True stories from life in ‘The Weird World’

True stories from life in ‘The Weird World’

This is the true story of several students picked to live in a
townhouse and have their lives documented. Find out what happens
when people stop being polite, and start getting weird …

The Weird World. Today’s episode: stupid bets and
challenges.

A few of us sat in the living room that Friday night. I’m sure
there were better things we could’ve done than munch on a loaf of
bread, but we didn’t care. One person worked the stopwatch while
the others tried to swallow slices of bread within the 30-second
time limit. By the fifth attempt, I knew this evening was going to
be just another one of those events to be placed on our Dumb Things
to Pass Time list.

Now before the Natural High Committee sues me for copyright
infringement on their oh-so-wonderful ideas, I’d like to point out
that the activities I’m going to tell you Viewpoint readers about
do not come from their social guide. Instead, they originate from
some pretty sick, twisted minds.

Every one of these events is irrational and some I should
probably just keep to myself to prevent possible embarrassment. I
should also exclude the participants’ real names and use Bobby,
Peter, Greg, Cindy, Jan and Marcia instead.

What the heck. You’ve put up with my lame articles for over a
quarter now. It’s time you readers get the facts. There’s no
turning back. It’s now or never, and it’s time to end these
cliches.

The players? My roommates: Dan, Ray, York, Tiva, Joe and myself.
Our apartment can be compared to a playground. With a foosball
table, a dart board, a mini basketball hoop and a Sega system, the
place is a magnet for harmless, friendly competition.

Now add the male ego, some Barstownian crazies, procrastinating
college students and boredom into the picture. Voíla. We have
ourselves a nightmare on Midvale Avenue.

I’ll admit there are some things we do that aren’t so tasteless.
There are the occasional games we play where a portion of the phone
bill or domestic chores are at stake. There’s the time I swore I
wouldn’t shave my sideburns until Tiva beat me in a game of
foosball. (One week of hair growth eventually increased to the end
of summer, then to the end of fall quarter and finally to the end
of winter break, when I got too fed up to wait for Tiva’s end of
the deal and just shaved them.)

Quite normal, wouldn’t you say? Read on, and you’ll find out my
top three choices for the Gawd-These-Guys-Need-Some-Serious-Help
Award:

#3. The Milk Challenge. We heard that it’s impossible to drink a
gallon of milk in an hour and not puke until half an hour
afterward, so Ray and I decided to bet Joe that he couldn’t do
it.

Joe happily accepted the challenge with five-to-one odds on his
20 bucks. The two of us laughed hysterically as we observed our
roommate’s many trips to the bathroom, his feelings of the chills
and disorientation and his bloated belly.

Word of his failure spread to others who thought they were
capable of accomplishing the challenge. One by one, we witnessed
the futile attempts and, for some odd reason, continued to get a
kick out of seeing the participants blow chunks of
cottage-cheese-textured vomit into trash cans or toilets. Next …
?

#2. Strip Foosball. Trash talking and constant arguments on who
is the better player is an unavoidable factor in table soccer. We
took it one step further one evening, the night we coincidentally
invited over 100 of our closest friends for a party.

To determine who was the dominant player, my roommate and I
agreed to partake in ­ you guessed it ­ Strip Foosball,
the game in which the loser of each point would discard one article
of clothing until one player reached ten points.

It’s 9 p.m. ­ our friends were scheduled to arrive by now.
The spectators were dying with laughter, the game tied at 9-9. My
opponent and I nervously played for the game-winning point. All we
were left with was concentration, determination, will power and
tube socks on our ­ well, you know. The final goal was made,
and we quickly put on our clothes before arriving friends had a
chance to wonder about us.

#1. NBA Jam. "From now on, no one will EVER beat me in this
video game again," Tiva proclaimed. "You really think so?" Ray
inquired. It was Dead Week. York had a big paper due, and the rest
of us were trying to study for our finals.

Within several minutes, we had ourselves a challenge: one Sega
game with a tiny wager. If Ray won, Tiva would have to look like me
and shave his head clean. If Tiva won, Ray would have to streak up
and down Midvale with nothing on but running shoes.

With all eyes glued intently on the television screen, we
watched the most exciting NBA Jam game ever. Palms were sweating
and hearts were racing. Even J. R. Henderson would have
cracked.

There you have it. Forget "Hard Copy" or "A Current Affair." You
just got a peek inside our townhouse lifestyle, like it or not.

So next time you see some naked guy running around Westwood,
don’t be too alarmed. Just shrug your head, roll your eyes and
comment about us immature, weird imbeciles. We might even take it
as a compliment.

George Tsai is a fifth-year student majoring in urine hair dyes.
His column runs every other Tuesday.