Krispy Kremes are made entirely of trans fats and coated in a layer of arsonic.
One day a few years ago, Ben and Caleb took me up on my ridiculous boast, and because Alan's up for anything, the four of us hopped in a car and drove to Surrey, where we each bought a dozen donuts.
By the fourth donut, they had stopped tasting good. After six donuts, I surveyed my stomach and realized that, while it was rebelling, I was only half done, and that I would have to repeat myself. After nine donuts you have to just shut your brain off and keep putting things in your mouth. Your mouth will know what to do.
Ben plowed through his first nine in six minutes flat, which seemed like a good idea at the time, but I'd caught up to him by donut twelve. Watching him eat those last three was like watching someone eat a baby.
In the end, three of us succceeded (note our Hats of Victory),
And one of us failed horribly (he wanted to wear the Hat of Shame, but it looked suspiciously like our Hats of Victory so we made him take it off).
And that was the day I got diabetes. Not the real kind. The kind where you lie on the floor and moan 'Ohhhhh, my diabetes.' I think they call that Type III.