The Most Expensive Sex Ever? / Tiger Gets a Letter!
How do you spell love? M-O-N-E-Y!*
Karka has been doing a little calculating, and you may find the results of his calculating somewhat mindblowing, especially if you like big numbers.
We all know that Big Ben Roethlisberger was given a six-game suspension last week for a pattern of behavior unbecoming a human being, er, NFL football player. According to reports, a six-game suspension will cost the two-time Super Bowl winning quarterback $2.8 million. Now $2.8 million is a big number, but consider what this really means.
Let’s assume that Big Ben’s encounter with that very drunk twenty-year-old lasted five minutes (as the accounts suggest). When you do the math, you will see that this has to have been the most expensive sex ever. Because Big Ben will end up paying the equivalent of $33.6 million per hour.
To have sex with an unwilling and very drunk co-ed in a “small dingy bathroom.”
For those of you with “enquiring minds,” that’s $560,000 per minute. Or $9,333.33 per second.
Not exactly money well spent, if you axe Karka. (And some people might indeed like to axe him. But that’s another story.)
Imagine if Big Ben had decided to spend his money wisely. If he wanted sex—and safe sex, safe meaning you’re not going to get your ass thrown out of the NFL—he could easily find some very beautiful and very talented young escorts who could, as they say, satisfy his every need. According to my figgers, at $10,000 an hour (Karka is merely making up a figure here; does anyone know the going rate for the world’s most high-class call girls?), Big Ben could have, for $2.8 million, bought himself 280 hours of sex.
Which means that for what he’ll end up paying for that potentially career-threatening encounter in that small dingy bathroom (imagine the ambiance), Ben Roethlisberger could have enjoyed more than eleven straight days of sex with women who get paid to know what they are doing—more than eleven straight days of satisfying sex on silk sheets with champagne and sushi, if that’s his thing.
Now I realize you don’t exactly get the thrill of the chase with a call girl, and sipping expensive champagne with a gorgeous woman can’t in all ways compare with getting a star-struck college girl drunk. But still.
In related news: On the Tiger front, we read in Tiger’s blog that a “little girl” gave him a letter on the third tee, which Tiger found “awfully sweet.” Can Karka be alone in hoping that letter didn’t contain a phone number? (That was low, wasn’t it—like Drudge Report low? What in the world is happening to Karka? If I’m not careful, I may end up at FOXNews too.)
*The Fabulous Thunderbirds