You bolt upstairs and begin rapidly rifling through your mom’s cd collection. You come across her hits of the 50’s compilation from your local international department store and race back down-stairs after scribbling a note of strict warning you post on your bedroom door reading: “Scientific meditation, do not disturb: MOTHER!” You slide the disc into your cd player, (as an Archaeological Philisophical Engineer, you have an interest in items of archaeological interest such as Compact Disc players, the tools of your ancestors), clicking the repeat song function, you stuff some filthy clothes into your window hole, and slam the lights off. Laying back in perfect darkness, you let the consonant bliss wash across your naked skin. Ripples of inoffensive piano chords caress your body, your hands lightly brush down your stomach towards your mid section…. “NO BODY! This music is for science, not for dirty bath-time games!” You brush aside your lower nature, and focus on that which matters most…. What could Curtis of the Penguins be trying to tell you about cockroaches? The deeper esoteric purposes of doo-wop lyrics so often pass right over most people’s brains, but not you. You know such heavenly beauty could not exist on Earth without having a higher purpose. You feel a tingling at your thighs, “No fingers! Bad fingers!” you scold, before you realize the tingling is caused not by your own hand sausages, but by loving Earth Angels scurrying about your bare body. “Well… this must be at least a bit scientific” you think, as you begin to sink into the divine sensual pleasures of the forbidden dance of the sexpedals.