OK. So, here's an insane one from the Wild Roomates file, which had been planned for weeks, we later learned. It took place in this freshmen dorm, about a month into the academic year. My window was just left of that left pillar, 4th floor.
Oh man-o-man, the guy living right next to us

, behind that first pillar on the left, had gone into town to thrift-stores to find himself an old heavily stuffed (horsehair, I think he sought) old sofa, got friends to help him heft it back to the dorm, and established it as a home for guinea pigs. He bought them and/or swiped them from the lab, and let then loose in the sofa, to dig tunnels and borrow and grow a bit. Then , one infamous night, he waited until the more popular guys were standing at the foot of the entrance stairs (seen here), and among the shrubbery, smooching it up with girlfriends. Good ol' Monty, the dorm rascal, then dowsed the pigs in lighter-fluid, one by one, and lit them up, tossing them individually out his window in the directions of where the couples were ensconced. The flaming piglets would squeal all the way down, bounce once or twice, and roll off into the bushes to twitch to death, still squealing. At the screams of the girls and the howls of the boyfriends, Monty was cheering and donkey-laughing.
The next day, he was gone. We had had enough and told all, as did the infuriated boyfriends.
I always wondered what happened to that guy. It seemed to me, given the circa, that he would have been an ideal candidate for a tour-of-duty in Vietnam. Maybe he got one. Who knows.
And that's my tale about a real flamer.
