Bwog Editor Juli Weiner spent the night in the land of Brobdingnag. Names and details have been omitted to protect the innocent.

Last night, twenty of the largest people Bwog has ever seen stood assembled in suits outside Butler. Passersby stopped to stare at the group, as it is not often persons of this width or height are seen in one place, outside the context of athletics that is. The boys were instructed to yell that they were pledging the “best frat,” PKA. But they weren’t pledging PKA, this was a Test of Their Commitment.

Next, a similarly large person instructed the group that they then must collectively ask five girls for their phone numbers. It was at that moment that twenty of these man-giants looked upon your Bwog editor, who was the closest girl at the moment. We politely declined, and the group headed toward Lerner, toward the womenfolk.

During the walk, some proffered ideas about how to accomplish this feat. “Why don’t we just write down our own phone numbers?” suggested one. But soon enough, the roving band of business casual demigods found five numbers.

Their master told the men that they must lunge to Amsterdam, which only ended up being 114th street, but still! Lunge they did. Spirited lunges too–many raised their arms up in the air mid-step.

They reached the gate at 114th. Their next mission was to shout a chant during their walk to Amsterdam. They didn’t have to lunge, just repeat: “I don’t know what I’ve been told/Eskimo pussy’s mighty cold.” Spirits were never so high as when the men sang this song, and a few continued humming it after the challenge ended.

Nearing the giants’ brownstone, the leader told the men to stop singing and just scream. Scream anything, but make sure it’s loud. They did this thing, all the way home, and then were quickly ushered into their brownstone.