It all started late Saturday night when I was walking back to my dorm. As I usually do, I walked back through the Knoll trail, watching a little of the kara-TAY stylings of the members of Stuart and making sure that I didn’t get eaten by Leroy, the stray, 467 pound dog that only eats children and those novelty yo-yos that don’t work but make loud sounds. Crime has never really been a problem for me here, so I usually don’t worry too much about getting mugged. However, I recently read an article in this very paper detailing the spike in crime on this campus. Some of it had to do with vandalism, some to do with mysterious hoodlum knoll-dwellers, and some to do with a mass murderer who took out the entire Abbot cluster, but the rest had to do with something far more shocking: the disappearance of bowls on campus. I could hardly believe my eyes when I read this article. Someone on campus had the nerve to take bowls from commons without giving them back! I would have rather had someone steal my innocence (and by “would have rather,” I mean “PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.”) Anyway, I was walking back when I saw a dark figure approaching me. At first it was hard to tell, but as the figure came closer I could tell it was moving at incredible speeds. I wasn’t wearing my glasses, which means I can’t tell the difference between a glass of water and Texas, but I could tell who it was coming towards me: none other than DJ action-PAK, holding hundreds of bowls in his greedy arms. “You can’t stop D to the P baby, nobody can!” With that he was off. I would have tried to stop him, but I have narcolepsy and I fell asleep when I was about to start my sprint. When I woke up four seconds later, I saw something so unbelievable it could only be rivaled in unbelievability by a movie such as “Freddy Vs. Jason Vs. Dracula Vs. Shredder Vs. Super-shredder Vs. Dennis Hopper.” As DJ Action-PAK was nearing the top of the Knoll, another figure in a bright-green suit swung from one of the pine trees and kicked the DJ in the face. As the ill PAK lay there, dying in a pool of his own blood and shattered commons bowls, the green-clad figure spoke: “I am Ray Lewis, defender of The Bowl Order. I know you might be surprised as to why I’m on your campus instead of playing pro football, but the answer is surprisingly simple: Campaign Andover didn’t make 220 million dollars; it made eleven-billion. Ms. Chase wasn’t feeling well at the time, however, and she decided to give me the excess money instead of giving it to the school. I was cool with it, cuz you can’t stop the Ray Train and all, but now I have to kill kids who steal bowls and clean the Math building for the next 48 years. Wanna’ go play Quidditch?” Needless to say, I was pretty shocked when I realized that Andover had its very own superhero. On a side-note, this article was the poorest attempt at sticking to a theme in the history of the Features Section. I honestly had to point out that Ray Lewis was a superhero just to make sure the audience got it. God, I’m ashamed of myself. If my discreetly delivered package wasn’t just dropped off at the door, I might go back and fix something, but now I have the heart medication I’ve been craving for WEEKS. Do I have a heart problem, you ask? Maaaaayyybbbb-beeeee.