I am known around this campus as one of the craziest, most unruly, uncontrollable students ever to walk these paths. When I see an old woman crossing the street, I don’t stop and assist her. When somebody breaks a glass in Commons, I clap and embarrass them, and sometimes mention them in my features article (Kit Halvorsen ’08). And if a kid walking by drops his Biology textbook, I keep it, even though I don’t take Biology or know how to read. Now, you may be afraid of a character such as myself, but you shouldn’t. I have my limits. I have sworn to myself that I will never, under any circumstances: kill a man, hurt an animal, buy jeans anywhere other than TJ Maxx, or wear a fur jacket. The reasoning behind my refusal to wear a fur jacket is not related to my pledge not to hurt animals, but more because any man who wears a fur jacket is an utter doofis. But, I have not always been able to tame my wild rage in times of frustration. There was once a time when I committed such a horrible crime, such a dastardly deed, that I had to flee my home and hide from the authorities. I ran out of the house, terrified of what I had just done. I needed to get away from there, and fast. I looked to the neighbor’s driveway, and there sat a 1991 Chevy Impala. “Sweet,” I muttered, as I sprinted over to the car. I punched through the driver’s side window, and immediately regretted doing so. My right hand broken, I climbed through the car through the window, not realizing the entire point of breaking the window was so you could simply reach in and unlock the door. Luckily, the keys were in the glove compartment, otherwise this story would end right here, and I would not come close to the 600 word minimum. I backed out of the driveway, running over the neighbor’s stupid mail box that looks like a tiny version of their house. I needed a place to hide. Every Taco Bell in the area was closed, even though they claim to be ‘open late.’ I was later informed that this was only at participating locations. I guess these Taco Bells had decided to cater towards the dinner crowd that eats at a fashionable 7 o’clock, afterwards heading out to a club or show. I drove for about three hours, or however long it takes your hand to stop bleeding after you’ve punched through a car window. I parked outside of a 24 hour Denny’s in Mount Gumbo, Arkansas…I guess I had been speeding because it normally takes more than three hours to get from Cleveland to Arkansas…it takes at least four- you’ve got to consider the traffic. I applied for a job as a fry cook at Denny’s. I didn’t get the job– probably because on my application when it asked for criminal history I wrote: Still on the run; yet to be formally charged. So I hopped back into the Impala, and continued my run from the law. While sitting at a bar watching TV, I saw that I was wanted by the police. With no fresh ideas, I decided to fight the law, and most likely lose- but not without a valiant effort. After a 62 hour stand off, the police were getting frustrated. I finally ran out from the bar, my fists up, yelling, “RUMBLE TIME! RUMBLE TIME! THERE’S-A-GONNA-BE-A RUMBLE.” After I laid down the ground rules for the rumble (Most importantly: all those who aren’t participating must circle up and shout “Rumble! Rumble!” repeatedly) I was ready to begin. I quickly chickened out after a cop stepped forward and accepted the challenge for a rumble. After a brief stint in a Juvenile detention facility, I was released, and came back to school. I was a little disappointed that the Juvenile detention facility didn’t have a ‘yard’ like a real prison. You know, one with a bunch of weights and stuff. Because I would’ve gotten ripped if we’d had a yard.