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The end of one crazy night with my wife, and my ex-wife!

The aim of the group was to dare the predator to come out, wherever he or she might be.

My plan worked. Unfortunately, it worked too well. On a Friday night, Brighton College women's basketball star Eileen Pimental was found unconscious, the victim of apparent aggravated assault and battery. She was taken to the hospital, where she nearly died a few hours later. The next day, soccer player Brian Keller was attacked. He too was viciously beaten. Fortunately, he too survived the ordeal. Unfortunately, the predator was still at large. The entire campus was panicking. Men and women wondered aloud who the predator could be. The victims couldn't tell what gender or race their attacker was. According to them, someone snuck up behind them and knocked them out. The rest, we knew already.

I redoubled my efforts to catch the campus predator. Unfortunately, the campus police got in the way with their instituting a curfew and constantly patrolling the campus. The entire campus was panicking. Some of the local women's groups decried the college's lack of success in protecting the female students from the predator. They started going on and on about patriarchy and all that shit. None of them were louder than Anna Brock, the tall, heavyset young black woman whom I often saw in my criminology class. She gave me dirty looks whenever she saw me talking to a black guy. Apparently, she considered all black men on campus to be the sole property of the black female students. Haters like her are common. I didn't pay them any attention.

My mind was focused on greater things. I wanted to catch the predator, whoever he or she might be. When trouble arises, people should stick together and find a solution. Name-calling and finger-pointing won't help anyone. Why didn't these people realize that? I mean, I'm only nineteen years old and I've already figured that one out. fortunately, someone else seemed to think like I do. I found a friend and ally in Arnold Campton, the tall and good-looking black stud who was the captain of the men's varsity football team.

Arnold wanted to catch the predator as badly as I did. His friend Brian Keller was one of the victims. Also, he told me that whenever assaults took place on a college campus in North America, the local feminists were quick to point the finger at male student-athletes. The so-called princes of power. Arnold didn't want to see his friends and teammates demonized. So he wanted to catch the predator and hand him or her over to the police before more madness filled the once-peaceful campus of Brighton College. He was a young man who had a firm head on his shoulders. I liked him already. With my new ally, I began patrolling the college campus. I would catch the predator before he or she struck again. That was my vow.

When night fell, I began strolling the campus. I was the only one. Arnold watched me from afar. He was my backup plan in case things got hairy. I walked to the field house, where most of the assaults had taken place. I sat on a bench, chatting idly on my cell phone like the ditzy blonde I was pretending to be. And surely enough, the predator came to me. I felt someone grab me from behind. Whoever it was, they were strong. I struggled but the predator wouldn't let go. So I grabbed my pen and stabbed the predator's thigh. The predator grunted in pain and temporarily let go of my arms. I whirled around and clocked the predator on the face. Take that, you evil fiend!

I stood over the predator.

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