Being An Experiment... By Neil Gaiman

It struck me last night, after a couple of drinks, that I'd never heard of anyone experimentally testing the precise effects alcohol has on a creative writer.
I have in front of me a large bottle of scotch, a small bucket of ice, and a number of glasses. Also a typewriter, and some paper. All this in the spirit of purest scientific discovery.
My plan is this: I will drink whilst wrinting. Thus, we will discover whether, for example, alcohol really does enhance one's creativity; or whether, as some have claimed (with, I suspect, scant evidence), it causes a writer to become maudlin, aggresive, rambling, and to lose his or her sense of modesty, decensy, and restraint.
Quiet, please. I am about to pour - and consume - my first drink.
(Drink number one.)
There.
Does booze make one loquacious? Funnier? More intelligent? What is the relationship between alcohol and art? And what was it that poet said? You know, what's-his-name, rhymes with Heathcote Williams, made tents. Tip of my tongue. Omar Khayyam. "I often wonder what the vintner buys, one-half so precious as the stuff he sells..." Sheer poetry.
Excuse me.
(Drink number two.)
The word whisky, of course, comes from the Gaelic uisge-a-bagh, meaning water of life.
I wonder how many great works of literature have been created due to alcohol.
I wonder how many great works of literature have been held up due to people having put their Tippex down and not being able to find it for ten minutes until eventually it turned up right in front of them all the time.
I wonder why my glass is empty. Excuse me.
(Drink number three)
Where was I? Oh yes. Alcohol. Writing.
I don't know why people say that drinking makes people aggresive. Writers are not an aggresive bunch. We're actually meek and mild and polite. Even when we've been drinking. Especially when we've been drinking.
I don't know what numbskulled, guacamole-brained, gutless wimps would accuse writers of being aggressive. If they want to say that kind of stuff to me I'll be ready.
Drawn fucking typewriters at dawn.
Course they'd never show up. They got no bottle.
I got a bottle, which is oddly enough half-empty. And speaking as an impartial observer, the contents has haved no discernable effect on my writing whatsoever.
(Drink number five.)
Many writers such as for example myself have the TV on while working, because it is and educational instrument of great worth.
You can learn a lot from television.
Omar Khayyam was on the other day, no, hold on, it was the other one, Heathcliff Williams, anyway he was on TV going on about big grey buggers, long noses, flappy ears, not hippos, the other ones, elephants, anyway, he was saying that the average ejaculate of an elephant would feed and ant-hill for a year.
Which is impressive I suppose, but I keep feeling sorry for the ants. Just think about it.
I mean, somewhere around March some little ant is going to say "Oh no. Not elephant spunk again!"
"Eat your ejaculate, dear. Furnished by pulsing elephant testicles, that was. Full of vitamins and protein."
"But we bin eatin it since January! I'm sick of it. Can't we go and chomp leaves, or milk one of those little sticky buggers, climb all over your roses, you know. Things. Wossnames. Aphids."
And the other one says, "I'll have you know there's ants in hills not far from here that's be very grateful for nice plate of elephant come."
Poor little wossnames.
Ants.
I'll drink to them.
(Drink number seven. Or jus' possibly drink six. Hang on. I'll count the empty glasses.
Right. Drink five. Said it was drink five. Right.)
S'funny cos I have noticed along with many other great writers like Omar Williams and Hethcote Khayyam and people, how ones powers of inpiration start increacin practically exponentiallially under the influence.
Jus had this great idea fr a novel. No, s wunnerfl idea. Lissn. This bloke, right, some bloke, jus like this guy sort of bloke youd meet inna pub, good bloke always stans his roun, anyway, he meets this woman, an...
damlostit.
No, anyway, sagreat idea, cos he, um. Sjust like Romeo and Thing, you know, exzept he's in advertising, and she, I dunno, dyes her hair or something, dusn't matter, anyWay... In the en they all live happily ever aftedt, shonna b fuckig great you lissen, sellafuckin film rights anyday that calls for another drunk.
(Drink numbers six seven qnd eight well finish the bottle atuqaly.)
Whuwuz I?
Effec of drinkin on leterr creativity, thasswot.
Strrific.
Feel so bloody creative.
Feel absolutley cretive...
Actully feel a bit sick.
Escuse me.
Gotr escuse mysel.
Bak inaa minut.
o god.