The Colby Echo

Issue date: 2/16/07 Section: Arts & Entertainment

Media Credit: Courtesy

Names have been changed to protect the guilty. We are scientists, opponents of ignorance and misapprehension everywhere. This year, our particular opponent has been the myths surrounding the effects of alcohol on one's performance in the amorous arts. Once again, we were roused to duty. Previous research in this field confirmed that alcohol does incline a man to indiscriminate passion; however, the notion that such increase in desire accompanies a decreased ability to physically realize that desire continues to vex the interested public. No more. Our elite team, John Aldwen, Kenneth Bits, Craydon Moss, and I, Murphy Geldall , would strike through to the bed rock of truth.

Only Aldwen was confident he could procure an admissible field test, so we decided on a lab test. After reaching the outer realms of intoxication, we would reconvene at the lab with "Pirates": low art with a high budget-the highest, in fact, in industry history. Discreetly, as befits gentlemen, we would then place lab coats over our laps and measure our responsiveness to the provocative performances on the high seas. Aldwen would test whiskey, Bits would test beer, I, tequila, and Moss would be the control, remaining sober in the name of science. Virile as we are, we knew we would need to approach our bodies' capacity to see any real results. Thus, we erected video recording equipment to capture any data our impaired minds might not retain. The equipment prepared, we sallied out with our beakers brimming, the spirit of science warming our insides.

The designated three hours later, the camera witnessed our return; we were evidently well-prepared for our endeavor to penetrate the mystery. "Show me your cargo," Aldwen kept repeating, expressing, in the best way he knew, the lengths to which he had gone-and to which he was yet willing to go-in the name of Science. Moss, with the most motor-skill to spare, ignited "Pirates," and the battle against mystery was joined.

Unfortunately, the motion of the ocean proved too much for me, my chest brimming, as it was, with gold tequila. A wave of nausea cast me onto the lonely shores of unconsciousness. My concerned collaborators confirmed that my sail had never been hoisted. First results: Tequila unrise.

The three remaining scientists sailed on. After ten minutes or so, results began to appear. "Twenty percent!" Aldwen called. Bits voiced similar findings. Moss, the control, was a bit higher. As the Caribbean adventure heated up, and blood flowed throughout those southern latitudes, the numbers began to climb like lookouts on a giant three-masted Spanish galleon. "Seventy percent!" Moss announced. "I'm the best pirate hunter in the world," Bits opined, and by all accounts looked it, rattling his saber against its sheath. But not all was well on the ensanguined tide: Admiral Aldwen was forced to court-marshall his boatswain for failing to salute. The HMS Whiskey's sails went slack and returned to port, crestfallen. Results: Hard liquor is jealous of its title.

Continued...

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