Satan's broth
I had just entered the dizzying heights of the Big Boys' school at the grand age of 13 and was just about getting accustomed to its grandeur and size, and one of the things I and my friends did was go to the canteen. Obviously. We bought many a reconstituted tasty treat from this fine establishment, including the finest scrotum burgers East of the Mississippi. Though this was in Somerset. But I digress - the canteen also sold a lovely array of sweets, including Polos. Now one day, bored and frisky, we decided a 'How many Polos can you fit in your mouth' competition was in order. There were 6 of us, so this was going to require a few Polos.

We each went into the canteen in turn, so as not to arouse suspicion, and bought 3 packets of Polos each. 18 packs in all. So began the tournament. We stood outside shoveling Polos into our faces like chronic halitosis sufferers, as one by one people dropped out. I am genuinely proud to say that I won the competition, and IIRR I was edging on the magic 50 mark.

However, a new problem arose. The grounds weren't especially quiet, and not free of teachers who would undoubtedly frown upon 6 lads spitting incomprehensible numbers of Polos onto the floor, so we had to improvise. Someone produced a 1.5L Coke bottle, with perhaps 1/10th of it left inside. Discretely, we took the bottle in turn and began feeding Polos from our mouths straight into the Coke bottle. Probably around 250 Polos in all went into the bottle, and, as happens when you cram disgusting amounts of 'The mint with the hole' into your mouth, a lot of spit.

And at last we roll around to the dare. Some bright spark came up with the idea that a dare to drink this vile concoction was on the cards. It was decided that £2 apiece would be plenty, so £10 to drink about 150mls of Coke, and probably about the same in minty spit.

Well, I did it. In some inexplicable act of bravery/stupidity/insanity, I grabbed the bottle, brazenly telling the others that for £10 this was nothing, that I would give my own grandfather an erotic massage for £10, I necked the lot.

Another problem with this dare was that bare in mind there were a lot of Polos in this bottle. And, not wishing to disappoint my swooning audience, I brought it all the way back and just let this vile stuff go down my throat. And then I half-swallowed a Polo. It lodged at the back of my throat in the way that a Polo can do so well, thanks to its sharp edges and structural Polo-shaped integrity. This shocked me a bit and I started, dropped the bottle on the floor and coughed an entire mouthful of minty, spitty Coke onto the persons nearest me, the floor, my jumper, tie, shirt, trousers, shoes and (how, I don't know) my socks.

I got punched, laughed at, and saw no £10 coming out. And I spent the rest of the day with every person I passed by asking why I reeked of mint, and why I was so sticky. I don't think I ever found a reasonable explanation, but it was most definitely a stupid dare.

Oh, and the Polo that got stuck in my throat? It came up, and very tasty it was too.

Length? A circle has no beginning. Ahhh....
( Rookie You'll have to speak up, I'm wearing a towel, Tue 6 Nov 2007, 3:14, Reply)