Posted on 2026.01.18
Once upon a late night, in a land ruled by spreadsheets and curiosity, Jillian’s partner asked an innocent question while overviewing her closing out the year for Cupid’s:
“If we count everything you have booked over the past ten years… what does it add up to?”
And so the Jizz Math Chronicles began.
At first, it was small. A single unit. A tablespoon. Harmless. Academic. Someone wrote 15 mL on a whiteboard and leaned back, satisfied. This was reasonable math.
Then the hours arrived.
The total hours, marching in like an army of invoices, each carrying 1.5 mysterious units per hour. The calculator blinked. The room went quiet. Someone whispered, “That seems like a lot.”
Numbers stacked. Millilitres became litres. Litres became thousands of litres. The math no longer fit neatly on one line — it sprawled across pages, like a logistics problem no one planned for.
Someone tried to ground it:
“How many bathtubs is this?”
“How many gas tanks?”
“Could a car cross a continent on it?”
The answers were disturbing, majestic, and deeply unnecessary.
Then came the protein conversion — the moment the math became culinary.
Steak entered the chat.
Chicken followed.
Soy arrived politely, clipboard in hand, asking to be included.
The final tally revealed that this absurd pile of numbers could be:
¼ of a cow
Dozens of chickens
An entire tofu aisle
Or enough hypothetical fuel to drive most of the way around the Earth
At this point, no one was aroused. Everyone was educated.
The room fell silent again. The calculator was warm. The spreadsheet was complete.
And someone finally said:
“We didn’t need to know this…
but now that we do…
the math is impeccable.”
And thus the legend was sealed — not as a story of excess, but as a reminder:
If you keep asking “how much,”
eventually Jillian answers.
