From the It seemed like a good idea at the time department: The White Bigot was dying and the Black Soul Brother need time to prove his innocence...it's The Thing With Two Head. I think I actually remember seeing that in some old re-runs when I was just a little tyke. Ahhh, time flies though, doesn't it? I remember when this video first hit the internet two years ago. Now that little Air Force tyke is all done graduated and a Second Lieutenant.
Next Game Challenge. But first a quick tangent. If you noticed the last few game have a built in method to post your high scores to some centrally controlled location -- it cuts out the photoshop cheaters. This week is no different, and will test not only your mouse skills, but the size of your mousepad. Your goal is to keep your street luger on the board as he zooms down a hill. Sounds easy until you watch ther board start rotating 360 degrees on you. Again, trippppppy. I made it 264 meters before splattrering myself across the countryside. 562+ gets you on the leaderboard. How far can you make it?
Luminara, let's see how we made out. With a good score, but in third plane none the less, is Dennis with 661k. He of course was trumped by Mike with 745k the way Mike I almost deleted your score because the file was called "untitled8.jpg" - and you KNOW how I feel about using not using uniaue file names. In fact, I probably would have deleted you, if your swcore made an difference, because were bitch slapped by Nathan, who scored over a million points, and has the leaderboard entry to prove it!
Long time reader…first time contacting the site. Keep up the good work. The attachment I am sending is a picture of sign that had been posted up at a gas station’s pump that I unfortunately had to visit the other day…gas prices are killing me. The station put signs on all of the pumps explaining that they were out of all other octane grades besides 87. Someone proceeded to write a very truthful note next to it and another person wrote to show that he/she agreed. Just one of those stupid but funny things you come across during the daily grind…figured you might get a kick out of it. Take care, Jason
Celebrity look-alikes. Watch out, I think the Paris Hilton girl actually ate Tom Arnold shortly before the picture was taken.
Remember the fiery New Jersey tollbooth crash video I linked last week? Well, it seems the NJTA seems to be a little excited about its release on the internet. According to the complaint, the offending video has been viewed 19,833 times on YouTube, 189,037 times on LiveLeak.com and 6,933 times on break.com as of May 21. Less than 24 hours later, on May 22, the videos had been viewed 24,346 times, 213,295 times and 16,812 times, respectively.. Wow, that's hot. So all ye videos hosters out there... be careful before you discover an angry lawyer at your door
Long time fan. Just thought I'd turn you on to the motherload. The demotivators that you have been showing lately, all come from the web site despair.com ....errrr that seems to be the most complete list.Mark.
So like, if you're like, and Iraqi insurgent, right? And like, you wanna like, shoot some Americans and stuff, right. And you whip around the corner with like, your AK-47, like all big and bad in front of your friends? Then like you should learn to like duck or something, because the American snipers are like...pretty fucking good.
And like I always say: Hey baby wake up from your asleep. We have arrived on to the future, and the whole world has become... electronic. Supersonic. Supersonic. Electronic.
I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey's for a few cold ones. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 1655. Five minutes to go.
Full dress was hot in the August sun. Oklahoma summertime was as bad as ever -- the heat and humidity at the same level -- too damned high. I saw the car pull into the drive, '69 or '70 model Deville, looked factory-new.
It pulled into the parking slot at a snail's pace. An old woman got out so damned slow I thought she was paralyzed. She had a cane and a sheaf of flowers, about four or five bunches as best I could tell. I couldn't help myself. The thought came unwanted, andleft a slightly bitter taste: "Shit! She's going to spend an hour, my damned hip hurts like hell and I'm ready to get the hell out of here right,by-God, now!."
But my duty was to assist anyone coming in. Kevin would lock the "in" gate and if I could hurry the old biddy along, we might make the last half of happy hour.
I broke Post Attention. The hip made gritty noises when I took the first step and the pain went up a notch. I must have made a real military sight; middle-aged man with a small pot-gut and half a limp, in Marine Full Dress Uniform, which had lost its razor crease about 30 minutes after I began the watch. I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk. She looked up at me with an old woman's squint.
"Ma'am, can I assist you in anyway?"
She took long enough to answer."Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers. I seem to be moving a tad slow these days."
"My pleasure Ma'am."Well, it wasn't too much of a lie.
She looked again."Marine, where were you stationed?"
"Vietnam, ma'am. Ground-pounder. '69 to '71."
She looked at me closer."Wounded in action, I see. Well done, Marine. I'll be as quick as I can."
I lied a little bigger."No hurry, Ma'am."She smiled, and winked at me."Son, I'm 85-years old and I can tell a lie from a long way off. Let's get this done. Might be the last time I can come. my name's Joanne Wieserman,and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more time.""Yes, ma'am. At your service"
She headed for the World War I section, stopping at a stone. She picked one of the bunches out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone. She murmured something I couldn't quite make out. The name on the marble was Donald S. Davidson, USMC, France 1918. She turned away and made a straight line for the World War II section, stopping at one stone. I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her cheek. She put a bunch on a stone; the name was Stephen X. Davidson, USMC, 1943.
She went up the row a ways and laidanother bunch on a stone, Stanley J. Wieserman, USMC, 1944. She paused for a second, "Two more, son, and we'll be done."
I almost didn't say anything, but, "Yes, ma'am. Take your time."
She looked confused."Where's the Vietnam section, son?I seem to have lostmy way."
I pointed with my chin."That way, ma'am.""Oh!" she chuckled quietly."Son, me and old age ain't too friendly." She headed down the walkI'd pointed at. She stopped at a couple of stones before she found the ones she wanted. She place a bunch on Larry Wieserman USMC, 1968, and the last on Darrel Wieserman USMC, 1970. She stood there and murmured a few words I still couldn't make out.
"OK, son, I'm finished. Get meback to my car and you can go home."
"Yes, ma'am. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk?"
She paused."Yes, Donald Davidson was my father; Stephan was my uncle; Stanley was my husband; Larry and Darrel were our sons. All killed in action, all Marines."
She stopped, whether she had finished, or couldn't finish, I don't know. And never have.
She made her way to her car, slowly, and painfully. I waited for a polite distance to come between us and double-timed it over to Kevin waiting by the car."Get to the out-gate quick, Kev. I have something I've got to do."
Kev started to say something but saw the look I gave him. He broke the rules to get us there down the service road. We beat her, she hadn't made it around the rotunda yet.
"Kev, stand to attention next to the gate post. Follow my lead."I humped it across the drive to the other post. When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to the gate, I called in my best gunny's voice:"Tehen Hut! Present Haaaarms!"
I have to hand it to Kev, he never blinked an eye; full dress attention and a salute that would make his DI proud. She drove through that gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a send off she deserved, for service rendered to her country, and for knowing Duty, Honor and Sacrifice.
I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.
Ernie, Just read the last flight for 1st LT Jared Landaker, USMC, article on your website. Last weekend, there was a memorial service for a friend's son, Marine Sergeant Travis D. Pfister, who died in the same CH-46 helicopter, LT Landaker was killed in. Over 3000 members of the community attended, including four members of the Westboro Baptist church, from Topeka, KS. These pathetic scumbags, were never seen by the Pfister family, thanks to the Pacific Northwest chapters of The Patriot Guard Riders. The Patriot Guard Riders are absoluting great, I'm sure you know they attend memorial and funeral services, honoring our fallen military men and women. They organized a human shield, keeping the protesters out of sight from the Pfister family. The protesters were greatly intimidated by the people attending the memorial service and in the human shield, that they asked and received an escort out of town by two of our local police cars. They were barely there 50 minutes. I felt quite honored to have been part of the human shield and when the protesters left, I attended the memorial service. God bless 1st LT Jared Landaker, Sergeant Travis Pfister, and their families for the sacrifices they made. Below is a little snippet from his obituary from the local newspaper. "Marine Sergeant Travis Dwight Pfister, 27, died Feb. 7, 2007, when his CH-46 Sea Knight Helicopter was shot down near Baghdad, Iraq, while ferrying medical supplies to wounded military personnel. A memorial service is scheduled at 1 p.m. on Sunday at TRAC in Pasco. Funeral services were held Feb. 17 in Hemet, Calif. He was born July 22, 1979, the younger son of Richard and Lorrie Pfister of Pasco." I also attached a few pictures from Sergeant Pfister's memorial service. Over 500 motorcycles were counted at the service. Thanks, JR
Ernie. My stepbrothers' son was killed in Iraq 3/14. Sergeant Robert Carr, United States Army, died on his second tour with 3 weeks left and was coming home. I think it was in 2006 you had a very nice story posted about a soldier who stayed by the side of another who had died there, following him from Dover to his home town. Please send me the link to that. That was an amazing story. Scott.
May 26, 2007
Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.
May 25, 2007
Twat Did You Say? I Cunt Hear You. I Have An Ear Infucktion.
Well, just in case you weren't sure personal responsibility was completely read, read this. See, when I get high on drugs, pound down 50 tequila shooters and climb behind the wheel... then slam my fucking car into a tow truck assisting a disabled vehicle... it's not my fault, no way!. No, it's the other drivers of the vehicles I hit because they were in my way. Yeah, talk about getting screwed over. That's not the kind of protection our legal system is designed for. God, I hope they countersue the famiy and take every fucking penny.
Since we all know that being forced to form naked pyramids, being barked at by dogs, and -- gasp -- having a woman seeing you naked is such inhumane treatment, here's the Al Queda handbook on torture. Better make sure your drill batteries are charged and your iron is plugged in before you get too far into it. Because no matter how you run the numbers, violence is funny. Especially when it's done by stick figures with sniper rifles! (Have fun with the jogger, that prick is fast...)
You know, I always get a feeling on whether or not a particular Game Challenge is going to be a big hit, and I was right about Luminara...
Sweet Jesus.....you made it to level 47? I choke well before level 20 because my eyes are crossed and my brain is about to explode. With all respect: Only a Ritalin induced, chronic masturbating, pimpled faced, never dated in his life fucktard could get to level 47. You need to show some ID! - John
Hey everybody, I’m Marlon Sims from The Ultimate Fighter 5 and this is my blog for FHM Online. After seeing this week’s show, I’m disgusted with Matt Wiman. I had a great respect for him and now I think he’s a conniving bastard for the things he was saying. They were totally uncalled for. Him and Gray Maynard talked about my stories on the show and basically called me a flat-out liar. If I had known that was going on before I fought him, I would have been angry, but I wasn’t. I was doing a job and I was there to fight.
These guys bet their friend $30 bucks that he wont jump into a fast food restaurant dumpster that is filled with thick grease. They lost. Besides, he did keep his skivvies on, thank goodness. Kind of poor video quality, but made me throw up in my mouth a little, none the less. The degreasing in a car wash was a nice touch, too.
Rocket Rescue. The good news for Drew? He improved his score to 10,310. The bad news for Drew? Dino got a 10,355. Which of course brings us to what's next. And if you're anything like me, you'll be saying, "TRIPPY!!" with each new level of Luminara. It's like Asteroids, if Asteroids were on crack, steroids, and meth all at once. It is somewhat cpu intensive, so like it says, you might want to close out any other windows (except EHOWA of course!). I made it to level 47 of 50, but like always, any scores from completed games trump those of incompleted. I'm serious, it's like an overdose of action. It's fucking trippy.
Ernie, I just sent a photo of myself in front of another FAG sign. I think a contest would be neat to see who can send the most photos similar to this one. Nice website. Keep up the good work. Brad
Uhhhhh. Well... uhhh. You just go ahead and run with that, Brad. And I'll just kind of sit back and watch and see how it works out for you. Just to show you there's no hard feelings, I had Brad walk around with a sign offering 'free hugs' - no takers. But when he changed his sign to 'free slaps' -- well, you can see for yourself here.
Although the video quality isn't all that hot, watching three chicks dance topless is kinda cool.
Wow, the double digit riddle sure started some controversy. I was surprised at how many people jumped on this. And likewise, how many of you really had a hard time with it. We'll get to some notable replies but first... reason #28,372 why he is the king of all media? Catherine Bell's measurements are.... 35-28-34 and she wears a C-cup. How do we know this? Because Howard Stern measures her live on his show. Oh honey, do you know what you do to me?
the number of the riddle you posted is 45. By the way, love the site man, been a fan for years. Mike [ernie says: mike's reply was the first correct one, received at 11:05am]
consists of 2 digit's (4 and 5 - making 45) . The number is equal to five times the sum of its digits (4+5 = 9, 9*5 = 45). If you add 9 to the number, the order of its digits is reversed (45+9 = 54). that makes the number 45, if it's not, you're a cunt. rob penn, uk [ernie says: couldn't have said it better myself, you cunt]
I sent my none-too elegant solution to your math problem, just wanted to let you know your fans may like to look at tits but also have the mad math skills too. Have enjoyed your site for a long time Ernie, all the best to you. Todd [ernie says: todd's proof]
Love your site. The answer to the puzzler is 01. 0 + 1 = 1. 1 x 5 = 5. 1 + 9 = 10. Cool brain teezer. Stumped everyone in my office w/it.Keep up the great work.Woody in AZ. [ernie says: wow. so close, and yet so far.]
Hi Ernie! The answer for you number question is 45 (add 9 = 54 ... numbers reversed) also numbers added together (4+5=9) times five = 45. You have one of the few (and they are getting fewer & fewer) web sites that I find myself looking forward to checking out on a daily basis. Keep up the great work! That being said, still ... The RED SOX SUCK! Scott [ernie says: thanks scott, but i hope you get aids. GO SOX!]
45. I’m sure you are getting a shitload of people with the correct answer, but I am more important than all of them…Puddy [ernie says: good to see my tax dollars aren't going to waste.]
A certain number consists of two digits. The number is equal to five times the sum of its digits. If you add 9 to the number, the order of its digits is reversed. What is the number? Confused? Don't be, I'll give you the answer tomorrow.
Remember, this is why it's pronounced "Okl-aaaaaaaa-homa." And yes, they really do grow that big out there. Trust me.
The first person to get on the board in Rocket Rescue was Steven. He was then trumped by Dave, whose score I can't post because the picture is too cropped, and he was then trumped by Topher, who officially made it on the game's leaderboard. So do like Topher does and remember to put EHOWA in your name!
The chicks aren't naked, but Stuff put together a guide to tell what kind of bikini a girl is wearing. The copy is kind of stupid but the pictures are awesome. I love the triangle tops. Keep up the awesome work, bro. - Promise
Sorry, but Tom's response is not correct, yes some engines use continuous ignition, in case of a flame out, but what you're hearing is a repetitive non-recoverable stall, not the fuel reigniting as a result of the continuous ignition. Oh well still like the site...all the best. Pete
Well Tom, you heard him, Pete says "Fuck you."
This video is from Garden State Parkway at the Egg Harbor toll booth. Later, Mike
Personally, I like the guy who drives around the fiery wreck, goes through the EZPass lane to pay his toll, and just continues on his merry way like nothing happened. Yep, welcome to New Jersey and the information age!
It's amazing what you can do with a little contract control. Take for example, these celebrity pictures, which you can quickly turn into topless ones just by tinkering with the contract slider. And yes, there's even a few of Jennifer Lopez for those of you with jungle fever.
Huh. So I wonder what happened when his father came home?
Anyway, I'm sorry for no update this weekend. I went extra hard on my girlfriend and had to call in a surgeon to fix things up. Vaginal repairs are expensive!
And in finally getting my computer back up and running, following the lull in action over my vacation - time to get back to a Game Challenge. Here's a little gem I linked in a thumbnail about three weeks ago, and I got some pretty good feedback from. It's called Rocket Rescue and you're going to have to use a little physics and luck to rescue your astronauts. There's usually more than one way to finish a level (I'm on 12 as we speak). You can get your name on their main site's high scores page - so if you do, remember to put EHOWA in your name somewhere.
And thanks to everyone who wrote in over the weekend to tell me the 757 flameout was a compressor stall. Uh... no shit, Sherlock. I wasn't questioning what the big fucking flame out of the assend was, I was questioning what the rhythmic puffing was... Tom came to my rescue...
Ernie, The answer to the 757 going poof-poof-poof after ingesting the bird is due to the engine igniters. To prevent a catastrophic flameout during takeoff the igniters are left on auto and spark continuously. The bird ingestion caused engine damage and a flame out, raw fuel continued pouring into the engine and the next spark causes it to reignite. The damage causes it to flameout again and the process repeats until the engine either clears or is shutdown. Tom
Anyway, you have got to check this site out. Just wait until you get to the pictures of what this guys room-mate left! My html skills are nonexistent so I just copied and pasted. Sorry about that. I love your site and have since 1999! - Trevor
So all these people are all hyped up over getting their first peek at the Fantastic 4 and the Silver Surfer, but I don't know what the big deal is, do you?
I Am Soooooo Fucking Glad He Doesn't Play For The Red Sox.
For you guys who couldn't figure out the puzzle I posted on Monday, here's the solution. And before you get your panties in a twist, no, I didn't know you could route utilities through another house either.
And for you girls who might be hard up like Tarsha is, you can always get a cute little doggie like Charles. We'll just hope your significant other doesn't take revenge on the poor pooch.
The never ending battle between bird and plane engine continues, but this time around we'll have to call it a draw. The latest oooh-aah video to be circulating around the internet is the Boeing 757 sucking a bird into one of its engines during takeoff. I bet the passengers were shitting little green apples at that one. But hey, the planes are built like a rock. So let me ask you, oh airplane nerds out there, what's with the rhythmic poof-poof-poof from the engine? I kind of figured the engine woudl fall rather silent after the ingestion. What gives?
So let me distract you with these reader feedbacks for a minute while I go take a piss...
Hey Ernie. One of our clients had one hell of a Monday. While attempting to pull a dump truck out of a mud hole in Northern Idaho, he inadvertently started a little fire. Enjoy the pics. - Ray
Happy belated birthday by the way. Ive enjoyed your website for quite some time, but this is the first time I think I might have something to contribute. A friend of mine is dating a woman who is going through a divorce. He has for some time been taking the guise of another woman with the man she is divorcing in an attempt to get some information from the guy. Just lately he started getting a little bit more than he was asking for. By the way, the guy is 6'5" 375 lbs, not every day you get to see something like this. - Kevin
Yep, goes to show you two things. One, Hummers are nowhere near as tough or as cool as people think they are. In fact, a new Toyota Landcruiser competing in this year's Baja 1000 passed one like it was standing still. And second, people seem to forget the internet isn't as anonymous as it was five or six years ago.
So I began my Wednesday morning like I do any other; make a fresh pot of coffee, check the news, take a crap, and then start surfing for links to feature on EHOWA. I always save the babe gallery ones for last, electing to get the 'safe for work' ones organized first. But for some reason, I chose to do them first yesterday; not that the order really had anything to do with it. Anyway, I always screen the sites I link to and make sure they're clean; and by that I mean there's no spyware or malware being installed. The occasional popup is a matter of life if you're looking for free boobs, but spyware I can't stand. If I find a site trying to install spyware, I simply won't link it. But yesterday something went wrong. Yesterday, I was surfing around a new site, looking for some fresh blood and suddenly my computer became angry. Very angry. Before I could CTRL-ALT-DEL or my anti-spyware could react, my pc all but froze up. A DOS window spawned and this frightened me because in a DOS window, you can do damn near anything to a computer you want to.
Now I'm more tech savvy than the average joe, so I felt pretty confident I could undo whatever harm has been done to my beloved eMachine. Suffice to say I spent the greater part of yesterday trying to rid my pc of this... this... this AngryWare. But try as I might, I could not. It wouldn't let me roll back using System Restore. I couldn't restore the registry from a backup. I couldn't restore the registry using any of the three anti-spyware packages I have installed. All I got was popups. After popups. And a hijacked browser. After more popups. Even without Internet Explorer open... popups. Then my mouse stopped working. And after a reboot? Popups. Go into Safe Mode and try another system restore? Popups. Yeah, it was so bad Jerry Falwell died when he heard the news. No shit. My wang got hit hard.
The one saving grace being unlike a virus attack, my data was still intact. So around eight o'clock last night I finally threw myself on the sword. Moved all my data to an external USB drive, unplugged it, said a short prayer, and booted off the manufacturers restore cd. Wait, wait, wait. Patch, patch, patch. Update, update, update. Install, install, install. And after a night of heavily drinking every time Kiefer Sutherland says "Dammit", I'm back online. Although I did lose some pretty cool fucking links that I can't find again after three hours of trying. But no, I won't be linking to the site that infected me, so don't worry.
I love when I hear other people talk about how they wouldn't do Lindsay Lohan, like she's some diseased whore or something. And you know it's always someone talking tough and trying to act cool. Well let me state for the record, yes, I'd hit it.
This picture shows what kind of an education you'll get in Arkansas.
This picture is of a cowboy. Or an Elvis impersonator. Or a mermaid. Or maybe all three at the same time?
These are pictures from a motorcycle accident last week on Highway 169 here in Tulsa. The guy was going over 125 mph around 2 am when he hit the back of the Roadway truck. The truck was going normal speed and did not know what had happened. He was drug approx a mile before the truck stopped. Highway 169 is known for late night speed driving and trick driving of motorcycles. This guy's friend was killed one week before this on his motorcycle going 120+ on Highway 169... Steed.
Okay, I'm back from my latest roadtrip, and yes, I managed to get through West Virginia without getting pulled over this time. I'd like to thank Hertz for their AAA discount. Toyota for their Matrix (again). And Garmin for making the GPS, which without I'd still be stuck in traffic on I4 near Orlando. Oh, also Kelly's for making some sweeeeet Roast Beef.
In what has become a tradition of mine every few years, I now present to you the offical State Of The Sam address. Please remain standing while I enter the room...
...please hum the first three verses of Hail To The Chief quietly to yourself...
No score and fourteen years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new beer, conceived in deliciousness, and dedicated to the proposition that all domestic beers are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. Pissy watered down pseudo-pilsners face off against strong full-bodied lagers in every bar in this great nation. We are met today, on a great battle-bar of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that bar, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. That place, is my stomach. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this bar. The brave beers, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what we drank here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced -- good tasting beer. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this bar shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that barstool of the beer, by the beer, for the beer, shall not perish from the earth.
Let us all look inwards now, and see just how much delicious, tastey Sam Adams has nourished my body over my lifetime.
Again, my usual disclaimers before such a post. All calculations have been done on an Excel spreadsheet and for the sake of measuring convience in regards to height, I'll be using the dimensions of a 12oz can of beer (4 3/4" tall and 2 5/8" in diameter), instead of a 12oz bottle which presents us with a nonuniform shape.
Now, all hail King Sam.
Ahh, the memories. Although really, not so much.
Again, you can see the peak of my alcohol intake during my stint in the Air Force, followed by a quick lull of heartache, followed again by in surge of complacency, and now picking up steam since I've moved to Florida and discovered Bikini Joe's bar down the road from me.
To date, I have consuimed 6,812 bottled of yummy Sam Adams beer. Well, technically 6,813 as I'm drinking one right now on the morning of my birthday, but I'm not going to count this one because I'm only half finished.
If it makes anyone feel any better, I can prove that our economy is doing better, as inflations seems to have lessened in the past four years. My most recent count of this nature was in July of 2003, and in such I reported, "the cost of a six-pack of Sam Adams has increased on the average of $0.26 per year, or almost four and a half cents per bottle per year." I am pleased to announce that figure has decreased to $0.229 per six pack per year, or $0.038 per bottle. If that's not proof of an economic turn around, then I don't know what is. Is beer not the yardstick by which man is measured?
And again, returning to report from yesteryear. Had I taken all the money I've spent on beer (grand total of $6,671.94) and instead kicked it into a mutual fund earning a modest 16% annual return, I would be sitting on... $25,861.81. The starting MSRP of a brand new 2008 Dodge Charger SXT? $26,980. So any of you out there driving arounbd a beater and wishing you had a new car? I could have bought you one, but I drank it instead. Sorry.
Let's say however, that I has chose to invest this money in the stock market -- given that I've been in the computer/communications field for the duration of my drinking career -- Microsoft seems like a worthwhile investment, don't you think? Microsoft stock (MSFT) has undergone five 2:1 stock splits from 1994 to 2003. The adjusted stock price on May 3, 1993 taking into account all these splits would be $2.691 per share, thus my $6,671.94 beer fund would have purchased me exactly 2,479 shares of common stock of Mr. Bill Gates' pet project. The current value of MSFT (9:12am on 5/2/07) is $30.19, thus had I chosen the career path of an stock broker instead of a drinker, pledging my full support to the future monopolist instead of the brewer and patriot, I'd have a bank account of $74,851.68.
The starting price of one of the shiny new redesigned2007 Chevrolet Corvette Z06 with 505 horsepower and goes from 0-60 in 3.7 seconds? $70,000. Although truth be told, I'd probably hang on for another month or so, and go with the Ron Fellows edition for $77,500.
But while we're on the top of cars, let's talk about something else. Some religions tell us that Jesus turned water into wine, and while I admire his drinking spirit, find wine a little too fruity for my tastes. I'd have probably turned water into Sam, but alas, for the sake of argument, let us instead say I say to hell with all the hippies and their vegetable oil powered cars and instead transform my vehicles into beer powered fun machines. We already know that I've consumed 6,812 twelve ounce bottles of beer, yielding me 81,744 fluid ounces of delicious problem solving beer. That equates to a big ass 638.6 gallon gas can filled to the brim.
My Dodge Ram with a 5.9 liter V-8 it kind of tired. it's got 198,000 miles on it. Its gas mileage is down to a painful 11 miles per gallon on the highway, assuming a cruising speed of 70mph. Go even faster than that and not even Gates himself could keep up with my gas bills. So after I walk on water, say "Hallelujah", wave my magic wand and dump my precious beer my truck, I could travel a respectable 7,024.8 miles before sputtering on empty. Significantly less than I used to, but hey, it's an old girl. But for those of you environmentally conscious, my TT is still quite the gas sipper and manages to maintain it's very respectable 31 miles per gallon from it's 1.8 liter 4 banger. Again, more hocus-pocus from me and before your very eyes, I will climb in my beer powered car and drive 19,797.4 miles on my consumed beer.
The circumference of the Earth at the equator? 24,901 miles. Dammit. This means my "Round The World Tour", is still not possible. I've got to drink 164.6 gallons (1,756 bottles) of more beer. So, as I had previously predicted, look for me sometime in January 2011 assuming I keep drinking at my current pace.
But let's ratchet up that miles per gallon a bit, shall we? Let's rock out on a 2007 Yamaha Vino Classic which yields 115 miles per gallon. Ah ha! Now we're talking. After a quick paint job to put some flames on it, I can scoot a grand total of 73,441 miles. Or about 2.95 trips around the Earth, or about 1/3rd of the way to the moon. Not quite close enough to rescue the crew of the Apollo 13, as they suffered their explosion at 199,990 miles. Suck it, Tom Hanks.
But wait, there's more.
A 12 oz bottle of frosty delicious Sam Adams Boston Lager contains 160 calories, thus over the course of my drinking experience of 6,812 bottles, I have consumed a belt busting 1,089,920 -- over one million -- calories from beer. Now, to put that into perspective... the number of calories in McDonald’s Big Mac? 540. Thus I would have to consume 2,018 Big Macs to equal my beer intake -- about one every 2.5 days. Which is nothing compared to the calories in a Burger King Enormous Omlette Sandwich which yields 730 calories. I'd have to eat 1,493 of them, about one every 3.5 days.
But I'm a man and I don't count calories, at least not for the sake of vanity. But let us think in terms of how beer enriched and empowers us to be productive in our lives, shall we?
We know that I have extracted 1,089,920 calories of rip-roaring energy from my precious beer. Furthermore, we know there are 3,500 calories in one pound of fat. Thus my beer drinking escapades have produced 311.4 extra pounds of Ernie -- almost two more of me! I should be triplets! Typing at a computer burns only 114 calories per hour, which means I'd have to type continually for 9,560.7 hours to burn all these beer calories, or just over 398.4 days straight without taking so much as a piss break. That means if I had my supply of beer all in one shot, I could answer 1,720,926 emails during this year long drunken daze, assuming a rate of 3 emails per minute. That's right, I could write mocking letters to all these British people, not that they'd actually be able to understand anything. but the Brits are our friends, so instead I'll email a picture of a cheeseburger to all the hungry people in China.
But let's exert ourselves a little bit; after all I've got love handles to lose, right? Running at a pace of 12 miles per hour, burns 984 calories per hour, or 82 calories per mile. That means I could run for 1,108 hours, covering 13,292 miles with nothing more than a magical bottle of beer in my backpack. Think about that. I can run further drinking my beer than I could burning it in my truck's engine. I could leave sunny Southwest Florida, run 13,000 miles to Australia and watch that guy land. And that lazy bastard took the easy route.
I continue to achieve an environmentally friendly 20.8 miles per gallon of beer, about that of a 1999 Buick Regal.
Now I know many of you enjoy the height comparisons that can be drawn using the beer can dimensions I've previously stated. If you were to take all 5,716 four and three quarter inch tall cans of beer (work with me here) and stack them atop each other, just how tall would my drink be?
Now, since there's proposals to build the Burj Dubai even taller, I'd better get cracking.
The average American male is 5'10 with a vertical reach of 7'1". The average French soldier is 5'7 tall so I will assume their vertical reach to be an three inches shorter as well at 6'10", or 82 inches. Thus you would need to stack 394 surrendering French soldiers (arms high in the air!) on top of each other, to equal the height and power of my drinking binges. Coincidently, that's about the number that surrendered to the Mexicans near Huetamo.
That means those pussy French can take TWO of their pussy Eiffel Towers and stack them atop each other, toss on TWO of their pride and joy Airbus A-380's wingwip to wingtip, and they're still my little French whores by 206 feet. It would take the wingspan of the mighty Boeing 747 to finally conquer me. Or, stack 30 more of those cheese eating surrender monkeys to finally equal my beer tower. Bitches.
There are 1,728 cubic inches in a cubic foot, yielding 957.3 fluid ounces in a cubic foot, yielding 7.47 gallons per cubic foot. Thus my 535.9 gallons of been would fill 85.4 cubic feet of cargo space, or just a little more than that of a 1960 Dodge pickup truck. Or a Honda MDX with the second and third rows folded flat.
Boobies. Thank goodness the average size of the American breast has grown from 34B to 36C. A C cup breast is 245 cubic centimeters, or 8.7 fluid ounces per breast. Thus every pair of nice perky C cup tits you see each day is 17.4 fluid ounces staring at you. Or in my eyes, 1.45 beers. Thus I have drank 4,705 pair of American tits, filled with beer. Truly, mothers' milk, eh?
In closing, the part I know you all await with reckless abandon, the vomit analysis.
I have vomited an estimated 65 times so far from drinking too much Sam Adams. From last report's research, we know 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 -- an even 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 two-thirds of what's in it, thus yielding an average 22.4 fluid ounces per vomity goodness per session.
Total amount puked so far for those of you keeping score? 1,459 fluid ounces, or 11.4 gallons. Over one full gallon since my last State of the Beer adddres. That's enough to paint 1,120 square feet -- a room 22' square with 8' walls, including the ceiling -- in a little something special I call Shade 'de Puke. You'll have to match your own curtains, though.
Given it's cost me $6,671.94 to buy the beer that induced said vomiting, we know I'm paying $585.50 to produce one gallon of beer vomit. That's $4.57 per fluid ounce. But as previously stated, I don't puke an ounce at a time, I puke in 22.4 fluid ounce value packs, depositing my stomach contents onto anyone or anything lucky enough to be standing nearby. But don't cringe; think about the gift I've given you! Surely you could put on ebay and fetch the fair market value $102.65!
A 34.0 ounce bottle of Dom Perion still sells for $109.99, or $414.08 per gallon. My puke is worth $585.50 per gallon -- over $65 per gallon more than it was four years ago. Thus my vomit appreciates at an average 3.02% per year.
I'll certainly drink to that. Number 6,813 is on the board!
This Yankees fan was a terrorist, ergo we must kill all the Yankees fans in order to conquer terrorism. Let's start today!
Well, me thinks there's a slight problem with Dungeon Ball. It's a cool game, yes, but unfortunately I don't know if it's going to be suitable for a Challenge, since I received some 14 screencaps like this one. Notice no score or time. I just kind of presumed that any game with an end goal would somehow provide some sort of measure once it was completed. Not so much. But to his credit, the Evil Dobie was first to send it in, followed 30 minutes later by Matt, Clem, and Azria. Sorry guys. You'll have to shoot for vindication with Doodle -- and if the first time you kill a baddy on level 3, if you don't piss yourself laughing, then you eat cock.
If your mouse has the 3rd button or a clickable scroll wheel... using that when hovering over a link also opens it in a new tab which keeps your second hand free or typing or whatever. (input via several people)
What's the difference between men and women? When given the chance to spend Christmas in New Zealand, guys would prefer to ride jet skis in flood swollen rivers, while girls will just go to the beach. Admit it, the jet skis looked like fun.
Ernie, This beautiful bird paid us a visit this weekend. It was a great thrill to be in the air with her. Sgt. Hughes
Dude, you gotta listen closer. I said to get me a Bud Light!
A few months back, you posted a link to how cocaine was made. I looked in the archives but can't find it - do you still have it? Thanks, Dino.
So dinosaurs are doing coke now? Huh, who knew. Must be a little awkward, you still freeloadin off Fred and Wilma like that.