Gin horizon
The Schwarzschild radius of alcohol consumption, to give it its full name, is the radius of a sphere such that the gravitational force of ones 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[1] 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.
The radius differs between individuals and by reference to 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 hours later during the course of a heated argument about gender equality in an unpleasant cocktail bar in a strange part of town[2].
See also
References
- ↑ As often as not manifested as a nasty cocktail bar in a part of town you don’t recognize and wouldn’t, if anyone had asked you, in ordinary circumstances choose to enter
- ↑ A.k.a., a parallel universe