So I walk into the lobby of my dorm, and nothing is right. It was just like the flashback scenes in The Terminator.  Everybody was uptight, wearing camouflage, and stockpiling weapons.  I turned to the assistant coordinator John, who was making a pipe bomb next to me, and asked what was going on.

Apparently, while I was swimming, the world was conquered by demons, only they were mobsters too.  No, really! They were these little Italian men with their hair greased back, along with red skin, forked tongues, horns and “666” tattooed on their foreheads.  They all wore double-breasted pinstripe suits with black shirts and white ties.  They had nice hats too.

They were extorting our souls.  If we didn’t hand them over to the demons, they would cause us unimaginable suffering forever, but if we did we were doomed to burn in Hell.  It was a Catch-22.  We were damned either way, and the demons would stop at nothing until they had got us all.

However, their evil plans had hit a snag.  As the mobsters were raiding the centrally located Hendricks Hall, they didn’t expect retaliation from the Department of Military Science.  As the demon mobsters entered their wing, they were met with a volley of M-16 fire, ripping them to shreds.

“Spread out!”  ordered Major Montgomery.

            The cadets formed small groups and went on a raid throughout Hendricks, kicking down doors and killing every incubus they came across.

            Next, the ROTC students captured Cooper Science Hall, so the human forces had the additional firepower of the Chemistry Department storerooms.  After these two crucial strong points were captured, the ROTC students fell back and annexed half of the dormitories.  All able-bodied inhabitants of Centennial, Dearborn, Earp, and Rose Halls were placed into combat roles, while the spongy and weak reloaded spent shells, manufactured explosives, and served as medics.

Seeing the gravity of the situation, I volunteered to be a member on the assault on Ross Hall.  Besides extending our fronts, isolating the campus telecommunication and computer systems would prove helpful.  Ross Hall was a massacre.  The demons didn’t stand a chance, for there was nowhere to hide in the big, open computer labs.  It was cleared out before I arrived.

We were told to retreat back to the dorms, but we were so close to Hamilton Hall, which is at a bottleneck separating the art buildings from the dormitories.  If we could only capture Hamilton, we could contain the threat.  I signaled for a radioman and called the Major.

“Coons!  We need you to fall back and regroup!”  the Major shouts.

“Sir, I have a better plan...”

“Damn it Coons!  Fall back -- and that’s an order!”

“Sir, if we take Hamilton Hall, we can take that whole half of campus...”

“Negative!  If you go in there you’re as good as dead!  It’s too dangerous!”

“There are more dangerous things than demons out here.”

“Like what?”

“Like me. Coons out.”

I dropped the receiver and let it dangle, and you could still hear the Major shout, “Damn it!  Get back here!”

So I stood alone -- one man against an army -- glad that I could utilize the training and expertise that I had gained by passively watching a lifetime of cheesy action movies.

            I had kneeled behind a computer desk in front of Records &  Registration, occasionally poking my head up to pick off a demon with my M-16.

That was working all fine and dandy until I used up my last clip.

I made a mad dash, and dove behind the registration desks, taking refuge behind one of the columns of filing cabinets on each side.  That wasn’t going to last -- the demons were closing in, and I pulled out my trusty Colt .45’s and ran.  When I neared the opening where I dove in, I jumped, twisted in midair and blew the mobsters back to Hell in a slow-motion action scene that would have made John Woo jealous.

            I rolled upon landing, over to the other filing cabinets, where I quickly reloaded. Hiding there beside me was Sylvester Stallone, a rogue cop who was thrown off the force because he couldn’t play by the rules. We looked at each other, nodded, and ran out of there with guns blazing.

            Within a grove of trees not far from Hamilton, unnoticed by most college students, and intentionally passed over by orientation tours, lay freestanding a set of old bulkhead-style basement doors, rusted and neglected.  Next to it was a rough-cut white sign in the shape of an arrow, pointing down at the door.  “Hell,” said the sign in big, black letters.  Sly and I force the door open, and descend the spiral staircase into Hell together, where we punched, kicked, and shot our way to the doorstep of the man behind this whole scheme, Sly’s former-partner-turned mob-boss Tony Santoni, who was played by Tony Danza.  His headquarters wasn’t that impressive -- it was just a normal, ten-story office building.  Behind it was a wall of flame, burning with the agony of a million damned souls.  But if one were to ignore the setting, it would seem to be a typical office building.  There were lots of hot demon chicks in Hell, but none of them would go out with me.

We eventually made our way to the tenth floor, where we met Mr. Santoni face to face.  Having watched action movies all my life, I knew what happens when the good guys meet the head bad guy, and I took appropriate safety precautions by sealing myself in a bank vault, which was conveniently nearby.  I was right in doing so.  In compliance with the action movie algorithm, a massive gunfight broke out, and Stallone was hit in the left shoulder.

Santoni put a gun to Sly’s head and asked: “Any last words?”

So then Stallone gave a dramatic monologue about missing the fun times he had with his good cop partner, and that everyone can change.  At least that’s what I think he said -- it could have been something totally different. When Stallone talks, everything comes out as “adyaba-idjaba-wabjida.”  So the new Stallone/Santoni team opened the vault, and I ran around the lobby of the building, planting C4 charges on the support pillars.

“Won’t-cha new boss get pissed if we blow up his buildin’?”  mumbles Stallone.

“Eh, he can go to Hell,” Tony replies.

The office building imploded into a heap of broken concrete and twisted re-bar.  Then the heat from the hellfire melted the rubble, and it oozed away as a stream of lava.  Tony, Sly, and I return to Earth to find that no one has any memory of the demon mobsters, or any of the events that had occurred that night, except for us.  I told the story to my friend Heidi. She thought I made it up.  She also thought I was funny, and asked me out.