I ate the chip.

If you have no clue what I am talking about, you probably aren’t put on. It’s cool though, I’ll put you on. Last week I wrote a blog that laid out the chip challenge I orchestrated for my podcast which you can read here: ( https://ovsjournalists.com/2022/02/08/pre-chip-journal/ ).

My Pre-Chip Journal was full of joy, wonder, excitement for the journey I was about to embark on. I had a ton of ideas that were good in theory: many wheels, games, tests, goofs, and gaffes. Some worked some didn’t. We spun the first wheels and ate the chips in the order decided upon by the wheels. The problem arose when we went to play feud before our next wheel. We staggered our chip eating times, my co-host ate, 30 seconds later the editor ate, and 30 seconds later I ate. This led to my co-host being in a hiccup fit when I began playing. My tonsils and ears started burning, I felt my cartilage melting like some sort of Ear Nose Throat doctor’s office diagram-shaped candle. All concerns about the order and plans I had made went out the window. Eff the spelling bee. Eff feud. I. Am. Done.

I frantically mashed click on the computer connected to the tv behind us, spinning the wheel that decides what we get to drink. My co-host couldn’t open his chocolate milk. My editor opened a milk carton like it was a Christmas present. Milk went EVERYWHERE. I finally got to my chocolate milk and had a drink.

Sweet relief overcame my mouth, I was back to normal!

(please watch this, I am using this as a sentence)

The pepper was dancing on my grave. It was back just as strong as before.

We spun the next wheel, I got lemon juice, which in my panicked state I poured into my chocolate milk, leading to a sour, coddled, sweet beverage that went down terribly. From here on out I don’t remember much. I was dying. I bit into a lemon, which actually really helped, something about the acid canceling the capsaicin.

I then went to lay on the floor. I zoned out on the floor for a few minutes, and when I came out of my pepper trance, I was feeling fine. The burning had moved down to my upper chest, which hurt far less than my mouth. I then ate roughly 7 mini muffins and the infamous wet bread. Wet bread, for those who yet again are NOT put on, is wonderbread with club soda. I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy.

At that point, the wheel had gone out the window. I began eating a whole onion, my co-host had the entire lemon turned inside out in his mouth, and my editor was still dying.

Our teacher, throughout this whole experience, was anxiously crossing his arms, pacing, and looked like he was about to collapse out of the fear a student’s stomach lining would rip open in front of him.

The podcast is super funny, which I am proud of. I am more pleased though, with the fact my editor had firey diarrhea the whole night, the best form of payback.