In college, we often wondered what would become of the frat boys and sorostitutes when they graduated and entered the real world. They grow up to become frat boys and sorostitutes, judging by the membership of Capitol Club, a Washington club of "100 politically connected young men".

When the cover band took a break at Swine on the Vine, guests crowded around the beer bong, eager to take their turn guzzling a can of beer poured down a funnel. A young man shook a portable outhouse because he knew his buddy was inside.

The New York Times piece is filled with all sorts of quotable goodness. The club's former president lists "throw down a few shots of Patr n" and "perhaps enjoy the fruits of some of our lady guests," among the group's objectives, while our favorite Washington hussy Jessica Cutler's assessment of the D.C. night life is pretty spot on.

The article ends with a scene that would not be out of place on a Thursday night in any college town in America.

At the end of the night, 10 empty kegs were lined up as people danced to the last song, Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'." A young man stumbled out of the darkness while rebuttoning his untucked white shirt. Guests left in pairs, holding hands, while some single women consoled each other. "He's a dirtbag," one said.

At Play in the Realm of Political Animals [NYT]

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