Category Archives: Experiment

The Panty Remover

Clothed and Helpless asks:ymdTa

Dear Dr. Cragglehold,

I heard from a friend of a friend that gin is the panty-remover.  But then I poured it on some panties and they didn’t come off – instead I got smacked and screamed at and had to run away.

What am I doing wrong?

Clothed and Helpless

Dear Clothed,

You have step one figured out – albeit rather clumsily – but you’ve forgotten the second part of the process.  You see, gin alone isn’t enough to remove such a lacy garment.  You need to provide a source of ignition such as a match or the glowing end of a cigar.

The reason gin is so effective at removing panties is that it burns with a dull blue flame.  Whereas gasoline or moonshine may ignite brightly and alert the wearer to the combustion process, the flame produced by gin is subdued enough that it can easily be mistaken for the glow of a black light on the frilly fabric in a dark nightclub.

You’ve got me thinking though, Clothed, about why gin is reputed to remove such a specific article of clothing.  Could the same process not be used to remove a parka, or a pair of moccasins?  What about bellbottoms?

To prepare for my experiment I once again called upon that most trustworthy of control groups – the college student looking for extra credit.  To my chagrin, however, the only volunteers that showed up to my lab were male, and those having been dared to do so by their peers.  Apparently my experiments have developed a reputation for being somewhat unorthodox.

I’d had Peabody fetch our supply of garments an hour beforehand, but had made the mistake of allowing him access to my supply of gin before he left.  It took some time to find him, but eventually I did.  He had unearthed a wealth of clothing in the form of a ‘lost and found’ box, into which he’d climbed, drunk, and promptly fallen unconscious.

Nevertheless, my subjects were stripped and fitted with panties, several of which were stained with one bodily fluid or another.  Peabody assured the complaining students that he’d correct the situation by sterilizing the garments, and immediately urinated on them.

At first I was upset with him, but after discovering he’d consumed our entire supply of gin I realized that his urine must doubtless be saturated with the combustible substance.  So I lit a match, touched the burning end briefly to each waistline, and found myself impressed at the speed with which the underwear disappeared.

Gin works quite efficiently to remove panties, I noted on my clear-plastic clipboard.  But what about other types of clothing?

Rich, the captain of the badminton team, was fitted with the retired costume of his team’s former mascot – Birdsley.  As the bulbous, beaked head was placed on top, completing the outfit, Peabody climbed onto a chair and soaked it down.

Upon ignition, however, the costume did not disappear in seconds as expected.  The yellow feathers burned long enough for the plastic frame beneath to catch fire, and soon a blackened, flaming Birdsley could be seen sprinting from my lab, into the gymnasium, finally becoming entangled in a badminton net.

There was a game in progress, and a quick-thinking water boy sprang into action, emptying a ten-gallon container of orange-drink over the heap of smouldering polymer athlete, effectively extinguishing the fire.

Fortunately, Peabody claimed responsibility for the whole fiasco, and spent the next three months in prison.  While there he was able to strike a deal with the Warden of the facility, granting us access to the prison population for future experiments.

All in all, this was a ‘win.’

Furthering the horizon of human knowledge,
Dr. Cragglehold, Ph.D.



Lodged in Traffic asks:paint drinky

Dear Dr. Cragglehold,
If an ambulance was on its way somewhere to respond to an emergency and it ran a guy over, do you think it would stop to help, or hit and run?
Lodged in Traffic

Dear Lodge,

The miracle of Science is that we don’t need to merely speculate.  We can find out for sure with a carefully executed Scientific Experiment!

My experiment began with a nine-one-one call.  I calmly informed the operator I had consumed a quart of ‘Smokey Lime’ coloured acrylic paint on a dare and I was worried I’d get it on my expensive shirt if I tried to vomit it up.  It was doubtful that such a scenario would be considered life-threatening; a variable I hoped would soften the resolve of the ambulance driver.  When the operator requested that I remain on the line I made retching noises and slammed the handset of the rotary phone on the receiver a number of times before hanging up.

Himself responding to the ruckus I was making, Peabody then entered the room to see if I was alright.  Assuring him that I was I invited him for a friendly stroll.

Partway to the hospital we happened upon the display window of a clothing store, at which point I paused and consulted my watch.  The ambulance was running behind.

Curious about my behaviour, Esquire Peabody asked why we had stopped.  In response I produced my clear plastic clipboard and informed him that I had been hoping to perform an experiment on our outing.  At that moment the siren of an ambulance plied our ears from the end of the street – it was swerving around rush-hour traffic and careening toward the University at highway speeds!

Looking from the ambulance to myself and finally to the clothing store, Peabody surmised the nature of my experiment and darted into the store.  Just as the ambulance was blasting by he tossed a mannequin in a two-piece negligee through the plate-glass window and right under the front tire of the speeding vehicle.

Broken glass and plastic body-parts were thrown willy-nilly about the street and sidewalk.  The mannequin was pulverized – quite graphically – and the ambulance driver slammed on the brakes, screeching to a halt.

For a moment nothing happened – the ambulance sat motionless, its ear-splitting siren echoing forcefully from the surrounding buildings.  I could see the driver and the passenger arguing heatedly in the cabin.  Finally, the vehicle backed up a bit, stopped, pulled forward, backed up some more, and the siren was turned off and on a few times in indecision.  One of the two paramedics yelled in a frustrated, although operatic voice, and they opened the doors.

The driver, who appeared to be the more authoritarian of the two, lifted a lace-draped thigh from the ground and showed it to his colleague with a chuckle.  Realizing it was a fake leg, the pair appeared relieved.

Satisfied with the success of my experiment I began to write the results on my clear plastic clipboard.  Hardly had I finished the first word, however, when an unmarked van came squealing from a nearby alley and plowed directly into the paramedics, sandwiching them between its hood and the back doors of the ambulance!

Exasperated, I ran to help, but I was stopped by Peabody as he stepped from the van.

“What have you done, man!?” I exclaimed.
“I’m helping with the experiment, Doctor,” he responded uncertainly.  “Aren’t we trying to figure out if Paramedics can use their healing magic on each other?”
“No, no, no…”  I said, shaking my head, which was on my palm.  “We’re trying to find out if an ambulance would stop if it hit someone.”
“Oh,” he said.  Then, after some thought: “We’d better get out of here.”

From the rooftop of an old chapel a block away Peabody and I observed two further ambulances: one responding to the catastrophe on the street, and one to my initial phony phone call.

As both were accompanied by police cruisers I found myself appreciating the bit of wise foresight that had me make the call from Dr. Buchanan’s phone.

So, in answer to your question, an ambulance would certainly stop and help anyone it ran over on the way to an emergency.  Although we may infer from the conflicted nature of our unfortunate subjects that the International Paramedics League needs to more clearly outline its policy for such a contingency.

Also, I have learned to fully brief Esquire Peabody on future experiments, although I must admit that the data his ‘mistake’ seems to have produced is unquestioningly valuable.

Green paint doesn’t taste like limes at all,
Dr. Cragglehold, Ph.D.

The Gun Crisis

Redhedjim asks:dildogun

How do we solve the gun crisis in The United States? How should one respond to an American who says “they goin take our guns?”


Dear Redhedjim,

To answer your second question, Esquire Peabody and I descended to the lower reaches of the United States – namely to a city called Baton Rouge in the state of Louisiana.  Resisting the urge to ask the locals why they named their little town after a bloody stick we simply nodded at folks we passed on the street.

Honestly, I thought we would have had to wait a lot longer to hear someone ask us your ‘question,’ but, thankfully, it seemed to be the first thing out of everyone’s mouth with a minimum of prompting.

Nodding and smiling at a barber smoking in front of his shop caused him to ask in panic: “They goin’ take our guns?”  Instead of answering his question I corrected his grammar, at which point he produced a shotgun from within his pant-leg and chased us down the street yelling “Whatchoo think yuh smart huh?!  Y’all hoity-toity wit yer edjoo-kashin!”  Needless to say, correcting the grammar of such a sentence is an incorrect response.  I immediately crossed that one off my clear plastic clipboard.

The second individual we encountered was a young girl still in grade-school.  Interestingly, she posed the question to us without being prompted.
“They goin’ take our guns?” she asked.
“Maybe,” Peabody responded, adding: “that’s a beautiful skirt.”
She became upset at the suggested possibility of losing her guns and immediately began screaming swear words at the top of her lungs.  In a panic I told her that Peabody didn’t mean it, and that he’d been trying to make a joke, but due to her extremely low level of education she was unable to grasp the concept of humour.  We continued on.

Frustrated, we decided to purchase a gun ourselves, hoping to better emulate the mindset presented by this strange culture.  We bought something called a ‘.38 Special’ from a man that didn’t seem to speak any intelligible language at all and resumed our experiment.

Outside the gun store we again encountered our barber.  Our first instinct was to flee, however he seemed already to have forgotten who we were, instead asking us “They goin’ take our guns?” again.  In response, Peabody pulled back the hammer of our pistol and said “Ain’t not goin’ be takin’ ma fire-stick wit-out gettin’ no crack-bang up in they’s face!  I’m’a secon’ amendment they’s fool idears!”

Apparently, that was the correct answer.  Our barber friend started whooping and firing his shotgun into the air in celebration.

So, in answer to your second question, the best way to respond to an American that asks: “They goin’ take our guns?” is “They won’t be taking my gun without getting shot in their faces,” followed by something about the Second Amendment.

In answer to your first question, how do we solve the gun crisis in the United States, my advice would be to abolish censorship.  You see, whether or not people have firearms at their disposal they will be less likely to kill each other if they are not sexually frustrated.  Combining the pornographic and Hollywood film industries would remove the American sexual taboo phenomenon, resulting in fewer sexually frustrated individuals with firearms.

Alternatively, masturbatory toys could be included with the purchase of every box of ammunition.  A sexy state is a happy state.  A happy state makes a happy home.  A happy home is a safe home.  Or is that the other way around?

Will travel for trivial answers,
Dr. Cragglehold, Ph.D.

The Calorie Counter

Not Quite Primed asks:calorie calculator

Dear Dr Cragglehold,

How much to paint my bathroom?

Not Quite Primed

Dear Notquite,

How much what?  How much paint?  A bathroom’s worth, I suppose.  How much time?  Probably all day – I’m not a very good painter.  How much effort?  Well, the ol’ college try ought to be enough.  How much energy?  Umm…

To determine the amount of energy required to paint your bathroom I decided to use the most accurate possible method: the Calorie Counter.  Esquire Peabody would be given energy in the form of food and would be asked to paint your bathroom.  The amount of food ingested would be entered into the Calorie Counter (mounted to my clear plastic clipboard) and converted to units of energy – or ‘calories’ – at the outset of the experiment.

The first problem I encountered was how to ‘zero’ the energy levels in Peabody’s body so I could be sure he was at no point drawing on energy reserves he’d previously stored as sugars or fats.  As the only reliable way to zero his energy was to eliminate the sugar and fat stored in his body Peabody was required to fast for thirteen days.  During this period of fasting I encouraged his body to eliminate fat by employing him to construct a Koi pond in my bedroom.  In addition to having helped hurry the preparation for our experiment, I continue to find the pond quite soothing.

Peabody passed out from exhaustion a number of times during the last few days of his fast.  When he could no longer be revived by a sharp stick to the ribs I injected him with exactly one-hundred calories of glucose and satisfied myself that I had his energy levels under total control.  I realize that the true human energy ‘zero’ is the point of death, but as such a state is still so difficult to reverse I hope you will be satisfied with defining ‘zero’ as the point that consciousness is lost due to starvation.

The following excerpts from my clear plastic clipboard represent my experiment carried out in stages.  To begin each stage Peabody was given nourishment and directed through the task of painting your bathroom until he lost consciousness.  To revive him – as chewing food takes energy and would throw off the results – I had a plug installed in Peabody’s belly.  With the plug extracted I was able to insert food items directly into his stomach, adding a great deal of accuracy to my readings.

1: Injection of glucose – 100 calories

-Subject regains consciousness, is encouraged not to speak as it may sully results.
-Subject rises to feet, appears shaky and weak.  Attempts to beg for food but is discouraged with laboratory taser.
-Instructed to paint your bathroom, subject uses social media to find out where you live.  Loses consciousness twice during search, but is roused with taser without much difficulty.
-Subject loses consciousness upon attempting to stand.  Taser technique unsuccessful.

2: Insertion of baby food, Apples with Ham, 4oz. – 70 calories

-Subject regains consciousness but is disoriented.  Physically aimed in direction of your house and ordered to ‘march’.
-Subject ‘stumbly’.  Makes it five kilometres before taser rousing technique fails.

3: Insertion of commercially prepared cheesecake, 1 slice – 257 calories

-Upon waking subject is pleased with the flavour of his burps.  Attempts to vomit into his mouth but is discouraged with taser.
-Subject walks the remaining eight kilometres to your house with little difficulty – emotional state suspected to be a fluctuating variable due to cheesecake eructation.
-Subject finds no one home and door locked, passes out after kicking in front door, unable to revive.

4: Insertion of ground veal, raw, 4oz. – 163 calories

-Subject given can of paint and brush, reminded of his task.  Memory seems unreliable.
-Paint application proceeding fairly well, all things considered.  Subject nearly finished one coat before fainting and spilling most of the can on fuzzy toilet seat.

5: Insertion of one packet powdered bearnaise sauce – 91 calories

-Subject unable to stand.
-Finishes painting bathroom by flinging paint from brush.  Loses considerable volume of paint to mirror, countertop, floor, and several towels, but nonetheless is successful.
-Subject loses consciousness again – unable to resuscitate after plenty of food and repeated taserings.
-Police arrive in response to silent alarm (in a record-breaking four hours) and insist on calling an ambulance.
-Police lose consciousness after repeated taserings, Peabody is dragged to safety.

So in response to your question, Notquite, it takes 681 calories to paint your bathroom.  It may have taken considerably less if a) you didn’t live so far away, and/or b) you weren’t so paranoid you have to lock your door.

Your Calorie Cruncher,
Dr. Cragglehold, Ph.D.


Sam asks:

Dear Dr. Cragglehold,

Would rolling around in nuclear/toxic waste really imbue the roller with a randomly generated super power?

Dear Sam,

Yes, but not necessarily at random.  It is a bit of a gamble, however, as ninety-eight percent of our sample did not survive the necessary dose.

Of the two percent that did most had acquired the often dreamed about power of “Invisibility, Flying, and Walking Through Walls,” although in each case the effect was temporary, ending when a “brilliant white light” seemed to demand that they move toward it or return to their former incarnation.

In Peabody’s case the light pursued him for several kilometres.  Interestingly, Peabody was able to lose it for a time by slipping into a brothel.  He reported being somewhat disappointed by the nature of the power, however, as it became impossible to interact physically with situations he encountered within the whore-house.  He summed up his experience with the phrase: “It’s not for everyone.”

When his powers had expired we discovered an added effect: the sludge had caused his DNA to mutate slightly!  A second penis began to grow above the first one.  Alarmed, I offered to remove it for Peabody but he cradled and protected it as if it were a native part of his body, exclaiming: “Now this is a freaking super-power!”

So you see, Sam, the comic books have not been lying to you.  Further, the low survival rate of our experiment illustrates the answer to a question you failed to ask: “If toxic waste imbues the roller with super-powers why doesn’t everybody give themselves super-powers?”

The answer to that question is: “Because there is only a two percent survival rate.”

With flagrant disregard for human life,
Dr. Cragglehold, Ph.D.