Toss the lizard-skinned emu about... dance with the cackling toads... Bill's fiftieth blog entry has come upon us.

Perhaps I should not begin a blog at 9:33 on a Saturday morning. I would prefer to be in a dream-state bliss, prancing about fields of clover and chasing after Mr. Rabbit. But no, I find myself at U of M's helpdesk as part of my transition to second-tier support.

Perhaps one might make a conjecture from my opening thoughts that sleep was something I had little of last night. One may be right.

I thought I would have a simple evening last night– a simple evening to myself with a night of Everquest (and I quote from its website): "a 3D massively multiplayer fantasy role-playing game... an enormous virtual environment-an entire world with its own diverse species, economic systems, alliances, and politics"

It was a simple evening, until about 2 in the morning. I heard my doorbell go off. This is not too odd of an occurrence, for it has gone off randomly in the past, but this time it chimed three instances in a row. I checked the apartment's shared peephole and my window blinds but saw no one. Once again, I thought the wireless systems– the phones, the networks– were playing havoc on the hardware.

I went back to the realms of EQ bashing some Muddities. As I was medding (a portion in the game which requires the character to sit down and meditate in order to recoup), I was watching "The 13th Warrior" with Antonio Banderas. I heard a knocking in which I thought was my door, and since it sounded internal to our apartment, I assumed it was my neighbors upstairs. I was watching the DVD on my laptop and I didn't think those speakers really hit that hard, but I figured it could be possible. I really don't want to bother them for they seem to be really nice. I checked the peephole and saw no one, opened up my door just to look further, and.... nothing. Curious. I thought I left all the ghosts at Willett.

As I turned to go back to my place, I heard a heavy breathing akin to the Big Bad Wolf and the Three Little Piggies. In a ravaged voice, he said something along the lines of "PLEASE SOMEBODY BE THERE." The heavy breathing gave me the impression that it was the mauling variety of a lunatic. It was not the breathing one makes when he pushes his body to the max, but rather more of a near-hyperventilating with the insinuation of ripping another's limbs off and then dancing in wicked merriment under the glow of a full moon. You know the type.

What can I say? No doubt most people are like the 38 neighbors who had heard or observed some part of the fatal assault on Kitty Genovese but did absolutely nothing about it. For whatever reason, that's just not me and I still take up the "champion of freedom and justice" mantra of my Taekwondo training.

I went back into my apartment, grabbed my 9mm, and flipped the safety off. Despite the secure confines of the Third Little Piggie's brick house, I decided to risk more than my house getting blown away.

I drew closer to the door and the erratic, near-demented breathing continued. I always figured serial killers had a bit more poise in their workmanship. But, the only serial killer that has recently existed in this region is the one down in Louisiana. I don't fit his typical victim profile of a young, attractive, college woman and the authorities already nabbed him. But I guess even serial killers got to start with one kill somewhere, and the nearby railroads do add to the past trends quite nicely.

I cautiously opened the front door of the shared outside access, fully expecting to have a shadowy entity explode into me. Immediately, I saw a white male in his early 20's, around 5'8 and 180lbs with crossly cropped blonde hair, and a clean look about him. He looked distressed and breathed wildly. He looked young. He took note of the dull glint of my sidearm in which I held in my back hand, with its nose pointed to the ground. There was no particular surprise, amazement, or fear in his eyes. I figured he had already garnered a familiarity towards guns. He told me he was a neighbor from one of the apartments across the lot and asked if he could use my phone.

Did I look that stupid? Ok, so I was wearing my football jersey backwards and it wasn't due to the rush of the moment, but rather I had been doing so the entire night. Regardless, a discussion ensued, and I initially said "no". I made a realization that I was still stuck with considering tangible solutions in a wireless world. Bah Bill! Thus, I offered my cordless phone and joined him on my porch, keeping my body between him and my sidearm, playing out scenarios in my head methodologies in which he could assault me while in contrast, he was attempting to call his girlfriend, a grandmother, and an uncle down in Horn Lake.

As I stood there, I would learn his story, primarily with what he told me directly, since he had a hard time getting anyone else but me at such a late hour. He had his own personal demons within him: the demons of alcohol and anger. Apparently, it was not always that way for he had a Christian upbringing, but now at 22, those golden yesteryears are far removed. Today, he knows existence as an alcoholic, living with his girlfriend who is the mother of his child. In the past two weeks, his daughter's grandmother took the girl from the care of his household which has provoked his inner rage.

The one who was 2-3 years younger than myself shared with me that he and his girlfriend had been drinking earlier that evening. In this deadly combination of alcohol and anger, an argument ensued. It all heaved upward for a roaring, rageful climax and with frustrations exploding, he shoved her to the floor with a thunderous, vehement force, thus causing her head to slam to the ground.

As one might expect, this led to a trip to the emergency room. In a sorry state of depression, he went to a gas station, bought a gram of cocaine, and vigorously inhaled it in less than a minute with the hopes it would make his heart explode and end the chaos of his life.

Thus, he found his way to my doorstep, cupping his hands over his mouth, seemingly unable to take in enough oxygen.

It was not the first time he had inflicted this betrayal of trust upon her and already had a conviction for it. Yet, he told me he loved her completely. He was unlike the befuddled, stereotypical wifebeaters on COPS. He was a likable fellow, with a good job that supported the two of them. His manner of dress was akin to middle class America. Clean. The exterior showed no signs of the dark turmoil just beneath the surface of his polo shirt.

Our conversation continued upon matters of God, family, and responsibility. I gave what advice I could as the sprinklers merrily sprayed in a bouncy, jealous retribution upon the cars. It is quite the fate to be unable to change one's perspective. Generally speaking, I find my advice is not as "good" when I am holding a gun and still plotting scenarios of how I could be assailed.

Due to his contact with his uncle who most likely contacted the girlfriend, a squad car pulled up. Considering that my gun permit was back in the house and I had no holster to put away my gun, I grew nervous. He made a suggestion to go in the apartment, and though I did not like that option, I already knew more about him than he knew about the stranger. I did not consider him to be evil (no doubt the same thoughts shared by Ted Bundy victims). Considering the alternative of holding a gun with two cops in front of us, and in retrospect, two very blind cops, I had to take the better offer. If that guy in New York was hit with 41 shots for holding his wallet, well... I don't think I've ever fumbled with my keys so much.

He stood in the hallway for a bit and asked if I wanted him inside the apartment. He was a bit shook up, obviously, and sat on my couch. I took up position across from him. We talked about the eventuality of the situation. He asked for the whitepages so that he could make another call. In all of these events, it all felt very surreal to me, like a peculiar dream in which one wakes up and wonders what all that was about. Someone he knew pulled up in a truck, near the police car which was now parked in a space. He went to the shared apartment door and shook out-of-control due to his fear of the situation.

Throughout our talks that evening, I underscored the concept that tonight was a new era to take the hard road to make things right. As he continued to tremble in both action and speech, I placed my arm around him, gave him a brief hug with ensuing words of encouragement, and opened the door. As he stepped out, I told him now is that time.

One would think I would continue to watch from behind the blinds, but I didn't. I went back to my room. There was nothing more I could do. The only thing I could share with the officers would be philosophical meanderings upon how we all have demons within us... and that's just not the talk of free doughnuts. Twenty minutes passed and I took a gander out the window. The occupied squad car was parked with its headlights illuminating the path to the apartment from across the lot.