In Phoenix, you spend a huge chunk of the year wearing as little clothing as possible because it’s a mind-scorching 116 degrees out. If this sounds like a benefit to you, than you haven’t seen what raging obesity looks like in hot pants. Not a pretty sight. But everyone pretty much gets a pass because your wardrobe is limited to shorts, t-shirts, and (if you’ve been hitting the sauce) roller-disco outfits.
Then fall hits and when you wake up in the morning and notice that the forecast calls for a high of 70, walking into your closet is like walking into the Gap. “Wow! Long sleeve shirts! Sweaters! Look, jackets! Ooh, and these funky shorts that go all the way to my feet!” “Those are called pants, Greg.” “Yeah, right! Pants!” Now I don’t get into clothing much, and my idea of style is wearing clothes with matching stains. Kind of like Garanimals for people who drink. But it’s awesome to be able to wear all of the other shit in your closet that you’ve ignored for so long.
Then fast forward a few weeks and you find yourself dressing like Nanuk of the fucking North because everyone turns into utter cold-weather pussies down here. “It is fucking 34 degrees outside! Where is my down-filled parka? Are the batteries in my electric socks charged? Crispy-fried-Jesus-in-a-bucket woman, I’ve still got exposed skin showing here! Get me my fucking ski mask!” It’s pathetic. I grew up outside Chicago, and I can remember sledding for hours with the temperature below zero. If I had to pump my own gas in that kind of weather now, my fucking legs would crack and fall right off of me.
On to this week’s hypothetical question which was submitted by loyal reader eternalskeptic. He previously submitted the question “Can there be too much money?” and now wants to know “How many clowns can you fit in a biplane?” Normally I’d give someone else a chance to submit a question, but the other entries were really fucking lame, and some of the other regulars aren’t carrying their weight. *cough cough* JUICE *cough cough*. Also, this question is all kinds of fucking nuts. Eternalskeptic, whatever you’re on, cut the dose. Preferably by sending the difference to me.
Ok, so now let’s get into how much of a giant fucking science dork I am. I actually have an answer to this question, and I can prove it. Yes, I gave this question thought, applied my knowledge of physics and the theory of relativity (really) and did some large number calculations. I really need to talk to my wife about getting laid more often.
First off, lets make some assumptions: The small fucking seat in the back of a biplane is roughly 3 feet or, let’s call it an even meter wide. And lets say that the area we can use to cram clowns into is a sphere 1 meter in diameter. Simplifies the math a shit-ton. And because clowns are sad fucking pigs who are stuffing their fat fucking faces when they’re not molesting kids, let’s say the average clown weighs in at 100 kg, or 220 pounds.
If you’re getting the impression that I’m not a big fan of clowns, by the way, you’re as correct as clowns are assholes. I understand why people have a deathly phobia of clowns: They’re freaky and evil-looking. I don’t share that phobia – I question the need for their very existence. I’m told clowns are supposed to make people laugh. When was the last time you laughed at a clown that wasn’t on fire? When you were, what, three? Clowns are really fucking unfunny.
Oh, and I don’t smoke any more, but if they started allowing it in restaurants again, I’d start smoking again just in case I would get a chance to do this: You know how in some restaurants they send a clown around to make balloon animals for kids? And you know how every once in a while the clown will see a couple of young lovers and walk up and make a balloon flower or a balloon heart for them? I’d smoke non-stop in a restaurant just in case a clown made that mistake with me. I’d look over at him and say, “That’s nice, but I ordered a steak, asshole!” Then I’d pop the balloon with my cigarette, kick his fat ass over and stand over him, raining down horrible obscenities until the clown crawled out the door, weeping large puddles of clown makeup as he went. Then the entire restaurant would break into wild cheering, because no one likes those fucking guys. Just bring us our fucking food already!
Anyway, we’ve got a sphere 1 meter wide to fit in as many 100 kg clowns as possible. So let’s fucking pack them in there. I mean really pack them in there. They’re not going to like it, and it’s likely that it’s going to result in numerous lawsuits and not a few accidental impregnations, so let’s do everyone a favor and kill them first since you didn’t state that the clowns had to be alive when we crammed them in there. (BUWAHAHAHAHA!!! Take that, clowns!)
So how many can we cram in there? Well, we know that if we cram enough in there to cause gravitational collapse and the result is a black hole 1 meter wide, any additional clown we cram in there will cause the black hole to grow larger than our 1 meter limit. So the amount of clowns it takes to create a 1 meter wide black hole at 100kg per clown is the absolute maximum you can fit into that space. The ability to answer this very question is what drove Einstein to create the theory of relativity.
Now, as we all know, the equation for figuring out the mass that results in a non-rotating, non-electrically charged black hole that is one meter in diameter is:
M = (0.5 * c^2)/G
…where M is the mass responsible for causing the black hole, c is the speed of light, and G is the Newton constant. Easy-peasy, right? Then let’s start plugging in numbers… Doo-doo-doo-doo-dooooo… Carry the one… Ok. Ready for this? this is how many clowns you can fit in the back of a biplane:
You read that right, 67 octillion clowns, which is probably slightly higher than the amount you thought you could get back there, isn’t it? Of course just because the biplane is beyond the event horizon of this very unfunny and irritating black hole doesn’t mean it could withstand the tremendous gravitational field it produces. That biplane would disappear faster than a baked ham at Oprah’s house. But assuming that the biplane was made of some super-fucking-awesome wonder-material, like bacon, 67 octillion clowns is the most you can cram in the back seat. And American Airlines would charge all of them for their checked luggage, and still go bankrupt. They suck ass.