO be in!"

The black-haired boy looked over his shoulder to see if they were being watched. Confident that they were not he spoke to Vic (despite the fact that he only looked one way and any number of vantage points for spying were left unchecked). "So, before we go off to this joke shop for the straw hats and pick up some bib overalls at the Farm & Fleet, how is it you know all about this? You're not pledging."

The brunette gave Vic a careful glance. "Heeeyyy...that's a good point."

Vic smiled. "Let's just say I know what you're going through." He held up his fist and shook it in an intricate pattern, waving his fingers, tapping his nose and tossing off a salute.

The boys were astonished. The black haired pledge said in a low whisper, "The secret pledge salute of submission..."

The brunette turned to his friend, grasping his arm. "Dude, there is no way he could know the salute unless--!"

Vic interlaced his fingers and flashed his smile. "Unless I'd pledged once, too." The two boys slowly nodded in agreement, not taking into account that as Vic first approached them, they'd been sitting at this picnic table studiously practicing their moronic salute in plain sight of the entire quad, all passersby, God, and the whole world. New pledges. Sheesh.

Vic got up and repeated softly. "Just be at the classroom like I told you. And keep it to yourselves, guys." Vic reached out with his index finger and gave the brunette's propeller a playful spin. They nodded eagerly.

Vic walked away confidently, allowing himself one backwards glance at the overzealous pledges practically bouncing on their seats, arms waving wildly as they chatted. Vic knew that every pledge in their frat was going to know about Herbie's classroom hen house inside the next half hour.

But better not leave anything to chance.

In the drama club dressing rooms, Vic leaned against a mirrored counter laden with makeup kits and ripe with the stench of old grease paint. One bulb refused to cooperate with its illuminated brethren and fizzed and blinked in the lower left-hand corner. Seated directly in front of it were three remarkably handsome young drama students and potential theater majors. The round-faced blond with the dazzling blue eyes spoke with clear enthusiasm. "Grapes of Wrath? Are they really gonna do that play? The whole thing? All four hours?"

Vic waved his hand in what he hoped was an all-encompassing gesture. "The unabridged version. Whole nine yards. I'm serious."

The threesome looked at one another with newly-twinkling stars in their eyes. "We'll be there for read-through, definitely", the sandy-haired one said, nodding.

Vic leaned forward, one hand on the counter. "Here's the thing, though. It hasn't exactly been cleared with the head of the department yet. Not the acting coach, not the drama committee. So we kind of need to keep this on the QT."

The boys exchanged intense glances and two of them crossed their arms defiantly. "We know how that goes, believe me. Anytime we want to do something challenging, something important--"

The sandy haired one continued, "--something of literary quality--"

The blond finished--"and socially relevant, they always back out. If I do another Neil Simon comedy, I'm gonna go bugfuck."

Vic smiled. "But if we invite the heads of the department to a major read-through, along with say, a few prominent students and some college administrators..."

"They won't be able to turn us down!", the blond practically cheered.

Vic nodded in agreement, winking at them. As he turned to depart, he said, "Oh, one more thing. It would really hit home harder if the read-through was done in costume. But I don't have the straw hats, bib overalls, that kind of thing. Would you guys--?"

The lanky boy, who up till now had been silent, spoke up. "I'm in charge of cataloguing the wardrobe room this semester. Leave that to me. We'll be decked out."

Vic nodded, looking impressed. Softly, he said, "All right, then."

The basement area set aside for the Fine Art students' weekly meeting o' relevance was dank and grimy. But then, so were the fine art students in attendance. Vic had just sat through the two and a half hour droning and communal whining which fell under this week's topic of "Attaining Global Mindset and Inner Compassion Growth Through Role Reversal, Emphaticalism, and Social Understanding". For the love of God.

Vic had worn his dingiest black T-shirt and spent most of the meeting nodding and looking concerned from his vantage point in the back of the room where he was actually scoping out guys. After the majority of those in attendance had filed out, including the scary chick with the hair resembling a fright wig and the naugahide dress held together with safety pins, Vic waved down the only three passably attractive guys.

The one wearing too much mousse looked intrigued. "Is this like when the celebrities sleep on heating grates or in the gutter to better relate to the homeless?"

Vic nodded, trying his best to look socially concerned. "It's all about leaving our personal comfort zones and being willing to place ourselves in a position of social disadvantage." It sounded sufficiently thick with horse shit that he hoped the three overly-liberal kids would go for it. They did.

"Like the starvation banquet!", the leather-jacketed guy in combat boots offered.

Vic had no idea what the fuck that oxymoron could possibly mean, but let it pass since he didn't want to know. Instead, he nodded again, his expression dour. "Not unlike that, yes."

The kid with the fluorescent orange hair and seventy-two pin back buttons spoke for all of them, asking, "What do we need to do?"

Vic tried to look as serious as possible, using all of his willpower not to burst out laughing. "Well, for this exercise, your attire will be assigned to you as befits the cause. And you have to realize that this would entail a considerable amount of risk to your personal pride and potentially set you up for public scorn and derision."

Their faces lit up as if he'd said he would be handing out complimentary hundred dollar bills. Moussey said firmly, "Whatever we have to do to raise the social consciousness, man. Whatever it takes."

Vic nodded, his face a slight frown. "Good, good. What we're looking for is commitment here, not just lip service."

"Walk the talk", orange hair said.

"That's right", Vic agreed. "Walk the talk. You in?" The art students nodded vigorously. "Okay, then." Vic drew them all close together. "Do you realize that there is an entire society of people in the Ozarks who are practically forgotten and discarded by modern society in general? Hills people. With nothing other than a pair or two of overalls to their names and a straw hat in terms of possessions." The three concerned boys looked horrified. Vic shook his head. "While we all sit here, ignorantly soaking up all the niceties of a technologically advanced lifestyle, with it's TV dinners and Playstations and RC Cola, these poor mountain people are left with--"

Vic shook his head, rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry, guys, ya gotta give me a minute, here." He inhaled sharply, his lower lip quivering. The boys looked at each other and nodded in approval at their new angst-ridden comrade. They were sure as hell in.

"Moonshine? Real moonshine??"

Vic smiled at the large boy in the letterman's jacket and nodded. "Yep. Real moonshine. Made from a still out back of my grandpappy's farm up North, no less." He wiggled his eyebrows at the silliness of the name "grandpappy" and the eight party boys who were gathered around him laughed.

"Seriously, guys, this party is gonna kick some major, major ass. And this stuff looks like water, smells like honey, but damn, it packs a punch way better than anything you've ever had, I guaran-damn-tee it. Oh, here, let me get that for you", Vic leaned over and offered a light to a slender kid's joint.

The kid inhaled deeply, the tip of the joint glowing bright red, and he held his breath in, nodded his thanks. A trim lad next to him set down his Foster's can and said, "I dunno, man, I've been to parties that had some serious shit going down. Like that one where they spiked the punch with ecstasy?"

Vic pointed at him. "I was there", Vic lied. "Had some. It was okay, but this moonshine stuff will blow you outta the fucking water if you thought that laced punch was as good as it gets." The guys looked at one another, all of them desperately eager to inhale, snort, swallow or chug-a-lug the next big thing to cop a great high.

The big guy who looked like a halfback said, "So this is what, a moonshine party or something, then?"

Vic pursed his lips. "Not exactly. It's actually called a backwoods party. You all heard of a Greek party?"

Five of the guys started chanting, "Tog-a! Tog-a! Tog-a!!"

Raising his voice to cut them off, Vic said, "A backwoods is like that. Only instead of togas, you wear beat up denim overalls. And like, nothing else." He leaned back, a knowing smirk on his face. "Unless of course you want a big straw hat. Those are accepted, too." The guys looked at one another, eyes wide and jaws open. Lude remarks were exchanged and high-fives slapped.

One kid was still skeptical. "So that's all we get, though? Just this moonshine stuff?"

Vic eyed the stoner sucking down on his joint. "Ohh...that and a few other things in keeping with the theme of the party. Like maybe a little...loco weed."

The boys started yelling out incomprehensible things like "Dude! DUUUUDE!! Duh-HUUUUUUDDE!!!!" and the tired old "Par-TAY! Par-TAY!!"

Vic held up his hands. "Just one thing, though." The group began to simmer down, Vic's tone indicating a condition that could undo their revelry. "We need a place to host it. I've been kicked out of my place for being too loud. Among other things. Any suggestions?"

The eight party boys started a conga line (or a stoner's approximation thereof) around Vic, chanting out the name of their frat. "Chi! Iota! Kappa! YEAH! Chi! Iota! Kappa! YEAHH!!"

Vic's day had been busy but productive.

By sunset he had gathered a veritable army of unsuspecting attractive young college boys to be subjected to Herbie's mind-warping heat-directing chickenifying hypnosis machine.

Of course, by this point the men's choral group thought they'd be auditioning for the Tom Sawyer musical Big River, the social studies boys believed they'd be taking part in a reenactment of a famous social experiment, and that one kid who was actually majoring in the History of Fashion As Art was convinced it was a grand exploration of fashions prevalent during the Industrial Revolution.

And there were plenty of others who'd been equally ensnared to don bibs and go barefoot, all with equally contradictory and utterly spurious motivations. Vic was compelled to never say a word against Herbie and further advance the project. There had been no stipulation about lying through his teeth to others to meet that end.

Vic walked along one of the many pathways on campus, feeling just a bit spent from the day's escapades, and aching to tear off his hoodie to reveal his overalls bib and bare arms, as well as to kick off his shoes and go barefoot. The cravings to go around dressed like a inbred hillbilly were becoming increasingly difficult to fend off, to say nothing of the sheer comfort and pleasure that consumed Vic whenever he finally submitted. The night before he actually caught himself clucking softly as he drifted off to sleep.

To combat the compulsion to countrify himself, Vic concentrated on the number of inductees he'd recruited during the day. Head lowered, his index finger held tight to his lower lip, Vic began to calculate the sheer volume of beautiful boys he'd rounded up and snared in his web of deceit. There was the two frat pledges (and however many others they may have told), the three drama students, as well as the three art fucks. Then there was the eight party boys--who became an even dozen by the time he'd left them. Vic went down his mental list, adding the choir boys, the various students from different majors. His tally was up to nearly three dozen boys when he ran right into another student going the other way.

Their mutual impact wasn't sufficient to knock either of them down, but it came close. Before Vic could say anything, thrown off balance as he was, the student he'd almost tackled blurted out, "Sorry! Sorry, my fault! That was my fault!" The student had been walking with his eyes buried in a college class schedule catalog.

Vic knew his own daydreaming made him less than faultless, and answered, "I'd say we're both to blame, pal. Neither of us was really watching where he was--" Vic was taken aback by the vision of the young man before him. Even in the fading light, it was clear to see that he a very handsome guy. He wasn't particularly tall, but he stood with an air of confidence that made him appear taller. His hair lay loose atop his head, but was far from unkempt. His face was round and boyish, but with deep, knowing eyes that spoke of an old soul. Vic stared at the student with the catalog, unaware that there had been a gap in what he was starting to say and the last word of his sentence. "--going."

The young man shrugged. "Guess you're right at that." There was something familiar about him. He had that look about him Vic associated with character actors on TV programs whose actual names were not so important in identifying them as the last role they played. Vic had seen him before, more than once, but was uncertain where or when. The boy nodded amiably to Vic and began to walk around him to continue on his way. Vic wasn't about to let him.

"Sorry, but I know you, don't I? From class?"

He smiled at Vic. "No, but I get that a lot." The smile brightened his face and made him appear five years younger. It also accentuated his eyes. That was what gave it away.

"Yes!", Vic said with enthusiasm. "The Dean's son! Julius, right?"

The boy kept his smile, tucking his catalog under one arm. "Julian, actually. And it's the chancellor's son."

"Right, right! Julian Hardcourt! You spoke at some student function or other I attended." Vic scrunched his brow. "Wish I could remember which one."

Julian gave a friendly laugh. "I get roped into a lot of those. And if it makes you feel any better, they aren't a whole lot more memorable for me. And you are--?"

Vic caught himself, realizing he was being a bit rude. "Oh, geez! Sorry." He extended a hand. "I'm Victor. Everybody calls me Vic."

Julian took Vic's hand in a firm shake. "It's a pleasure, Vic. Happy to bump into you. Or nearly so." He smiled again, radiating a personal warmth that Vic found inviting.

Vic gestured to Julian's catalog. "So, you giving another talk, like on scheduling or something?"

Julian clenched his jaw for a second, inhaled through his teeth. "I wish. I need another elective or extra curricular activity or one hell of a special thesis-level project to participate in. And I need it fast."

Vic tilted his head, confused. "Why's that?"

"Requirements to maintain my scholastic awards, which pay my tuition. I thought I had all my bases covered this term, but I appear to have miscalculated by one."

"I thought the chancellor's kid would get a free ride."

"Yes, everyone thinks that, including the student loan boards, who all told me to walk west until my hat floats when I asked for money for school."

Vic laughed at that. "So you do the Dean's List thing--"

"President's List, actually", Julian corrected. Then, "Sorry. Matter of pride."

Vic waved the comment away. "So you do the President's List thing, keep your grades at a constant high, keep a record with the financial aid department--"

"--and they submit my name for scholastic awards in the form of paid tuition for another term.", Julian said, completing Vic's train of thought. "Except that I was just informed that in order to receive the Dykema Grant, I still need one more activity to qualify."

Vic looked at the diminutive Julian. "I thought only the upper classmen were eligible for that kind of stuff. You're not a senior, are you?"

"Junior. But Juniors are eligible if no seniors fit all the criteria. Like maintaining a 4.0 average."

Vic let out a low whistle. "Impressive. So, what do you want to do? For your activity?"

"It's not what I want to do so much as what's available", Julian said, sounding discouraged as he pulled his catalog back out and flipped through it. "And it's slim pickings right now." Column after column of entries in the catalog were blacked out with marker, illustrating in an instant just how slim those picking were.

A light bulb came on over Victor's head. "Say, Julian, didn't you say one of the things you could do to qualify for your grant was to participate in a big project? It doesn't have to be your project, does it?"

"No, just as long as I take part in it. Why, what'd you have in mind?" Julian began to smile again, sensing that Vic could provide the solution he was looking for.

Vic looked at the chancellor's son, his small stature, his boyish face and good looks. Before his eyes, Vic's imagination faded out Julian's khakis and jean jacket and placed him in worn bib overalls, shirtless and barefoot, a tattered straw hat atop his head. Instantly, Vic got a tremendous boner just picturing it.

Vic forced a smile, trying to ignore the erection fighting to burst his drawers. "I have this friend who's in the middle of a major psych experiment right now. It's his senior thesis project."

Julian's face lit up. "A big project?"

"The biggest."

"So, does this friend of yours need any help with it?"

"All the help he can get. The whole setup is kind of a behavioral study. You're assigned certain clothes you have to wear, interact with other test subjects, everything he does is all recorded. All you have to do is show up and do what he tells you to do. You don't have to prepare anything or do any extra studying. Just be there. He really only needs...warm bodies."

Julian looked ecstatic. "Oh man, that is just what I need! I have a full plate as it is with my other classes. This guy doing the project, is he easy to work with? Some of the Pysch majors can be a little uptight."

Vic felt his face spreading into a wide grin, his eyes glazing over a bit. "Herbie's great. I've never known anyone so willing to put so much into his work. And he's had me help him out with it, too, and he's really been very attentive and instructive for me. He pays a lot of attention to me, and all the volunteer subjects, really. I can honestly say that getting involved in this project has given me a whole new outlook."

Julian was visibly impressed. "Wow. Sounds like you really think highly of this Herbie fella."

Vic felt his smile lock into place. "I couldn't say a word against him if I tried."