E R N I E ' S H O U S E O F W H O O P A S S
note: information current as of november 5th 2001
As you all know, I am an avid fan of the best beer in America, none other than my beloved Sam Adams. The Boston lagers, the cream stouts, the cherry wheats, the golden pilsners, the winter lagers. I love them all, truly. Well, except for that dark wheat shit he put out once about three years back, but that was a fluke.
Anyway, I can remember the best Sam I ever had. it was about 5 years ago, I was at a party up at UMASS, and the guys there had a keg of Coors Extra Gold. The case of Sam I brought wasn't cold yet so I threw a six pack in the fridge, and indulged myself (ack) in the Coors. Several beers (if you can call it that) later someone reminded me that my beloved Sams might be ready for consumption by now. Sure enough they were, and my pickled tongue began to pulse and salivate as I popped the top off that frosty brown bottle (only shit beer comes with twist off caps). Ladies and gentlemen, I can tell you that first taste of Sam danced the tango across my tongue. Never before, or since, have I been so glad to pour a Sam down my gullet.
So here we are now some years later and I began thinking the other day, just how much *do* I love Sam Adams. Can a man put a price on such love and devotion? For ages men have been trying to do just that with engagement rings, wedding bands, fur coats and sports cars, so why couldn't I do it with beer?
I will do it for you here today in such a manner that you can not help but sit quietly as a lone tear will undoubtedly snake its way down your cheek. Behold, the power that is Sam...
Before I get into any numbers, let me preface this by saying that all these calculations were done using an Excel spreadsheet so while you won't have to worry about their accuracy, you will have to worry about text formatting in an email. Since some of you use formatted text, and some of you don't I'll do my best to make this look as esthetically pleasing as possible.
Given, that as of today November 5th, I have been LEGALLY drinking for exactly 3,109 days -- and when I say legally I mean as of my 21st birthday. I have tried to piece my nine years of drinking history back together as best as my clouded recollection allowed, and here's what I've come up with.
The numbers you see reflected before you do not include non-Sam Adams beer, or various mixed drinks that were a fancy at the time (Jack & coke in the dorms or gin martini's now). Also this year (29) is cropped to reflect the current date and does not forecast the number of drinks throughout the remaining portion of the year.
Yes, my drinking speaks to me almost as if it were a diary holding all of my dirty little secrets tight in the clutches of its bony and trembling hands. Clearly you can retrace the past events that shaped my life.
See when Flaherty-the-Irish-fuck moved into the dorms by the dramatic increase in Sam intake when I was 23, and then the drop off when I left the Air Force at 25. Then living with a girlfriend sobered me up for awhile at 26, only to see her move out at 27. I drank my sorrows away at first, but then was pretty careful not to let myself slip into alcoholism for awhile there, but then this year said 'fuck it' and put a bar in my kitchen.
Coming up for a grand total of 5,028 bottles of frosty cold Samuel Adams.
It's also noteworthy to mention that I'm predicting the third puke for this year. Numero uno was in Tel Aviv (actually vomited so hard I gave myself my first hemorrhoid...woohoo!). Second time was drinking with Puddy over Labor day weekend, and the third is a prediction that it'll probably happen before the year lets out.
Oh, speaking of which, Puddy did in fact present me with pictures of my drunk shaming. Whilst nobody's testicles made it into the picture with my unconscious body, a big rubber dick and a jar of mayonnaise did. I've embedded those in the spreadsheet for sentimental value.
Anyway, I way back when I remember buying Sam at the Class-6 for $4.44 a 6-pack. Yesterday I purchased a 6-pack for $7.20. Clearly you can see the cost of inflation of roughly $0.35 per six pack per year. Using these numbers we can see just how much money I've spent on beer over the past nine years...$4,744.91 or roughly $0.94 a bottle.
That's right just over $4700 dollars. Take a minute and reflect upon that number. Ladies, if your engagement ring costs less that $4,700 -- that means your fiancé doesn't love you as much as I love Sam's beer.
I could have taken that money and having invested it at 8% would have over $7,081, or just over $10,164 if I had done so at 15%. But alas, I have no time for hindsight nor would I trade my drinking memories (what ones I can remember) for anything, and so we must press upon with the analysis of my devotion to beer.
But how do these numbers stack up, eh? Well, let's take a look. To build upon an email I had sent last year, let's first look at height. Now, as beer bottles do not present us with a uniform shape but still hold the same 12oz fluid ounces that a can does, we'll use the dimensions of a can for this exercise -- 4 3/4" tall and 2 5/8" in diameter.
Diameter. Now using the formula to find the area of a circle (area = pi*radius^2) we can see that the standard beer can has an area of 5.41 square inches. I have consumed 5,028 of them, giving me an end surface area of 27,222 square inches. If we were to break that down to be one large can -- and yes I know Sam doesn't come in cans, but bear with me -- imagine one big fucking beer can that is over 15 feet 6 inches in diameter. Big enough to rotate a Lincoln Town car on if you were at an auto show. I drank it.
Height. Again, using the can's 4.75" of height, we can sum all that up and see that my tower of suds would be a staggering 1,990 feet tall. Think about that and here are some things to compare that to...
Hockey fans. A regulation NHL hockey rink is 16,331 square feet, and yes that is taking into account the rounded corners. That equates to 195,972 square inches, or multiplying that by the known constant of .554oz/cubic inch, we get 108,568 ounces of frozen water, assuming the ice if one inch thick. Take 5,028 beers at 12 oz each, and that gives us a grand total consumed of 60,336 ounces.
Therefore, I can stand proudly before you and declare that I have drank enough beer to fill an entire hockey rink with frozen beer that's over half an inch thick -- .556" to be precise. Think about being the goalie the next times someone comes up and skates to a halt showering your face with ice chips. Yummy.
Cargo space. Knowing there's .554 fluid ounces in one cubic inch, we can calculate that I have consumed over 58.4 cubic feet of beer. A 2002 Ford Taurus Wagon only has 38.8 cu/ft of cargo space, thus meaning I have drank a station wagon and a half of beer. The sedan? Bah, a paltry 17.0 cu/ft so I've drank just under four of those.
Weight. Water weighs 8.3 pounds per gallon. Beer, being a little denser, we will assume to weigh 8.4 lb/gal. We know there are 128 fluid ounces in a gallon, and I have guzzled 60,336 ounces, yielding 471 gallons of beer. Some fast math tells us that means 3,960 pounds of beer -- an astounding 1.98 tons -- which ironically is the weight of the Ford Taurus wagon loaded with mom and dad, two kids, camping equipment, and a 13 lb dog named Spot.
If cars ran on beer instead of gasoline, I could fill the gas tank of my truck (26 gallons) just over 18 times. Then assuming 16 miles per gallon highway travel (hey it's a V-8), I could pilot me beloved steed 416 miles before stopping at the local tavern for a fill up. That, for those of you curious, is roughly the distance from Boston where I live to drive home and visit my family in Rochester, NY. Take into account my entire beer consumption, 471 gallons, enough to get my truck up and moving for 7,542 miles... just quite enough to drive me from Boston to Kabul so I can kick someone in the nuts.
My car being much more economical, 32mpg with a 16 gallon tank yields me 512 miles per tank, and since I'll be able to fill up 29.46 times giving me an operating range of 15,084 miles, I'll be able to drive at breakneck speeds to Kabul, kidnap bin Laden, and drive him back for execution the States, and still not missing my dream weekend to meet Britney Spears.
Now, as of this writing, I just climbed on the scale -- 161 lbs. Given that beer is 8.4 lbs per gallon, which means if you were to kill me and skin me, my Ernie shell would hold 19.2 gallons of beer. Thus meaning I have effectively drank myself 24.6 times.
Breasts. Using some figured culled from a breast enlargement website, I present you with the following information...
That means that assuming even proportion of breast displacement among the female population (25% each), I have sucked dry the breasts of 644 women. What can I say? I'm a slut, I guess.
Now we have just two more things to discuss before I close this letter of love. I don't think my display of devotion could be complete without addressing the biggest side effects of drinking beer, and that being your dreaded hangover.
Urination. This will be brief. We all know alcohol dehydrates you -- which is the reason for all those hangovers in the morning. Drinker's rule of thumb is for every four beers you drink, you will effectively piss five back out. Thus your output is a 25% increase over what you consume. So very quickly, that means I've pissed 75,420 fluid ounces of squishy yellow, which is 589 gallons, which weighs (at 8.25 lbs/gal) just over 4,860 pounds. My tower of urine filled beer cans (Coors Extra Gold) reaches up an awe inspiring 2,487 feet -- almost one half mile.
I know, peeing is distasteful, so let's focus on the other side effect of your hangover... vomiting. Now if you'll refer back up to the initial numbers mentioned in this posting, you'll see the "vomits/year" column. Total those up and you get 54 acts of vomiting in my drinking career, all of which that dastardly Sam Adams had his hand in some way.
I read on a website that the human stomach holds between 1.5 and 4 liters of substance, for small to large persons respectively. Let us assume that I am middle of the road thus giving me a 2 liter stomach, and to error on the side of caution, that every time I drank myself sick, my stomach was only half full with stuff -- 1 liter. There are 34 fluid ounces in a liter. Let us further assume that when I did vomit, I didn't empty the entire contents of my stomach since most people don't, and that I only harf 2/3 of what's in it.
Thus yielding my usual vomiting assaults at 22.4 fluid ounces per harf.
Therefore my wonderful spreadsheet presents me with the following information:
Total amount puked is 1,212 fluid ounces, or just about 9.5 gallons. Those of you with small 10 gallon aquariums, imagine looking dreamily over at your tank to see your fish swimming merrily along in a mixture of beer, bile, blood, and half digested burritos. I think you're gonna need a bigger filter.
I think we'll all agree that vomit as a whole weighs more than water -- why else would it sink to the bottom of the toilet bowl so quickly? So let's say 8.5 lbs/gallon. So if I have vomited about 9.5 gallons, that means just about 80.5 pounds of puke. Mommies and daddies think of me next time you hug your middle schooler, or take your Labrador retriever out for a game of fetch!
Anyone looking to adopt? I have vomited the 90th percentile body weight of a nude 12 year old Chinese boy. Or if you prefer, you can go the other way with an 11 year old nude Chinese girl. I dunno why the girls weigh more than the boys, but that's what the site says. Or of course, if you prefer twins, I can give you two 6 year olds, one boy one girl. Burp.
And finally, let's look at just how much my vomit costs. We already know that I have invested $4,744.91 in beer, only to vomit 1,212 ounces of it back up, thus making my "Essence of Bile" a not so expensive perfume at $3,92 an ounce. I do not however vomit once single ounce at a time, it comes in handy 22.4oz value packs. So that means every time I go to your house, get drunk and vomit in your bathtub, I'm actually leaving you a housewarming present that would otherwise have costed you $87.87 on the open market. And ladies and germs, I *am* a giver.
But how does my vomit stack up against other common household goods? Glad you asked.
There you have it folks, proof that the only thing that's more important at a party besides me, is a bottle of good champagne. Hey, numbers don't lie.
And so in closing, I hope that I have demonstrated to you, fair reader, my love and devotion for the nectar of the Gods that we mortals have come to know as Samuel Adams Boston Lager. Truly, the best beer in America.
Hope I can borrow your toothbrush sometime,
All original material ©1997-2017 EHOWA.COM/ERNIESHOUSEOFWHOOPASS.COM - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
all other materials are property of their respective owners!