I turn now to a recent Associated Press item about sex and cheap beer, inasmuch as I have been advised by several colleagues to ``write what you know.'' The item is further evidence that witch-hunts always prey upon those who are only looking for love.

``ATLANTA -- Cheap beer is the leading contributor to the spread of sexually transmitted diseases, according to a government report that says raising the tax on a six-pack by 20 cents could reduce gonorrhea by up to 9 percent.''

Like most people who read this, my first questions were, of course: Whom did the government hire for this study, and how does one go about getting that gig? But it turns out the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta merely compared changes in gonorrhea rates to changes in alcohol policy in all states from 1981 to 1995. They found that, in years following beer tax increases, gonorrhea rates usually dropped among young people. They also found that whenever a certain Chicago secretary named "Dirty Evelyn" went on vacation, crab lice dropped 30 percent.

So once again, the behavior of a few irresponsible teenagers threatens my unfettered access to cheap beer, when my only crime has been to buy beer -- as well as various prescription medications -- for any child savvy enough to ask. And aside from the illegality of it and my complete lack of any moral center, is that so wrong?

But let's weigh this thing calmly. Sure, beer is one of the top three most affordable and palatable sources of cheap alcohol for teenagers (No. 2, almond extract; No. 1, Listerine), and yes, alcohol does loosen your inhibitions, or at least it did the last time I checked (Wednesday, 3:17 p.m.). But is that necessarily why teenagers catch social diseases? I drank beer all the time when I was a teenager and never caught anything worse than a little pneumonia from falling asleep with my head in an ice chest on Labor Day. I avoided gonorrhea and syphilis, and it was so simple: No one would touch me. No one would touch any of us. We were hideous.

Our skin was bad, our arms didn't fit the rest of our bodies, we recited entire Monty Python album sides, and when we tried to grow a beard, it always came out as two or three long strands of hair on vastly distant, unrelated regions of the face. And, incidentally, we smelled like beer. Now that's birth control!

If you want to stop teen social disease, you've got to ban anything that makes teenage boys desirable. Offhand, I can't think of anything that does, so there you are.

But taxing cheap beer? Think of the people who would be hurt -- those small, struggling brewers who just want to make a good honest beer that tastes like Gatorade and doesn't stain fabrics: The Blatz family, the Schaefers, the Strohses and the Schmidts (``The Brew That Grew in the Great Northwest''). What about the poor, suffering King Cobra family, the humble, hardworking Black Belt Malt Liquor brothers or the people who make pretty much any beer with the word ``red'' in the name? Should they be penalized just for giving Uncle Barry something to do with his hands while watching South Park?

(In gathering these brand names and checking the spellings, by the way, I had assistance from a massive Internet research tool called ``Ted's Beer Can Collection.'')

Sure, it's only a 20-cent tax, and if a 13-year-old kid can't raise the extra 20 cents for a six-pack, then maybe he shouldn't be allowed to reproduce. But look at all the taxes creeping into my debauched little life. An extra 20 cents here and an extra 20 cents there, pretty soon I'm spending 40 cents. And with the kind of beer we're talking about, 40 cents worth is enough to finish you. Pretty soon the teenagers and I will just have to sober up. And nobody wants that.

We're still reciting Monty Python sketches, and now you'll be able to understand what we're saying.