I was talking to Kyle Rosander about the famed Carnival of Idiocy that was staged during our undergraduate years at Purdue earlier tonight, and boy, did we do some stupid stuff. I’m actually writing this right now because I was in bed, then started laughing at the physical and mental feats of strength we dreamed.
I guess the biggest laugh-maker is the dubble bubble chew-off, which consisted entirely of chewing massive amounts of dubble bubble for longer than one would think would be humanly possible. By the end of piece 20, you’re no longer swallowing the juices, it’s all landing on the nearby bushes, to be drunk down by sugar-happy bees. By piece 40, your tongue has lost all sense of flavor, and you don’t know if the top of your tongue is actually there. By piece 50, it’s not a physical ordeal so much as a mental challenge. Your mouth can take more pieces, but the question is why the hell would you want to? Hitting 60 was a great mark, but Todd and I kept going… Agonizingly unwrapping another piece, stuffing it into our pregnant, almost birthing, mouths, yes, this was self-imposed torture in the name of having a little fun, and creating a legend. 64 pieces, my friend, 64 was the number of pieces of dubble bubble that Todd and I both had in our respective mouths, and we had called it a tie. A gentleman’s agreement because we just couldn’t take it any longer. Long past the others who had stopped when their mouths could no longer close, beyond the fistful of uncountable dubble-bubble wrappers, we were the triumphant victors, standing proud atop a pink mountain of half-chewed, spit-infused dubble bubble. This is what legends are made of.
My friends, creativity is priceless, and stories like these live on past our generations, and will continue to inspire and amaze our children, and our children’s children, even beyond when dubble bubble, that putridly flavored confection sold for pennies is manufactured and forced on youngsters who know no better. Though we may grow old and find ourselves unwilling to stuff our faces with gum, or consume an entire raw onion, or drink nearly a gallon of water, or stay up for 36 hours straight for no reason but to make ourselves sillier, we can point to these stories, and say, proudly, that this was our life, and it sure was beautiful.
Chicken-ball didn’t make the cut… the “ball” was too heavy to throw and catch, though I did go out for a pass from Kyle. It landed on the ground and broke some chicken bones. Something tells me I should’ve bought a smaller chicken.