The Terrorists Are Getting Desperate

So...as y'all know, I live in a dorm (and I'm Southern, apparently). I'm almost never there, since I spend my days dividing my time between my classrooms, my job, and my boyfriend's trailer house (we're country, y'all!). I got home at about 11 o'clock tonight, and...

for some strange reason, there is a blue pipe-cleaner twisted into a curlicue and Scotch-taped to the frame of my lofted bed.

Somebody's fucking with me.