Changing the word “year” to “beer” has potential to make this the best beer ever. By Cedric Bigglestone.

In an experiment worthy of a scientific prize, columnist Cedric Bigglestone embarks on a journey that takes place inside his mind, but has ramifications for everyone.
 
 
 
 
Last month, I made a decision to change the way I think about and see the world. The following is a journal of my journey which I journaled about.
 
 
PART ONE: The idea takes form.
 
We all know that drugs can ruin your life. But at some point, sniffing cleaning supplies while you’re wearing tight nipple clamps can blur the lines between what is a drug and what is just an experience. 
 
In the midst of such an experience, I came up with an idea I couldn’t believe I’d never thought of before. It was simple. Pure. Elegant. I decided to switch the word “year” with “beer” and see what happened. 
 
PART TWO: Some early setbacks.
 
At first, the idea didn’t seem so great. Especially when I took off the nipple clamps and stopped whiffing Lysol. I woke up the next morning with a note I’d written to myself on my own chest. It was impossible to read but it had something to do with trying to put something somewhere. Maybe my asshole?
 
Anyway, I stopped trying to read the note and just took a shower. It was then that I remembered my pledge to myself—to switch years with beers. 
 
I was thirsty. So I went to my fridge for a “year.” That was stupid. Then I cracked open a “year” and drank it. This sucked. 
 
PART THREE: I start figuring out how to make it work.
 
After drinking several more “years” I finally determined what was missing from my equation. It wasn’t that I needed to switch the words so much as just stop ever saying one of them. So I did it. I vowed to never use the word “year” again and to only use the word “beer” even when I was referring to beer. So, in essence I could drink a beer on New Beer’s Eve and then pour beer all over myself at the beerly beer festival. You get it.
 
PART FOUR: Just saying the word gets old. You need to live it.
 
I quickly found that just saying the word beer all the time wasn’t as great as I thought it would be. At first, I just screamed stuff at my neighbors, like, “Hey! What’s your beerly income?” and, “It’s that time of the fucking beer!” But they didn’t get it. Whatever. 
 
Then it hit me. I was just saying words. Not living them.
 
PART FIVE: The transformation begins.
 
I called my retirement planner and asked her how much I should be earning per beer in order to have enough money when I retired in thirty beers. She told me something about how I haven’t reported an income in more than seven beers and that she was pretty sure there was still a restraining order out against me for harassing her last beer and calling her asking for retirement advice when she was just some woman who greeted people at Walmart.
 
PART SIX: I establish a five-beer plan.
 
I decided to do what the Russians did under Stalin and do five-beer plans. When I was done with one, I would simply start a new one, till I needed to get more beer. 
 
PART SEVEN: I am able to time travel because of beer.
 
That heading is a little deceptive. What I mean is that I am able to speed up or slow down time dramatically. For instance, forty years ago is a long time. Forty beers ago is this morning. A hundred years from now, we’ll all be dead. A hundred beers from now, I will probably be dead, but not for sure. It kind of depends how fast I drink them over how many minutes.
 
Bonus: Haley’s comet comes every 76 years. Now it comes every 76 beers. 
 
PART EIGHT: My obligations are taken care of almost instantly.
 
Everything I’m supposed to do once or twice a year are now done once or twice a beer. Doctor’s appointments, eye exams, updating my passwords, and Christmas are all done while I’m slamming a beer. The problem is doing all these things every beer because I drink so much and can’t enjoy having one without doing all this other shit too. Oh, and the doctors won’t come see me anymore. None of them.
 
CONCLUSION: I have solved the universe.
 
When someone finally solves the universe, I guess you’d expect him to be really cocky and arrogant. I’m too drunk to do that.