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| 6/10/2004 |
| The Limits of Human Consumption Part IV |
Five Whoppers in an Hour
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A Feature
by John D. Willis
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In case you have been living in a dark, gloomy cave or are cut off from all major media outlets, I will recap the events of the last few weeks. At the time of this article, Wes is in a serious coma and most of this piece has been put together from notes, recordings and first-hand testimony.
The following was written by Wes two weeks ago:
“As most of my readers know, there have been considerably delays in finishing the conclusion to the Limits of Human Consumption series. Many people thought I was scared, others speculated that I had signed on to compete in the lucrative International Federation of Competitive Eating, others were sure that I was just lazy or addicted to highly potent animal tranquilizers. I guess the truth is always a little bit more complicated than people would like to think. Today you will all know the truth.
The first three “Limits” articles had generated quite a bit of press and new found fame for me. In part because of the recent documentary, “Super Size Me,” I found myself the subject of a numerous array of interviews, articles and tv appearances as the media began to focus on the country’s fast food consumption.
From Bill O’Reilly, Oprah, Crossfire, PTI, Live with Regis and Kelly, even Craig Kilborn, I had my fifteen minutes of fame in the media spotlight. There was a lot of money that was thrown my way, and I won’t lie, I did some things that I’m not proud of.
Not everything was bad though, I did manage to use some of my new found fame for the side of good. I raised over 30,000 dollars for the Hollywood child actors fund, I campaigned for Greenpeace, the equality of man and I even managed to sucker punch Michael Bolton at a nightclub.
Because of the high number of appearances and live performances where I would consume food in front of packed arenas, I put on a lot of weight. The slim muscular physique that I had enjoyed for most of my life was replaced with a robust girth that forced me to wear a variety of large sweat pants.
Despite the increasing number of “Obese Americans” there are no prominent fat celebrities. Everyone is either dead or got an operation. Al Rooker, Missy Elliot, even Carnie Wilson had thrown in the towel. My increased weight and new found fame had occurred at the exact same time, giving me a unique and memorable gimmick.
The only rival I had for the top fat celebrity was Ethan Suplee, the enormously fat actor from “Blow”, “American History X” and “Remember the Titans.” In an attempt to gain supremacy I began insulting his manhood in a brutal verbal tirade that lasted almost 15 days. This culminated with our infamous sumo match that was broadcast live on Monday Night Raw.
For anyone who did not see the competition, I was soundly beaten. After I told the mountain of a man that I was going to “ram you like Paris Hilton on New Years,” Ethan managed to throw me down four times. In case this was not bad enough, during one particularly devastating assault, I suffered an internal injury which prevented me from engaging in competitive eating for nearly a month. It was during this time that I really began my downward spiral. Without any sort of competition to keep me disciplined, I begin to spend massive amounts of money each day on women and booze to keep my spirits up. The rest I just wasted.
I blew nearly a quarter of my earnings supporting the work of an experimental scientist, who was attempting to create an eight legged chicken. I funded an all chimpanzee recreation of the the broadway musical “Cats” and I bought the “AllSport” line of sport drinks and became obsessed with helping O.J. Simpson find the real killer of his wife. In all fairness, I was making financial decisions that would have upset M.C. Hammer.
I got really drunk one night and slept with Bea Arthur. I knew things had gotten really bad when Courtney Love said she was worried about me. I lost most of my friends, and ended up with a bunch of deadbeats who were just living off my fame and money. Drug addiction followed and that’s when things get pretty hazy.
One night while doing lines of coke off the ass of a hooker, I saw out of the corner of my eye the scene from the film “The Great Outdoors.” John Candy was consuming the 96 ounce steak and then consuming the fat and the grizzle of the 96 ounce steak. I realized that I had lost a part of myself that I respected the most, the only part that mattered: I had lost the eye of the tiger.
I was broke, both financially and in spirit. But I had not lost my will to win. And there was one thing that I knew I could still get back: my self respect.
I held a press conference the next day, and announced my comeback. I was laughed at by both the public and the media. No one thought I had a chance. I was out of the game for too long. Like in “Rocky III,” the fame and the money had made me soft. There was no way I was going to be able to tackle my most menacing challenge yet...”
Wes asked me to publish this article, if anything happened to him. Of course the paramedics found him the next morning lying face down on the kitchen floor. He had left these notes on the table along side of his will. He also recorded the entire challenge on a small audio recorder. What I listened to was nearly too horrible to repeat here. But for the sake of humanity, some of it must be released.
Here are more notes and recordings from Wes:
“ “A man’s got to know his limitations.” Clint Eastwood said that in “Magnum Force,” the second of the Dirty Harry films. I know in my heart that a large part of these contests, or sport as some among us have called them, is part of being a man. And sometimes what makes you a man can make you less human.
When I drove to Burger King that night, I knew things were not allright. I was barely hungry, even after I has struggled to run four miles. Perhaps there were warning signs that had been ignored. The total cost of the Burgers was $10.87, very close to the police code for murder.
I needed some of a gimmick, because there was so much food in front of me. I had decided that the best plan of attack would be to separately conquer the different parts of the burgers one at a time.
I-The bread.
II-The meat.
III- The vegetables.
The mass of bread took me nearly twenty minutes to consume.
Eating the plain pieces of meat was a horrible and disgusting act that took me another twenty minutes. It was during this time that I started to hallucinate and have strange visions.
I tried to maintain focus and visualize a happy place, with a midget riding a tricycle, slot machines and women holding pitchers of beer. But it was of no use.
With only twelve minutes to consume, I was faced with a horrific sight. On the third and final plate lay the ketchup, lettuce, onions, pickles and tomatoes from the five burgers. But worst of all, in a tactical error, I had neglected to consume the mayonnaise. For anyone who doesn’t know, Burger King actually applies the mayonnaise to their burgers with an industrial sized hose.”
It is during the last five minutes that Bennett actually stops speaking, shortly after there is large crash as he falls to the ground. In retrospect, it was one of the worst tactical errors since Napoleon at Watergate, since Hitler invading Russia in World War II or when Black Sabbath kicked Ozzy Osbourne out of the band. If Bennett had ingested the creamy condiment at a slow and even pace, perhaps things would have turned out differently.
I have just received word that Wes has passed on. I guess they always go in threes, and Wes will be mentioned along side of Ronald Reagan and Ray Charles. Some might say that he had failed in his quest. I however would argue that he went out as John Henry had as he battled the machine.
The highest honor we can give any warrior is that they died with their boots on, refusing to give quarter. Wes had a BMC (Blood-Mayoniase level) that was five times the lethal dose. When Mama Cass died after ingesting a ham sandwich, her levels were barely half as dangerous.
Bennett was like Michael Jordan in his days at the Wizards, Ali in his late fight against Larry Holmes or Mark Spitz during his disastrous swimming comeback at the age of 40. Bennett didn’t have it and he knew it. But living the easy life wasn’t good enough.
Could Bennett have spent the rest of his years living the high life, drinking the high life with fast cars and young girls? Sure he could have, but I think he set an example on that faithful day, an example that I aspire to each and every day.
Do I feel that bad for Wes? True he went before his time, but he did say on several occasions that he did not want to be one of those poor souls who wastes away in a nursing home.
“I want to make it to age 75. But I want to barely make it. I don’t want to experience the slow and rapid, nursing-home-era decline that happens in the 80s. I’d rather go out on top with strippers, booze, and lots of deep fried okra.”
Bennett never wanted to be defined by these eating articles, but because of his sudden death and the high profile lawsuit that his family is entering into against Burger King, it’s pretty much inevitable.
In the end, we can all take pride in the fact that Bennett did not vomit. Similar to Jake Lamotta never having been knocked down in a fight, his heart would let him.
As I complete this article, it marks the end of an era and the end of a champion. We’ll miss you buddy.
Bennett, Wes (3-1)
W Sackful (1-0)
W Nuggets (2-0)
W Thickburgers (3-0)
L Whoppers (3-1)
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| "We use words like honor, code, loyalty. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom I provide, then question the manner in which I provide it." |
- Jack Nicholson
A Few Good Men
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Distributed Beers
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| 5 |
Sierra Nevada Bigfoot |
| 4 |
Guinness Draught |
| 3 |
Newcastle Brown Ale |
| 2 |
Bass Pale Ale |
| 1 |
Samuel Adams Boston Lager |
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