There seems to be something about attending an institution of higher learning that creates a deficit in the brain. All that time focusing on the smart leaves the dumb neurons unused, thirsting and growing like a dark-cancer of dumb-energy until, finally, it explodes! And our hapless victim is sent into a frenzy of stupidity: panty-raids on the girls-only dorm, or flushing Jell-O down public toilets... This negative energy, let's call it dumeon, explains why university students are known for their many stupid...and yet stupidly glorious...activities. And while the people at these institutions spend much of their time, backs bent, eyes squeezed through microscopes, in a quest to quantify, understand and explore humanity, perhaps one of the most profound examples is at their doorstep. This is the story of Chocolate Milk Challenge.
I first encountered Chocolate Milk Challenge in my 3rd year of university. I had just transferred to a school on the west coast and was living in residence. One day, about half way through the second semester, I ventured into the floor's common kitchen scrounging for some grub. There, several of my floor mates sat around the table (notably all men): Jim, affectionately known as Toole, the tall Residence Assistant of the floor and as such was in charge of the well-being of the floor and its residents; Andrew, my best floor mate friend who lived two doors down from me a slight fellow with a sharp cutting wit, sardonic tongue and always one hand in his pocket; Dan, a short, wiry monkey-like fellow with curly hair who was born in Jamaica (but was white) and had a penchant for walking on his hands; Ian, the tall, stout loudmouth of the floor who liked to shock, whether by insult or by crudity (a most memorable example would be his loud declaration during a floor meeting weeks before much to everyone's horror - that 'Mike would choose to drink a tall frosty glass of his own cum!'); and Mike, the handsome, quiet engineer who always worked hard and studied, but never managed to quite pull off the grades. They looked particularly pleased and excited with themselves at this moment. In front of them each was a tall glass of chocolate milk and, on the table, several 4 litre jugs more of it. They were all grinning and laughing. Several people had gathered to watch.
When I enquired as to what they were doing I was informed of the Chocolate Milk Challenge. A boyfriend of one of the women on the floor, a jock firefighter of some sort, had regaled these fellows with a tale of the Chocolate Milk Challenge and its results at his school. He claimed that it was impossible to drink three litres of chocolate milk in an hour and keep it down. That was the essence of the Challenge.
Girls, Guns & Hot Rods:
by Jami Beck