Itís not so much the greatness of the machine itself or the quality of that which it dispenses, more the context of the act that sends you hopefully to its waiting knobs, change in hand, to which we bow down. And, sure, perchance it speaks more to our own personal experiences of hooking up at the Tavern, but, címon, if youíre getting ready to do the dirty boogie after the Tavern, you are embarking on a Sir Ernest Shackleton-caliber sexual adventure. For one, youíve got to brave the Tavernís menís roomópossibly the only place in city limits where cockroaches and rats fear to treadóand obtain the safe-sex playerís necessary accouterment. Then youíre going to be placing said item, which has lived in this environment for who knows how long, on a body part about which, well, guys tend to be rather protective. And then, perhaps bravest of all, youíre going to be going home with some guy or girl willing to let you stick your as-such-covered unmentionable inside them. Top that, Fear Factor.