"Nope. The, aah, computer's down. Yup, whole state's blanked out." Legal creativity was flexing again. We were trapped.

Then, perhaps sensing that he was stretching legality too far, our minion of New Hampshire law offered us a choice. "Well, boys, I can either take y'all in for underage drankin', maynin you'd spend some time in jail and have a criminal felony on your record, or...I can tow y'alls car and let ya go."

Spittle sprayed and adrenaline soared as we unanimously and instantaneously decided, "Tow truck!" Tow truck!" Twenty minutes later our car and Officer Redneck disappeared into the night.

We had escaped the law, but were still trapped in New Hampshire. It was then, sitting in a hotel lobby squabbling about how the hell to get back to Boston, that we met the Moonies.

"You guys stuck here, huh? Want to get back to Taxachusetts? We got a van. Give you a ride." Apprehensively, not yet aware of our savior's religious affiliation, we climbed into their vehicle. Rapid us vs. homocidalslashers calculations spun through my head as the doors clicked shut. Soon, however, I realized that it was my soul, and not my body, that was in danger.

"You guys have heard of Reverend Moon, haven't you?"--and the Moonie monologue began. Two hours later, after an intensive course in geopolitical religious propaganda, Dave, Nate, Kevin and I were safely back in Mother Harvard's peaceful atmosphere of suspended legality and religious isolation.

The muffler and the Moonies are still in New Hampshire.