I got to thinking the other day and I concluded I have done a lot of stupid things in my life so far. I’m willing to try anything once. I do things without thinking of the consequences because it seems like a good idea at the time. I’m also dumb.

At 8 years old, my sister dared me to eat a mud pie. I only had one bite. I’m still not a fan of pies.

At 9, someone dared me to eat the entire, regular-sized bag of Wise Red Hot Potato Chips. I did.

At 9, I tried to “jump the shark” just like the Fonz, except I did it by tying a rope to a friend’s bicycle and tried to skateboard down my street and over a homemade ramp/jump. The end of my street was a hill. Skateboards in 1979 sucked. It didn’t end well.

At 11, I built a ramp to jump with my bicycle. The neighbor kids and I tried to jump as high as we could. I had to lie to my mom about all the scrapes and cuts on me and my bike and tell her my bike got stuck in a sewer drain because the cars pushed me to the side of the road.

At 12, someone dared me to eat cat food. It was Meow Mix. I brushed my teeth for three days. Still tasted cat food.

Also at 12, someone dared me to eat dog food. I refused to eat Gravy Train because, ew. I ate Puppy Chow instead. Cat food tastes better.

At 13, I ate the last of the free cherry Popsicles playing softball. There was no ice on the ball fields, but there were Popsicles in the concession stands. If you get hit with a line drive during practice or a game, you could get a cherry Popsicle to keep the swelling down. I didn’t mind getting hit in the head because it was a free snack.

At 15, someone dared me to shove three Drake’s Yankee Doodles in my mouth at once and eat them. My reward for not spilling any bits was free lunch for a week.

At 15, somewhere in a French hotel, I ate an entire bag of fun-sized Milky Way bars in one sitting.

At 16, on a band trip to Canada, no one wanted to eat their dessert, a one-person-sized quiche. Everyone passed theirs to me. They didn’t think I would eat all 12 of them. I proved them wrong.

At 17, I nearly set my house on fire because I liked to watch things burn. Do not set things on fire in your living room on top of a cardboard box. Cardboard can catch on fire.

At 18, I chugged an entire bottle of Everclear on a dare. No, I do not know how I am not dead.

At 18, I ate a Runza.

At 19, I drank something called Aztec Snot at an around-the-world party at Acacia Fraternity at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. I don’t know what was in it, but it was tasty.

At 19, I dried banana peels and smoked them. They do not get you high. It was all a lie.

At 19, I participated in a snowball fight inside my dorm. I turned to run away and hit a cement wall, knocking myself unconscious. I cracked my skull. My mother called me a dumbass.

At 22, I went skiing for the first, and last, time. My friends took me on a black diamond. I made one run, mostly on my ass, then I took a nap in the car while they continued to ski. I got pneumonia.

At 22, I made the 21-hour drive from Lincoln, Nebraska to Middletown, New York in 11 hours. My mom was not happy to see me.

At 23, I ate raw eel on a hot dog bun. Eating each bite twice is not tasty.

At 24, I parked my red, Ford Bronco II in front of the White House. When I came back, it had a ticket tucked under the windshield wiper and a note that a tow truck was called. I drove away as quickly as possible and never paid the ticket.

At 28, I drove in Italy.

At 28, I held Paul’s feet so he could go as far as possible into the crater of Mt. Vesuvius and get a stone.

At 32, I drove in a blizzard on I-80 even though the highway was closed. Technically, they said don’t drive if you don’t have to. I had to.

At 48, I ate half a pancake and syrup flavored Peep because my coworkers are babies. Do not eat these. Peeps of any kind are an abomination.

At 48, Doug Southard, ad manager at the Star-Herald, asked me, “You want some?” I ate his Paqui Haunted Ghost Pepper tortilla chips. Not a good idea. Everything those chips touched was on fire, from my mouth to my stomach.

Somewhere in the back of my head is my grandma’s voice going, “What the hell is wrong with you?”