Quickly pushing me aside, they shoved a search warrant in my face and walked me at gunpoint to my own living room.

"Is there anyone else home," the officer demanded, his eyes boring down on me.

"Yes, they're upstairs — probably sleeping. What are you searching for?" I asked.

"Read the warrant," the officer replied shortly, while other cops bounded up the stairs shouting "Police! Search Warrant!"

I looked over the little piece of paper they had slapped in my hands. The warrant said they were searching for the items listed on 'Exhibit 6' But 'Exhibit 6' was no where to be seen. My mind raced, trying to think of something, anything, they could be looking for. Was it software piracy? Drugs? Did the thought police finally come to enforce the Communications Decency Act?

One by one, they brought my bedraggled housemates down to the living room, searching the couch and then allowing them to sit down. I quickly snuck a glance out the window, seeing for the first time the full extent of this operation. Cruisers were everywhere, and a full back up team was lurking by the sidelines, in case we caused any trouble. They even brought a van to cart us all away to the big house.

More and more cops poured past the front door, making a seemingly inexhaustible river of blue flowing through the house. They snapped photos, fished through our files, studied our bookshelves, frisked us all (despite the difficulty of hiding weapons in our underwear), and last but not least, as

we all sat there in the stunned silence that you might get when a dozen cops are holding you at gunpoint in your living room and turning your house upside down,