Gin horizon
As we move into the holiday season (known amongst the Godless Europeans as the “MiFID Season”[1]) a reminder of the absolute limits on forgiveness imposed by the very fabric of the space-time continuum itself. Hence The Schwarzschild radius of alcohol consumption, to give it its full name, is the radius of a sphere such that the gravitational force of one’s judgment to get up, brush oneself off and go home, is finally and irreversibly outweighed by the nuclear forces of inebriation, meaning it is certain that you will collapse into a black hole of despair by morning. Your only hope — and it isn’t a very edifying one — is to be ejected into a parallel dimension[2] as an incandescent spume of cosmic gas.
The Schwarzschild radius is also the point at which gravitational forces are so strong that no coherent message can escape to the outside world. Memories in and of you will be suspended for all eternity from this time, at this time. Yes: at this time. Hence: not edifying.
The radius differs between individuals by reference to their mass and the alcohol in question and can be described by a formula which, when you need it, you will have no hope of comprehending let alone being able to manipulate.
But know this: champagne is very, very bad.
The threshold comes quickly, can be crossed without visible warning, and sufferers may only realise they have crossed it hours later during the course of a heated argument about gender equality in an unpleasant cocktail bar in a strange part of town[3].
See also
- Schwarzschild radius of document comprehension
- Schwarzschild radii generally
- Frutti di bosco — not the risk-free bon mot opportunity you might think.
References
- ↑ A joke that shall grow old, as we who are left grow old.
- ↑ As often as not manifested as a nasty cocktail bar in a part of town you don’t recognize and wouldn’t, if anyone asked you, usually choose to enter.
- ↑ A.k.a., a parallel universe