The mind is simply a marvelous thing - tricking us into all kinds of irrational acts like prostate exams, bungee jumping, and super sized meals laced with enough fat to clog a truck stop restroom's urinal. So, streakers must have developed a way of transcending logical ties to clothing for greener soccer fields and shinier gym floors.

Shoot, streakers go way back before Lady Godiva rode naked on a horse through the streets of Coventry, England - beating her husband's dare (what a visionary fellow he must have been). I tried a similar dare with my wife involving a video camera and riding mower. She chickened out - said the lighting was bad.

Some streakers frolic in the buff so often it becomes a hobby - kind of like fly tying or collecting cobwebs - making for interesting party conversations:

Streaking is the manifestation of a deeply rooted inner conscious trying to express itself. I mean way down there with desires of passing gas while having your teeth cleaned.

To expose what makes a streaker streak, let's examine the findings of "the father of psychoanalysis" Sigmund Freud. His refreshing studies of the subconscious and, its relationship on repression and sexual desire are only slightly paled by the National Enquirer article I was reading about Saddam being alive and living in a Dallas shopping mall.

His work pointed to our psyche being divided into the id, ego, and super-ego. The infancy id wants whatever feels good regardless of reality. Ego develops because of our concern for reality and IRS audits. Super-ego is a product that factors moral laws into the mix. So I guess streakers are still at the infant stage with their ids hanging out there - being exposed - figuratively speaking, of course.

It's suspected streakers don't have the two-brain hemispheres of normal folks. They use this kind of super brain to make analytical and creative decisions simultaneously. Hard choices like shoes - no shoes, ski mask - no mask, and glitter lotion - no lotion come easy for these in-the-buffiteers.

Streakers rely on a keen mental processing ability to induce the nirvana euphoria required to get through the big exhibition. Here's what happens:

Sensory inputs from receptors transmit signals to the brain centered thalamus. From there, an over-developed, hyperactive hypothalamus (the emotion center) causes mayhem to break loose resulting in an adrenaline, testosterone, and estrogen imbalance. Think of it as 20 kindergarteners eating chocolate pudding out of an old bathtub with their hands tied behind their backs. They don't have any cerebral function going on either.

• Psychotherapy. A compassionate process directed at uncovering hidden secrets of the subconscious. Billions of little disturbing tidbits that even the President of the United States represses - no wait - he just mixes them up with his speeches.
• Electric shock. Careful placement of electrodes carrying a seemingly harmless voltage (a tantalizing 30,000 volts should work) is an excellent classical conditioning solution. When conducted in a caring, nurturing, poorly lit basement environment, promising results can be expected.
• Prune and water diets. Surprisingly, the psychological affects of ingesting mass quantities of prunes and water have yet been fully researched. Its releasing qualities are seemingly tied to a cleansing of the subconscious
- resulting in toilet bowl chants of confession.
• Hypnotism. Once thought as a fun parlor trick, eliciting the hypnotic state is growing in popularity faster than greased boar mud wrestling. While in a trance, streakers can be programmed to scoff at the invigorating, liberating feeling of nudity and accept the humdrum existence of a pin-striped suit.

Maybe we all harbor tiny traces of the streaker instinct, successfully controlling it daily by social pressure we've learned to embrace. Things like cotton underwear and sports bras. Heck, I'd be a big fan of leather thongs if it wasn't for the chaffing.

So if you ever desire to go streaking, just take all your clothes off and stand in front of a full-length mirror. Hey, not bad - just a minute I need to run a little errand outside…. Wow, that was cold.