“It’d be hilarious if right as we pulled up, we saw a bunch of guys with BBQ sauce all over their faces getting carried out on stretchers,”
We laughed at the time, but little did we know, there would be nothing to laugh about by the end of the day. We would be those guys, and we would learn things about ourselves that in hindsight, we may not have wanted to know.
This was the day that I partook in the Shut Up Juice Challenge at The Mean Pig in Cabot, Arkansas. For those who don’t know, Shut Up Juice is the hottest BBQ sauce in America. To complete the challenge, you have to eat a chopped pork sandwich that’s been doused in the sauce, and then hold it down for five minutes. Less than one percent of the people who have attempted it have been successful.
The reason I’m writing this article is because I genuinely hope that somebody will be inspired, round up a group of their friends, and go try it for themselves. It’s only an hour and a half away. It’ll be an adventure. You aren’t going to let a 5’6 guy who can’t grow facial hair call you a lilly-livered, yellow-bellied, cow-hearted, frenchified, panty-waisted, thin-wristed, bird-chested, milquetoast eating coward are you?
Immediately after doing this, I wouldn’t have wished that pain on my worst enemy, but after dwelling on it for a little while, I have decided I can spare a bit of good karma and I would like to spend it making somebody else realize how much of a pansy he is.
If anybody does decide to try this, and I am really hoping they do, there are a few words of advice that I would like to offer from one of the most chest-hair-bestowing experiences I have ever had.
#1: Do Not Underestimate the Hotness. This isn’t a basket of atomic wings at your local sports bar. This is poison. Being a weightlifter, I’ve honed my ability to block out physical pain and power through most things. It didn’t help. All I had to do was eat the few globs of meat that had fallen off of the sandwich while I was trying to cram it down my throat, but my stomach physically could not withstand anymore. I had to vomit at that very moment, and I did not stop vomiting until four hours later. My stomach hurt so bad that the oncoming traffic from the street next to the restaurant looked a lot more tempting than trying to ride out the pain until I could find a priest to exorcise this evil from my body. To put it in perspective, this sandwich was so hot that the PH level of my breath was literally blinding me every time I exhaled.
#2: Wear Gloves. When they bring you your satan burger, they will offer you a pair of plastic gloves to wear while you punish your digestive tract. Take them. Being the virtuoso of masculinity that I am, I stuck with my normal mantra of “gloves are for sissies”.Trying to eat this thing with your bare hands is like going hunting without a gun. The fact that this thing is too corrosive to touch with your hands should also be an indicator of what it will do to your insides. On top of that, this is not just a temporary pain that will go away after you wash your hands. Your hands will be cursed. For days afterwards, any tender places you might touch will soon be reminding you of exactly how stupid you were for eating that sandwich. I say were because after trying to eat this, you will be a new man.
#3: Bring a Designated Driver. I am serious. We wound up sitting on the ground outside of that restaurant for over four hours because none of us were fit to make the drive home. Grab a few large trash cans, a big vehicle with plenty of windows to roll down and a buddy who doesn’t have anything to prove and who could use a laugh. You will be thanking him when you are puking into your own toilet instead of a ditch under the Arkansas sun.
All of this probably sounds pretty terrifying, but don’t let it scare you away. It honestly should, but I would really like somebody on campus to try it. It should be noted that one of the guys from our group actually finished it and was inducted into the hall of legends. It should also be noted that he literally cried, asked for an ambulance multiple times, prayed for four hours for the pain to stop and could not walk by the time he was ok to be put in the car to drive home.
All that aside, I write this article to throw down the gauntlet and say that your manhood is cheap, and that you are a boy-ish waif if you have not attempted the Shut Up Juice Challenge. Prove me wrong, Nancy. n
