John Fever, M.D., Bandits

By mid-season of my freshman year, around 8 of the rugby teams 15 or so freshman
had been kicked out of the dorms. I was no exception, in my first dorm I did everything
you’ve had a close friend or acquaintance get kicked out for; rum running, microwave
kablowies, door wizzing, towel thievery, snack machine pilfering with a coat hanger,
filling protein shakers with ice water and rainbowing it onto the head of someone
shitting in a stall, etc, etc. Ironically, I was kicked out for being a caring young boy who
valued Valentine’s Day as the one day of the year when everyone should feel special
and loved.

I was blacked out, and hugging every girl in the hallway. Apparently, one of them didn’t
like Valentine’s Day, and was not pleased that I allegedly hugged for a lengthy duration
without permission. (Who knew?)

So they got me on a bum sex lunatic rap. Kinda like when Al Capone was put away for
tax evasion. State school, they had to kick me, but they didn’t see it as grounds for
complete removal, since I hadn’t been caught for anything else, so I was moved to a
different dorm.

They gave me two weeks to move into the new dorm, and on my last night there, I went
to the bike rack next to the rear entrance, and spent a good 10 minutes removing every
single bike seat, and throwing them as far into the wooded surroundings as possible. I
was pretty choo-choo-trained, but remember giggling my ass off the entire time, and
working tirelessly to the point of soaking my shirt with sweat. I was so caught up in my
orgy of mischief that I threw my own bike seat into the goddamn forest and never found
it again.

The next morning was my deadline to be out. Moving all my shit from the 3rd floor was
more embarrassing than grueling. My only consolation was that every load I took down
gave me the chance to walk by a sign that read, “If Your Bike Seat Is Missing, Front
Desk May Have It.”

I got kicked out of the second dorm four days later.

It was for something that occurred long before my Valentine’s Day slip-up, and if the
chump who sniffed it out knew the size of the ice burg tip he’d stumbled across, I would
have probably been kicked out of school all together.

It was my opus; the prank I was most proud of. I’m sure I wasn’t the first to do it, but I
still haven’t heard of anything resembling what I fondly think of as my own little Fight
Club of sorts.

The dorm boss responsible for inspecting my vacated room for damage had found the
last remaining evidence linked to what nearly every dorm hall knew of as: “The White
Board Bandits.”

Our calling card was simple and unmistakable; a few mangled squares of 2-sided
adhesive, a missing white board, and a puddle of wiz at the foot of the door.

As all great crimes begin, it started innocently as a solo gag I pulled on a friend two
doors down. At 3 or 4am, I went to his door, pissed on it good and hard, zipped up,
ripped off his white board with one hard tug, and sprinted into my room. I was panting
like crazy, laying on my bed, and waiting for him to start banging on the door. I couldn’t
contain my joy, and was biting my pillow to muffle laughing.

After a few minutes though, I got pissed that he wasn’t waking up, so I ran to his door,
banged a few times, and ran back in my room.

Still nothing! What the fuck?

Then the idea hit me like a Scandinavian dominatrix on PCP; “Today’s Monday. He’s
not drunk, and he still didn’t wake up to that!”

I was still awake with excitement, and eager to test my discovery again, so I ran
downstairs and did the same thing to another friend. She was a girl, and me being an
aspiring doctor knew that biology made women sleep lighter as a means of tending to
offspring waking up during the night.

Again no reaction! It was incredible! More incredible was that my second swipe was
more thrilling than the first! I felt so free and wicked ripping off that glossy white board
and running down the hall.

Those white boards come with unusually strong mounting tape, so I found it best to
grab top and bottom simultaneously and give one hard pull toward the sternum; it
makes you feel like a Viking prince.

The frantic sprint away is without question the most blissful moment in the process.
You can’t contain the smile while you’re dashing down the hall like Deion Sanders with
each hand still firmly holding both ends of the board. Even during my final run, I was
smiling like the cat from Alice in Wonder Land.

After that night, it became a regular thing. It was pretty compulsive to be honest.
Whenever I went out, I couldn’t get to sleep until I did one. It was always the same too;
a piss followed by a rip. I always stuck to one a night for a while. I’m only realizing now
how sad it is that for the first few weeks, I did it completely on my own.

I knew I had to share this with someone, but I guess I was afraid that two people doing it
would get me caught, and put an end to my secret pleasure.

My first victim and friend from two doors away probably never realized the pleasure in
his retaliation because he knew I was expecting it, so he never did it again until we were
walking home from a party together, and I let him in on the fun.

We both did one door on each floor of the building next to ours, and sharing my
passion brought more richness to the experience than I could have ever dreamed.

My pal was hooked just as bad now.

If we were both drinking, we would make sure to meet up at the end of the night and pull
a few rips. Soon, we were both pissing like dogs at 4 doors in a row on opposite sides
of a hall, then we’d tear off 8 boards in 4 synchronized rips. To avoid dual capture,
we'd sprint to opposite exits and meet at our stash spot to hide the booty and gloat
about our successful mission. On weekends, my roommate drove home, so our
trophies were stacked and organized by sex and hall in my closet.

The whole “White Board Bandits” thing came from the “Wet Bandits” in the movie Home
Alone.

After two or three weekends of successful 8 board rips, we started inviting certain
mutual friends to join in. By this time the word was out on our system, and a lot of copy-
cat cases started popping up. The dorm authorities were cracking down hard, so we
stopped about 4 days prior to that fateful hug on Valentine’s Day.

So on my final day in that first dorm, my hall monitor had found the first white board I
ever ripped from a stranger. I put it in my desk and forgot about it. It belonged to the
fuckin’ prick that found it. It still had “Residential Advisor” written on it with blue marker.

He was too late though. I gave him a shrug and said, “I cleaned my desk out an hour
ago, and that board wasn’t there. What do you want me to say?”

He didn’t believe me, and I was proud that deep down inside, he knew I was somehow
behind everything he’d been warned about.

So now I was out of the dorms all together. Thank God for one of my pals on the rugby
team who lived only two blocks away from the dorms.

And lucky for you readers, my new quarters became the arena for one of the greatest
moments in shit-head history.

----------------------------------------Story by John Fever, MD------------------------------------

---------------Bandist Part 2------------


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	Bandits Part 1 of 3: Home Sweet Home 4/24/06


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