"I've told you a million times already, this stuff just doesn't work on me."

Vic ran his hand through the lionlike mop of hair atop his skull and shook his head. Taking a deep breath, he tried to get through to his lab partner again. "Lookit, Herbie, I realize you're all excited about this and all, but if we don't get serious about our thesis like right now, we're can both kiss our final grade goodbye."

Herbie put his hands on his hips, and lowered his round face in a show of frustration. "Vic, just hear me out one more time, I really think I can convince you." At saying that, Herbie's face split into a broad grin, his face reddening, making his dark hair seem brighter by contrast.

"What?", Vic demanded. "What's so damn funny all of a sudden?"

Herbie waved his question away. "No, no, it's nothing. I'm cool." Herbie turned back to the notes he'd scrawled all over the marker board of the class they'd been using for their study period. He referred briefly to the pages of his binder to check their accuracy. Vic liked to kid Herbie about his binder, with it's pasted-on image of an old Coca-Cola ad of a barefoot farmboy in a straw hat, trudging merrily along with a homemade fishing pole slung over his shoulder. Herbie had a thing for the whole farmboy image. Vic made a show of staring at the binder's cover, made a face that seemed to say, "Hyuk!" Herbie ignored him.

"It's really simple, man. I can't believe nobody else ever thought of it before." He grabbed up a yellow marker and began to highlight the previous notes he'd written out in black. "The body gives off a certain amount of heat, right? 98.6 and all that, yadda, yadda, yadda. It's a proven fact that when the body gets warmed just above that temperature, it tends to get tried, sleepy. Sleep is a natural trance-like state used in hypnosis."

"Okay, see, that's not exactly accurate, right there", Vic interrupted.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, you know what I mean", Herbie shooed the comment away. "Now, by simply defining the precise warmth, temperature, whatchacallit, of the human brain and focusing an artificial heat source safely on it--" Herbie circled his sketch of the human brain and scratched out "X"s over various points. "Trance states deeper than any ever before achieved are possible. Hypnotherapy, using the mind to overcome almost any illness, shit-- even flat-out brainwashing and mind control--!" Herbie looked back at his fellow student and began to giggle.

Vic tossed his folder onto the floor. "Okay, that's it. We both know this little fantasy of yours will not only never work, it can't possibly be proven. We'd need all kinds of funding and test subjects and time to run a set of complete WHAT the fuck is so goddamn funny?!"

Herbie pulled a chair over to Vic and sat down. He spoke through his broad grin. "So this could never work." It was a statement--a challenge--rather than a question.

Vic looked exasperated. "Well, duh!"

Vic leaned in close. "And what if I told you it already has, and that I could prove it to you?"

"That I'd like to see."

The snickering Herbie jumped across the small classroom to his knapsack and pulled out a pretty sizeable mirror. He had wrapped the 11x14" looking glass in a couple towels so as not to break it. He handed it to Vic.

"What's this, since we have no cash we're gonna use a mirror to reflect sunlight to get the heat you were talki--holy shit!" Vic saw his reflection and for a moment didn't recognize himself. Strapped across his nose was a rubber chicken beak of the kind found in novelty shops, and atop his head was a huge red rubber glove forming a mock rooster crest.

"What the hell is this?? When did you do this?!"

Herbie laughed out loud. "Dude, isn't it awesome?? You didn't even know it was there!"

Vic just stared at his own reflection in disbelief. "Herbie, I'm serious, when did you do this?"

"A while ago. Christ, I can't tell you how hard it's been to keep from just busting out laughing while you've been sitting there all serious, looking like Chicken Boy. Damn, you look priceless."

Vic was astounded. "B-but, I ran my hand through my hair. I felt my hair, I know I did!"

Herbie pointed at him, saying, "You thought you did. I implanted the suggestion that you not notice your, um, accoutrements until you saw your reflection."

"This--this is amazing. I still can't get over how--" he stopped. "Herb, tell me I didn't walk all the way over from the quad looking like this."

Herbie waved his hand. "Nah, nah. Just since you got here."

"In the room?"

"Welll...in the building, anyway."

Vic blanched. "Oh, shit. Across the lounge and six flights up. Muther fucker, I though that kid on the stairs was flirting with me. He was just staring at my--my chickeness! You asshole!"

"So take it off, I'll explain how you got that way."

Vic set down the mirror. "Well, you've got my attention now, if nothing else, I--" Vic continued to sit there, his arms resting comfortably atop his lap. He looked down at himself.

"Well?", Herbie prompted. "Go on, try to take 'em off." Vic caught the operative word: try.

Vic's arms remained in his lap. It looked for all the world as if he were just sitting there. There was no strained effort visible, no bulging muscles or popping veins. Vic looked at Herbie, eyes wide. "What the hell is this, did you paralyze me, too?"

"Try to take off your beak and stuff already", Herbie said again.

"I AM trying! I can't move my fucking arms! I'm really, really trying to lift my arms and absolutely nothing is happening. I can't move my arms. You did paralyze me, you bastard."

Herbie picked a pencil from his backpack. "Hey Vic, think fast." He lobbed the pencil at Vic, whose hand shot up and caught it easily.

Vic leaned forward, looking at the pencil in his fist. With his other hand, he reached over with no effort and began to turn the pencil over in his hands. "What the hell..."

Herbie leaned back against the teacher's desk, folding his arms and crossing his ankles. "I only told you that you couldn't remove your chicken stuff until I gave you the signal to. I never said you couldn't use your arms for anything else."

"But dude, you just told me to take the stuff off, why didn't that--??"

"That wasn't the signal."

Vic got up, chicken paraphernalia still firmly on his head, and walked over to the marker board. He stared at the scribblings that had seemed ludicrous to him only moments before. He tapped the board with his index finger and turned to Herbie. "So, you say it's all done with heat, huh?"