Hi. I basically hate everyone in and from the UK except for the few relatives who married into my family, about three friends, and Led Zeppelin (oh well, it’s true). This includes some people in the UK VICE office, and at the top of my list used to be my fellow online editor Alex Miller, killer of deer and smasher of my productive work days. You may think we’re all one big lovingly dysfunctional family around here, and usually we are, but every once in a while some nasty beef emerges from the molten pit of the earth that no amount of supervisor mediation can squash. That was a joke–you really think we have supervisor mediation around here? Andy Capper, who’s Alex’s boss, offered to set up a boxing ring for us if I wanted to come to London. When I found out Alex was coming to the States on one of his many leaves from office (how the fuck does that guy get so many vacation days?), I challenged him to an obstacle course. We really needed to settle, for once and for all, who was better: me or him, aka the US or the UK.

To which he responded: “It’s not fair, Americans are naturally more competitive.” What? Fucking whiner. Or “whinger,” I guess I’m supposed to say. Brits and their stupid names for everything…

Yep, damn straight I am competitive. And aggressive. I am an American with red blood in my veins and the thrill of the psychological kill coursing through my system. I couldn’t wait to wipe the floor with this motherfucker. I gave intern Emily Diamond a little treat on her last day in the office, which was designing our physical challenges. I figured if she, as a fellow American, had any pent-up misgivings about the mean treatment she endured as indentured help around here, she’d have a good time taking it out on me via cruel and/or humiliating tasks.

After scouring around the office she found some supplies, including sake wine coolers, trash bags, and some kind of promotional Fred Perry table tennis set. We started with a ping-pong competition.

OK, I totally lost at keeping my eyes open to glare him down, but excuse me, I’d been in the office all day, staring at a computer screen and actually working, not gallivanting across the ocean with my friends. But these were just the warm-up acts. And so what if he beat me at arm wrestling? I’m a skinny vegan and a girl. If he didn’t beat me he’d probably be fired.

Next, we moved outside for the actual obstacle course.  

This is where I found another cheerleader to join Team USA, a construction worker who to this day still shouts “USA! USA!” at me whenever I walk past him.

The competition started with an egg-and-spoon race, as per Alex’s poncey request, followed by a twist on the classic potato sack race.

Next we had to chow two carrots as fast as possible, then chug a sake wine cooler. This was a lot more difficult than it sounds, as carrots need to be basically masticated into liquid before you can swallow or else you may choke and die. That takes a lot of chewing. And in our case, a lot of drool and carrot spewing. I have to say that seeing him with orange carrot crumbles and drool dribbling down his silly mug helped calm the anger inside.

What kind of stupid British way is that to eat a carrot?!

We chugged the sake coolers, and upon finishing, hopscotched and then raced to the finish.

Catch that last bit?
HE CHEATED.
Look closely:

Carrot still in the mouth.

Don’t even try to hide it. I got your number, guy.

Therefore, I win!

Oh look, he’s a proud cheater…

With a shredded shirt. Oops. Did I mention my friend attacked him as he crossed the finish line?

So I guess we are both duplicitous cheaters who can’t follow instructions. I am just loud and violent, and he is sneaky. And we both work at VICE.

LIZ ARMSTRONG

Read Alex’s no-doubt skewed and untrue version of events here.