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March 9, 2009 | by  | in Features |
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Hyper-Beings from Beyond the Stars

When I was at school all the girls used to say to me “Oh Guy, you’re so cool and hard and macho and rugged.” I would just be all like: “Well don’t—‘label me’—yeah? Don’t…you know…put me in a box.” But some of those ladies didn’t want to listen, and wouldn’t leave me alone, especially when I reached level thirty in Dungeon Siege. Hey—all you single men out there—women love a level thirty character.

People nowadays ask me, a physico-biol-loogey student, why I think genetic engineering is bad. Due to the controversy surrounding this issue, the opinions are red hot, and it’s certainly not my desire to offend anyone, but I don’t want to go compromising my beliefs by selling out. I’m not just going to agree with you to keep the peace, man. I will smoke some of your weed though. And a beer, cheers! And a cigarette! Where’s your fucking manners? So just relax, and we’ll discuss this in a calm and rational manner. Unless of course you disagree with me in which case you are wrong, and I will sneer at you and be really condescending, which is just basic first year science. So you want to know why I disagree with genetic engineering? Well, one day I came back from a genetics lecture only to be told by my flatmates Ron and Dave that I had missed an incredibly dramatic ‘Wild Teens Go To Boot Camp’ Sally Jessy show. According to Dave, two of the four teens stormed offstage after screaming at their parents, another broke down and cried: which the audience loved. The last one attacked Sally and called her an ugly bitch! Wow! What an episode! After missing this I have felt that genetic engineering is just plain wrong. I mean, watching the teens come out, and hearing them swear at Sally, and then getting yelled at by Officer Buzzkill, and then they cry, and their parents cry—wow, I just don’t know how to feel. And I missed it all. One can see that in spite of all the wonderful benefits of science, it does bring this dark, subtle underbelly that I think is being used as leverage in the ever-popular science vs. ecology debate. I mean religion. Sorry, my mistake. Yeah, religion vs. ecology. Which of the two has the more fanatic followers? Only time will tell.

Today’s topic is of course the paper offered by Victoria University School of Biological Sciences “BIOL 333 – GENES & G-GNOMES: How to make gnarly genetic drugs out of molluscules” and it is totally interesting, like wicked-cool, mega-boss, word up to your mother homie. So dig it. Whitey.

Now let’s have a wee look at the scientific nomenclature for some of you “unscientific” people out there, you know, the “dumbasses” out there, the “morons” who don’t even know that RNA Polymerase mengoliates the corblondium through TGF – Beta synthesis of hydro atom protein-water electron.

So we all know who Gene is, but what is a G-gnome? Well, scientific reference works are unanimous in their definition: a G-gnome is apparently one of those annoying homie kids who hang out all day on Manners Mall asking passers by for spare change or a cigarette. According to Dazza “DNA” Night and Pete “Madmntnbykr” Smith, two skinheads from the Biology Department, these G-gnomes are evolutionary mistakes that we should selectively remove from humanity through genetic engineering. Which would be great.

So Dazza and Pete lead the genetic matrices stylings, with some cracking auxiliary lectures taken by Paul Atkinson and David Bellows. Paulie is apparently related to Rowan Atkinson, but refused to give the class a Mr Bean impression, even when I offered him a hit on my flatmate Rowan’s bucket-bong. Why would someone refuse a bucky? As a scientist I was suspicious and sceptical instantly.

Now let’s talk about class A drugs.

In one lecture, Dazza told us that he had caught some mice in his lab doing ecstasy. He cut up their brains in a scientific manner and totally tripped out on the colours, man, the cooolllooouuurrrsss, mmmaaannn. What a cool first person shooter that would make! Immediately the class commented on how much fun it would be to chase mice round while you’re on ecstasy, but no, Dazza insisted that the mice were on ecstasy. He was absolutely not on ecstasy. He was on life, and getting perfectly high off life in a totally legal and mature manner compliant with Occupational Safety and Health standards in a PC2 laboratory. I had never heard of that drug before. How much is a bag of life? Get me some of that stuff, man! Do you smoke or inject it? Is this the shit people are recommending to me all the time? Everyone I know is always telling me to get a life. I bet it’s a great drug, because students in the biology department have noticed how Dazza is always really excited and going off on rants about how amazing and cosmic biochemistry really is, so I might get in touch and try to sort some out.

Bear in mind this was in front of seventy-odd third year genetic students, so if he did admit to having ecstasy we would never leave him alone. I mean he would practically have a second job, and with all the different boys and girls in the class, we might get into some of the more “hands-on” practical genetics. Not that a horny dog like me would disapprove!

And at least that way I wouldn’t be missing the Sally Jessy show for no reason. Woo hoo!

According to Dazza he confiscated the ecstasy from the mice, and immediately sent for Pete to make sure that it actually was ecstasy, because the mice were saying they just found them on Dazza’s desk, and didn’t know what they were, they just found them, and were just on their way to the cops about it, not that they were going to nark on Dazza or anything. Pete, who is married with children—like Bundy, unlike Lundy—would love to get his hands on some good ecstasy. Unfortunately, neither of the two could decide for certain whether it actually was or was not, ecstasy, so they sent for Davo and Paulie, who were sitting in the basement fermenting yeast for their next hooch of homebrew, and talking NASCAR. Paulie had only had sixteen beers, and so was capable of rolling his eyes and giggling, but Davo was in a shocking state, wherein he was actually singing along to that stupid “I kissed a girl and I liked it” song. Needless to say, this was not the School of Biological Sciences’ proudest moment.

As a critical thinker, I began to wonder: How “frisky” were the mice? Were they any good in bed or were they selfish lovers? Were they good, romantic, slow-dancers? Would they put out on the first date? I immediately dissected one to find out.

Dazza and Pete both insisted that they had not been to bed with any of the female mice, but I wondered. Surely someone must go to bed with one of them. I took it upon myself to do so for purely scientific reasons, of course. The dissected one would be easier to sex into, I mean I’m not huge or anything, but there would be “more room” in there… if you know what I mean. But a live one would push back. Hmmmmm… decisions. Science is not as easy as I had originally thought.

I found it hard to catch the mouse they gave me, and after a half hour of frantic chasing round my room, it managed to escape. It lasted way longer than any of my girlfriends, so maybe mice are superior to women, at least as far as commitment goes. That’s not my opinion of course, that’s just science being impartial. I must say though, I didn’t get to try it out “in the sac” so to speak (egg sac of course) but it was sure committed to the relationship when I had it hiding behind the couch, one hand on my willy, the other on the frying pan ready to knock it out romantically and drag it back into my cave. Also I didn’t have to spend any money on it or drive it around. So it was a pretty damn sexy experience, apart from the total lack of sex. I have written about how to get a girlfriend in the past—well gentlemen—MICE! Get to asking some mice out boyfriendz, you can’t go wrong there.

My experiences with the mice left me wondering: Are there mice condoms? If not, should we make some? Should we encourage mice to have sex and take ekkies at such a young age? And do mice prefer house or jungle music when they trip? These are the important issues facing us modern geneticists.

One other thing: why is it taken as fact that people who play Dungeons and Dragons are total virgins who never have sex? I’m so sick of that attitude! I mean, I’m just about thirty, and I play D&D—and like I just told you: once I almost had sex.

Anyway, I have to go now. I’m meeting Dazza and Pete after uni today. Yup. Seeing them about a dog.

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