By contributing writer Mary Walsh

I’m sure you’ve all heard the old wise tale about drinking a gallon of milk. Right? Well, rumor has it that it is physically impossible to drink a gallon of whole milk in one hour. I know what you’re thinking, “Dude! I drink a gallon of beer in an hour every Saturday night! I can totally drink the milk!” Hey, guess what? You can’t. You will barf everywhere like a giant, gross baby and nobody will like you. Well, people might still like you, but only if you don’t spew all over them (never guaranteed). Why do I know this? Been there, done that. I was just like you: young, naïve, and eager to show off my milk-guzzling skills. You see, I am an extreme milk drinker (still am, even after the incidents I will soon explain to you), and I figured that I probably drink a gallon a day anyway, so why not?

ATTEMPT #1: Hard and Fast

It was a random summer night and I was bored out of my mind. I ended up visiting a friend of mine at the fudge store where she worked (yeah, she packed fudge, eat it up losers) and we started discussing the milk rumor. I immediately decided that I was the chosen one, and that only I could carry out this task. Being a little overzealous, I thought the best way to drink it would be as quickly as possible, so I immediately started downing glass after glass after glass.


Sometimes, there’s just not enough semen.

At first the milk was tasty. Twenty minutes into my adventure it became harder and harder to drink. For example, you know how when you’re drinking a bucket of semen and it’s all weird tasting and thick? No? …Well, it was like that. You can honestly feel your stomach top off like the handle on a gas pump. There’s just no more room.

And then you explode. All the food you ate that day, covered in lumpy, white shit. It’s like that scene in Poltergeist where they all go into that vortex to get Carol Anne and they come out covered in weird slime shit. That’s what your puke looks like, get out your camera phones.

ATTEMPT #2: Slow and Steady

I used to work at Ben & Jerry’s and one day it was downpouring, so we didn’t have many customers. For some reason only Satan and a dairy farmer somewhere have the answer to, I had the bright idea of drinking a gallon of milk again. I tried to analyze why I failed last time. Maybe I drank it too quickly. Maybe I had eaten too much beforehand. Maybe I just wasn’t driven enough to get the job done. My co-workers and I decided this time I should pace myself and skip dinner so I would be completely empty.

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This time I began to drink and things seemed to be go a little better than before. I polished off the first three quarters off like a prize-winning gutter whore. With a quarter of the gallon left, I really thought I would make it.

And then the puke came. Again, and again, and again (and again, the remix). Advantage to second attempt: So much puke you won’t have to stay late at your shitty job to help close the store. Disadvantage to second attempt: Wading in your own Poltergeist puke, combined with a disappointment you can feel deep down in your soul bowels.

ATTEMPT #3: The Day Jesus Stole My Stomach Lining and Beat Me To Death With It

I was cruising around in my parent’s minivan with a few friends, getting high (on LIFE, stupid stoner asshole) when one of my pals brought up the milk thing. I really didn’t want to do it again, but I was weak and we were bored. Peer pressure is a horrible piece of shit and it probably never tried to drink a gallon of milk before, let alone endure the humiliation of driving around in its parent’s minivan.

Anyway, we got the milk and started driving around again. This time I didn’t have it in me. I was fresh off a full dinner, my heart and stomach weren’t in it, and I knew what the end result would be.

Sure enough, Mr. Vomit Face paid me a visit again. However, right before I puked, I realized we were in the neighborhood of an ex-lover (ex-lover is the classier term for “a kid who used to like to get head and give nothing in return”—I’m not bitter) of mine. In my milky haze, I puked into an empty Burger King cup lying in my backseat and chucked the cup out the window and onto his front steps. It was one of my finer moments and I often think about it when wondering why I don’t have a boyfriend.

Still want to drink a gallon of milk? Actually, you probably do, fuck face. Tell the toilet I say hi—we haven’t had a decent conversation since I had one too many shots of tequila last month. Be sure to let me know if you succeed in drinking the gallon of milk without puking, and I promise I will send you a $50 gift certificate to the Fucking Liar Store. I hear they’re having a sale on “cottage cheese.”

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