Once upon a time – two weeks ago?- there was a columnist named Hollan Holm. Among my many unhealthy habits – road rage, mocking muscular sports stars and putting the Q-tip in too far – I stay up late on a regular basis.

That particular evening I went to bed at 2:37 a.m., Hollan’s Alarm Clock Time (HAT). I spent my entire evening avoiding my homework and headed for a well-deserved procrastinator’s five hours of rest.

I clicked play on my Simon and Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits playlist, stripped to my boxers and nestled into my duck print sheets and green, plaid comforter.

I lay there almost two minutes HAT when I heard my roommate, referred to as Hollan’s Roommate, or HR from now on, fumbling with his keys in the lock. It’s always a surprise for me to see him this semester since he keeps two beds – one at a fraternity house and one in the Penthouse of Rodes-Harlin Hall. We also share a Tuesday/Thursday class. Given that relationship, I see him once a week . at most.

The only thing more surprising than actually seeing him was seeing his company, a girl.

I tried to say “Hey Hollan’s Roommate,” but in my drowsy, Garfunkel-induced haze I garbled it. I assessed the situation – a late night visit with escort in tow – and rolled over facing my wall trying as hard as possible to go to sleep. Unfortunately for me and my company, that never works. But at least I didn’t see what followed.

The love affair blossomed to lines like “Feeling groovy.”

“(HR), you’re such a pimp,” the girl said.

My roommate’s ego swelled as he asked her why she thought that.

She replied that some girls at the party earlier were talking about him.

My face slammed down hard onto the green and brown ducks of my pillow, and I lost my breath. His ego was smothering me and it was all I could do to keep my chuckles from blowing my “sleeping” cover.

I heard her say something about a three-letter word that started with S and rhymed with hex. But they couldn’t because according to her, “That’s Hollan Holm! I can’t believe he’s right over there!”

At least that’s how I like to remember it.

But, next came the distinct whizzing of zippers and clanging of belt buckles as pants hit the floor.

I had to break this up with some clever punchline. “Hey HR, can I borrow some sleeping pills because I’m having the darndest time trying to get to sleep,” was the best I could muster. I choked on saying it from fears of stuttering it and flubbing the whole line.

Amid these thoughts, the room grew quiet and I heard him ask his guest, “Why are you staring at Hollan?”

My ego smothered the whole room.

But in my gloating, I missed the opportunity to end the situation.

Then came “The Sound.”

Words can’t describe what I heard. Running a fifty yard dash in snake skin cowboy boots filled with lime Jello comes close, but that’s not quite it.

I had to end this, so I plucked my glasses from my desk sat up in bed and looked at my alarm clock. It read 3:47 a.m. HAT. I then laid down without a word and without looking at HR’s side of the room.

“The Sound” stopped. There was no movement at all for the 20 minutes it took me to drift into a triumphant sleep.

The next morning I awoke hoping to see and recognize the girl’s face as someone I knew. But she slept face down on the pillow as I dressed, so I was denied true joy.

But do me a favor, look around as you finish this story. If you see any blondish-brownish haired girl with a face two shades short of stop sign red, tell her to stop carving my name into that baseball bat and give me a call. My roommate is conveniently gone most of the week. If not, he’s usually asleep.

Picks ‘O the Week

&#8226 Get your two-fer party on tonight at the combination Halloween Hootenanny and Zombie Ball. The Faculty House will be spookin’ with costumes, games, food and live music. The combo party will run from 8 p.m. to midnight.

&#8226 Halloween not your style, check out “Exclusives” performance tomorrow night at 10 p.m. For $5 you’ll get to see all the action at The Spot. The posters feature bling-bling Rolexes and a woman in a g-string. Sounds like a real hootenanny.

Hollan Holm’s roommate is a sophisticated sex robot sent back through time to change the world for one lucky lady. E-mail Hollan at [email protected].