There really isn't much I can say to describe the sublime horror captured on this video. Except perhaps that it's all there. In 39 seconds of film, the University of Texas's Alpha Delta Pi chapter somehow managed to incorporate every element of every nightmare I've ever had.
There's the preternaturally and eerily chipper voices. Like a three-headed, cheesing succubus luring you into an inescapable hellpit with promises of fellowship and messy fellatio and messier grits. There's the foreshadowing. The latent sense of impending doom. You know that your death — slow, agonizing, and stupid — lurks behind that door. That, once that door opens, you'll be torn from spleen to skin and forced to transcribe Desiigner "lyrics" and eat beets injected with curdled cottage goat cheese for eternity. That behind that door exists a finally finished version of Frank Ocean's Boys Don't Cry. But once you cross the threshold your ears will be sheared off and you won't be able to listen.
But…you still wish to open it. You still desire to see what's behind there. And even if you didn't desire to open that door, there's some indeterminable demon force urging you to do it. Perhaps it's the devil. Or a suspiciously ambitious Soul Cycle instructor. You have no control. No agency. That door is going to fucking open, and there's nothing you can do about it.
And then that door opens. And then you see it. The beast. The incubus. The bleached blonde leviathan. Its eyes endless. Its teeth ready and sharpened through years of biting through raw kale and farm-raised salmon. Its tentacles perpetual and hairless and covered in Spanx. Its reek of Bath and Body Works Cucumber Melon Body Spray and privilege permeating your nostrils and constricting your esophagus. It engulfs you whole. And you die, suffocated by the Girls Gone Orge's lecherous and irrepressible jolliness. Which means you just died the dumbest death anyone has ever died. A death so dumb your loved ones throw tomatoes at your casket.
And then you wake up.
Sweet dreams.