Coach Beamer didn't like me and, by the end, neither did my "frat brothers..."

I arrived at Virginia Tech as a football player with lofty dreams of success on the gridiron. However, after my first semester of abysmal grades and drunken episodes, I was not on Coach Beamer’s favorites list. I also was kicked out of the athletic dorm for drinking violations. So, I moved into an apartment with two guys in the Beta Theta Pi Fraternity. I lived there for another year and decided to pledge.

Well, after the brotherhood kept hounding me for pledge dues, I decided to drop out of the pledge class. Why the hell should I pay for friends if these guys would let me in their parties anyway?

With this dis-respect, I began a premeditated war on the fraternity house unmatched by any to this day.

I began a daily ritual of crapping in ziploc bags and wrapping the "gifts" in tinfoil. Then, I would write my name on the package before putting them in my freezer. This was to prevent my roommates from opening the "food". It was a serious disrespect to eat others food....(not that storing crap wasn’t a disrespect!).

What I did with these "gifts" is absolute genius. When ever they would have a party, I would load my jacket with these "gifts" and I carried a fork with me in my front left jeans pocket. Then upon entering the frat house, I would poke holes in the bags and hide these bags of crap throughout the house. I put them anywhere I could think of: in drop ceilings, under beds … anywhere I thought they would find them eventually when the smell really started ripening.

This pattern went on for about six months. Everyday I would get satisfaction in hearing that yet another bag of my crap had been discovered. One day I came home from class to find my roommates sitting on the couch not looking very happy. I asked what was wrong. They lifted up a shoebox containing seventeen bags of crap. Since my name was on the packages, lying was out of the question.

I asked them why they were going through my food since it was clearly labeled. They responded with severe screaming and yelling due to my feces having been in such close proximity to their food. They also went on to tell me how everyone knows I was the one hiding the "gifts" through-out the frat house.

I didn’t care. I had failed out of school anyway, and knew I was going home. So throughout the following semester, my friends would call and tell me of more "gifts" being found in the frat house.

The "gifts that kept on giving" continued to be found for about six months after I left, so my revenge on the guys was complete.

To this day, I still have a fascination with ways to use ones defecation as terror. However with dna identification so common in crime scene investigations, I have abstained from any more "uni-turd bombings" to this date.