Fifty eggs is a lot of eggs, it turns out. Maybe you knew that already, without having to learn it by eating them; congrats, your smart-guy medal is in the mail.

Why did I attempt the 50-egg challenge? The short answer is that we made the mistake of talking about eggs around lunchtime, when I was hungry. The slightly less short answer is that we were talking about who has the right physique to play Superman, and someone mentioned George Reeves, and Albert described the 1950s as a time “when publications would describe how strong a man was in terms of how many eggs he ate,” and Drew jokingly(?) suggested we try to eat 100 eggs on video, and I, being hungry and also overconfident in my hitherto-untested egg-eating abilities, piped up with the belief that I could do it without a problem. For my own safety, we lowered it to 50, and decided on scrambled eggs rather than the hard-boiled eggs of that scene in Cool Hand Luke.

And also we put money on it.

Reader, I failed miserably. Despite some truly delicious scrambled eggs whipped up by celebrity chefs Jorge Corona and Megan Reynolds, I knew from probably the third bite that I was going to fail. I started sweating somewhere about 30 seconds in. I ate, all told, somewhere in the neighborhood of 20–25 eggs, not even half my goal. And for my troubles, I received: nausea; a general feeling of denseness for the next day or so; about 60 shit-less hours, despite my butthole feeling like an outie the entire time; inquiries from Drew Magary for his money.

I asked Drew today how he feels about it. “I feel terrible as a human being that you were subjected to this,” he said, “but as a gambler I feel AMAZING.”

Anyway, 50 eggs is a lot of eggs.