Something is out there. Something evil. It haunts the streets. I prowls the alleys. As midnight settles all too comfortably over the sleepy town of Lancaster, the innocent lay peacefully slumbering in their beds, unaware of the danger that lurks outside their homes. Can anyone stop it?
The Hero - A lone shadow dashes across the roof of Barshinger Hall. A woman's voice, a shrill cry rings out in the night air - a plea for help! A brilliant, glowing symbol cuts through the swirling fog that lies heavy over the campus. It reads: "JF.: Johnny DeepFry. Who is this do-gooder who harnesses the Hitler Hairdo for good rather than evil? Why does he patrol F&M's paved paths at night?
The Damsel in distress - A Woman stands chained to the spire of Barshinger, her skirt billowing in the wind. Intrepid reporter Collette Shaw struggles against her bonds. "Help!" she cries as raindrops slice through the fog. "Surely Johnny DeepFry will be here soon," she tells herself. "Surely he will save me!"

The Villians - Below on the porch, two masked men stroke their chins. The Villiannous Mustachioed Duo, otherwise known as the Double Dean Ts, Trachte and Taber, mumble secret plans for world conquest, a despicable scheme dubbed "Operation House System." As they head back up the steps and reenter the building, a shadow streaks across the lawn, visible only to Reporter Shaw. She gasps and fights once more against the ropes that bind her, fragile fists clenching. She twists her head, straining to see.

Yelps and twin thuds sound from below. Shaw feels her bosom heave in relief. Johnny DeepFry has come. It must be him. No one else could have so easily conquered the nefarious Dean T's. A wind whips past her face, and seconds later, she feels strong arms undoing her bonds.

"Jonnhy," she whispers.

"Gimme some sugar, baby," the masked man replies. He winks and throws her a sparkling, toothy grin.
As Reporter Shaw and the liberal arts savior embrace, officers clad in banana-yellow force the Duo into the waiting cop car. The evilidoers are immobilized, covered in an unidentifiably greas substance. Johnny DeepFry's calling card, and oversized toothbrush, is stuck into each chest. They glare angrily at the couple standing atop Barshinger Hall silhouetted against the moon, but the couple takes no notice.

"Oh, Johnny DeepFry. It's such a mixed-up dangerous world out there. What's a poor girl like me to do?"

"Stick with me, baby, and you'll be fine."

"Do you think the coppers'll send them away for good?"

"Who knows, Pop-Tart. Who knows."

"Oh, Johnny. What will we do?"

"We'll worry about it later, sweetcheeks. Let's go to the Frycave and slip into something more comfortable."

Johnny sweeps the lithe young reporter into his arms and whisks her away to his hideout in the steaming abyss below Hartman Green. Johnny DeepFry has saved the day once more.

Who is this caped crusader who fills our hearts and empties our pockets? Who is this oily-haired protector of virgins and sorority sisters alike? We may never know, but wherever evil lurks, he will be there, cape flapping in the wind, hair immobile.