Gross Jar

Due to overwhelming amounts of reader mail requesting its return, we are pleased to bring you Gross Jar 2.0. 

This is how it works: we take a jar and put a bunch of really foul shit in it. Then we set it outside the back door of the office and check what’s happening in there every so often. It’s very scientific. Someone usually gets really physically sick from it.

For this new Gross Jar, we started with a huge tub of kosher pickles. Those got dumped in the trash. They aren’t gross enough. Here’s what is gross enough:

1 small whole raw chicken, ripped into pieces
1 pint skim milk
5 facial scabs from the editor’s mysterious cheek lacerations from when he blacked out last week
1 good mouthful of flu spit from the office manager
1 cup chicken blood
1 really long piss from aforementioned editor
3 eggs, two cracked and one left whole in the bottom

As we all know, chicken and milk, when sealed in a jar together, make a bomb. If you don’t believe us, fill a jar with pollo and leche, screw the lid on tight, put it under your bed, and wait. You will be thrilled with the results.

Upon initial mixing, our gross jar resembled nothing much more than a jar of milk. The chicken and egg bits settled in the center of the jar. The piss blended right in. The scabs floated to the top, becoming difficult to see without removing the lid, which is against the rules.

One week later, and it is a drastically different story in there. Something (we suspect the urine) has made a thin layer of mucus at the upper rim of the jar. The chicken pieces are expanding hazily upwards, like something from the landscapes on the cover of Yes albums. We made an intern put his nose up to one of the holes in the lid and inhale, and he dry-heaved for a few minutes. He didn’t even puke.

For next month, we’re going to open it up and add some new ingredients. This shit is nowhere near extreme enough.

Please send your suggestions to vice@viceland.com. We also encourage all of you to start your own Gross Jars and send us photos.


Gross Jar: One month later.

The liquid has turned a sickly pink, and the chicken is disintegrated.

But the weirdest thing that we’ve learned so far is that spit doesn’t play well with others. We got our office manager to hock a loogie in there, and it is still sitting in a perfect glob on top of the whole thing.

The stink coming from the air holes in the lid is astounding as it is, but wait until next month — we are about to take a shit in the jar.