If I take into account the number of motorcycle crashes per minute worldwide, the amount of tissue it takes to stop an average nosebleed caused by the standard schoolyard game of tetherball, the number of seconds Jeremy Clarkson puts between the words "the most powerful car," and "in the world," and the length of the longest hair on my big toe, I come to the conclusion that all three of you are actually on the moon in knickers eating Belgian waffles. With strawberry syrup.
Or something like that.