I dunno, I fear full-fat milk, possibly because I was the last generation of school-milkees until Majestic Margaret swooped in to save us from the oleaginous, lukewarm terror that lurked in the corner of any given classroom. Our school replaced milk with cartons full of bright orange petroleum byproducts dissolved in sugar presumably so they could entertain themselves by watching the school descend into a kind of chaotic Brownian motion as children bounced off the walls and collapsed into juddering, jangly piles of sugar-slapped and chemically strummed nervous exhaustion.
On those grounds, I suspect the contents of a bottle of full-fat milk and a used condom hold a similar appeal.
