I first met him at the bar in Kazakhstan—you know, the one one where they tie the drunks to Bactrian camels and send them roaming through the countryside—while I was in the middle of a manic episode. He sat down on the stool next to me and ordered a glass of milk. Already, I knew there was something wrong with this man; everyone else was drinking қымыз. He turned to me and smiled, and his teeth were rat teeth. “Not ordering milk is a misplay,” he said. I got up out of my chair too quickly and immediately collapsed to the ground. I woke up the next morning tied to a camel. Someone had stolen my wallet and passport. I’ll leave the story of how I got out of Kazakhstan for another day, but for now I will leave you with this warning: never trust a milk-drinker.

See you all at practice,

Lev “look at this stupid antelope” Bernstein

Secretary, Quiz Bowl at NYU, c. 2500 B.C.E. - 2021 C.E.