I am a dumb human being.

No, not your average garden-type dumb, but more of your "Jackass"-can't-say-no-to-a-dare type. I'm not saying that I like to staple things to my skin or go swimming in lakes of feces, but I have been known to jump out of multiple story windows and challenge authority because of a bet.

But more than just being a dumb human being who can't say no to a challenge, I am a dumb human being who likes to eat. I have a weakness beyond words for food.

I eat until I can't move and need a gurney to carry me home. I eat leftovers, fast food, fancy, old food and takeout. In sixth-grade, I paid tribute to my obsession by creating my own food-critic magazine called "Food For Thought."

I am a dumb human being who can't say no to both a dare and food - a recipe for a gluttonous disaster. Then again, it wasn't until The Parlour on Campus arrived.

Checking out the new ice cream spot one night, I couldn't help but notice that it had an ice cream sundae that cost nearly $20, and then I realized that the Dare To Be Great ice cream sundae was a "you vs. them" ice cream-eating contest.

"21 scoops? One hour? I could do that," I told my roommate.

She believed me.

She didn't just believe me because she knew how much I liked ice cream and that I ate it all the time - she believed because she had seen me in action at Caruso's Candy & Ice Cream inside the Meridian Mall. Although it was a much smaller challenge, I still completed it, after eating a full meal comprised of an appetizer, soup, steak, side dishes and a line of beverages.

But that was spur-of-the-moment - this had to be taken seriously.

I was not surprised when my roommate decided she wanted to become my trainer for the upcoming challenge.

We went and watched others at The Parlour on Campus try and fail. We studied the make-up of the sundae, how it was constructed and its weaknesses. We noted that I needed a bigger spoon and headphones to cut out distractions.

She put me on a strict diet of stomach-expanding substances, such as additional McDonald's meals and water. I soon found my pants fitting tighter and we set a date. We formed a strategy: Take Extra Strength Lactase pills before, count the scoops while they construct it and drink hot water to dissolve the cold mass that would be stewing in my stomach.

Like a runner training for a marathon, I was training to become a professional eater.

Not having eaten ice cream in nearly a week, I was ready and in the middle of a full-blown craving.

On Friday morning, I was anxious to get started and meditated to calm my nerves. By 2:30 p.m., I was starving.

I spoke no words when the all-strawberry mountain arrived - I let the crowd around me take care of those.

"Do you realize how insane you are?" one spectator said.

By that time my headphones were already blasting Soundgarden's "Badmotorfinger" and I was shoveling ice cream down my throat. I did not chew. I did not taste what I was eating. I was in the zone.

At 2:45 p.m., I was halfway done and I wasn't full.

Near 3 p.m., I was convinced that I had frostbite on my tongue and lips.

"Maybe I can take a little breather since I'm so far ahead," I said to my trainer.

Big mistake. I noticed that I started to feel sick and decided to look out the window instead of in the direction of the taunting sludge that was now left in my oversized soup bowl.

"I don't know if I can do it anymore."

I was being challenged, and perhaps it was a challenge that, this time, I could not complete.

I stood, jumped up and down, drank hot water and decided to give it another go.

Plan of attack? Use the hot water to melt the ice cream and suck up the rest with a straw.

It was more gluttonous than the spaghetti scene in the movie "Se7en." I thought about how that character's stomach had exploded and couldn't help but second-guess if that were the point of the waiver I signed.

"Wow, this must be the American dream right here," I thought to myself. "A mound of ice cream and all the glory and fame that surrounds it."

People informed me that they "had so much respect for me" and that "it was the most amazing thing they'd ever seen."

Was this my 15 minutes? I hoped it wasn't.

"God, what a horrible 15 minutes of fame this would be," I thought still slurping away.

I desperately wanted to puke, but knew that both leaving the table and throwing up were against the rules.

"That's it, no more," I declared to a sad-faced crowd.

How far did I get? Around 12 scoops - just a little over half.

No name under the still blank success wall, no free ice cream and certainly no hero factor.

I spent the rest of the day in pain and didn't eat anything for two days.

Wow, that was dumb.

Elysia A. Smith is The State News MS&U editor and plans to go back to eating ice cream in three months. E-mail her at smithely@msu.edu and tell her what a gluttonous pig she is.