Not cheating, but perhaps a bit inappropriate. Chalk it up to crazy days compromising moral character. Here is my own little Step 8 chest baring.
Anyway, the frats were the big powers in my buggy days, much to the chagrin of us proud GDI. We looked for anything to give us an advantage, and tossed around a lot of interesting ideas over more than a few mobile units while repairing the latest Sunday free roll damage. Pretty much came down to, “… if we can’t meet ‘em or beat ‘em……………….. we’ll beat the meat ‘em”.
Emerging from a toxic cloud of benzene and bondo into the Monday dawn haze, taking the dare, Guppy made his way to the most convenient, back-door bread and milk delivery on the frat quad. With a vivid mental picture of the taut backed El Salvadorean, he yanked and cranked the old Dick Cyert, delivering a 10 cc shot of pure essence into a gallon of milk, and resealed the container. A modified Pittsburgh milkshake, might not not have been the first protein drink ever. I have no idea what happened after that since we were in seizures laughing.
Probably never made it to the kitchen table, but it was good for a gag. No pun intended. Still got our ass kicked on race day, though.