How Many Red Bulls Would Kill You?

It is a picture of a fridge full of energy dri...

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The folks at Energy Fiend have developed an online calculator called “Death by Caffeine” that tells you roughly how many Red Bulls, Monsters, Rock Stars, etc you’d have to drink to keel over.  The number of drinks you can choose from on the killer-drink drop down menu is staggering, but upon closer inspection it looks like they include regular sodas like Pepsi, Coke and the like along with the amped up drinks (and even energy mints and coffee ice cream).

I’m going to enter my information, choosing Red Bull as my initial poison. Here’s the result:

It would take 204.75 cans of Red Bull to put you down.

Comparatively:

Gulp down 474.78 cans of Coca-Cola Classic and you’re history.

You could drink 297.82 cans of Mountain Dew before croaking.

It would take 109.20 cups of Starbucks Tall Caffe Americano to put you down.

If you eat 341.25 Cups of Haagen-Dazs Coffee Ice Cream, you’ll be pushing up daisies.

By the way (and I say this as a die-hard coffee drinker), imbibing caffeine to stay awake is one of the silliest things we humans do.  The reason is this: in the brain, caffeine acts as an antagonist (a blocker) of adenosine–the neurotransmitter that pushes us closer and closer to sleep until we nod off–and it’s very good at accomplishing this. The problem is that with less exposure to adenosine, we become even more sensitive to the neurotransmitter’s effects. If we reduce our intake of caffeine, or simply become more tolerant of it, we actually find ourselves becoming more tired. So then we jack up the caffeine to counteract the withdrawal, but that just increases our tolerance.

Takeaway: you can only fool your brain into not sleeping for so long before succumbing to the inevitable crash.

HT: MindHacks

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Sunday Mash: One Day at the Coffee Shop…

Nietzsche, Pablo Neruda and Santa Claus shoot the breeze over a few lattes

Neruda: My God that waitress is alluring. I can almost taste her.

Nietzsche: *snickers* Pablo, your lust is matched only by your corpulence.

Neruda: My corpulence? I’m a lean mean sex machine next to chubs here.

Santa: Why can’t you just leave me out of this? I’m just sitting here. Geezus.

Nietzsche: You do not SIT, you are a figment.  Figments do not SIT.

Santa: A fig-what??  I’m sure as hell sitting here, Fritz.

Nietzsche: You are a construct of weak-minded religious enculturation.

Santa: Fritz, two words: bite me.

Neruda:  Ok, goddam it, enough of this. Let’s get back to talking about poon.

Nietzsche: Does nothing else occasion that vacant mind of yours?

Neruda: Well, excuse me if I’m not obsessed with the abyss 24/7, von twisted uberfuck.

Santa:  mmmmm…love these chocolate graham cookies.

Nietzsche: I’m sickened by this display! 

Neruda: Yeah, yeah…you’re sick, period.  Have you ever considered therapy?

Santa: Therapy, good idea.  You really need to relax, Fritz.  Get out more, too.

Nietzsche:  I refuse to be admonished by a fanciful creation of mass delusion.

Santa: *buuuuuuurp*

Neruda:  This show is tired.  I need some action. *begins writing on napkin*

Nietzsche: Now what are you doing?

Neruda: I’m working up a poem for that waitress.  What rhymes with “feel?”

Santa: squeal?

Neruda: Now you’re talking, fat boy!  Hey, maybe she’s got a friend?

Nietzsche: I’ve heard enough.  *gets up from chair*  You are a weak willed primate who peddles mediocre verse, nothing more.

Neruda: Whatever. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass, Fritz.

Santa: *chuckles*

Nietzsche:  And I have nothing to say to you, since you are not here. But if I did, I would call you a gluttonous troglodyte.

Santa:  ooooh, guess who’s NOT getting his favorite brand of bratwurst this Christmas!

Nietzsche: *sneers and walks off*

Neruda:  Sheesh, what a hard ass.  I hope nobody takes that guy too seriously.

Santa: Yeah, wars get started over less.  Hey, by the way, did you hear he got himself a case of the crotch rot?

Neruda: You don’t say????