Dec 14, 2004
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Wing Tuesday

Wings. Beer. Sports.

That bogus ESPN bowl week commercial claims that this is the most wonderful time of the year. In the words of that Mel Brooks lookin, no-talent, gasbag, Lee Corso, “Not so fast my friend!” And no, I’m not going to launch into an anti-Corso tirade even though he is a pot-bellied ninny. There is but one wonderful time of the year and guess what! It occurs every single week.

The Buddhists call it nirvana; the Christians, Heaven; and for the Vikings, it is Valhalla. But for me, it’s Wing Tuesday. A veritable cornucopia of succulent delights unparalleled by any other experience one can have at any other time of the week. It is the day where BW-3′s drops the prices of their wings to 35 cents, enabling one to order 20 mouth-watering, finger-licking, hot and saucy wings for only $7. The thought of this makes me weak in the knees.

[And the Lord said, "Let there be wing," and there was wing. And the Lord saw the wing and said, "it is good."]

Every Tuesday, my crew and I make the hop, skip, and jump to B-dubs to partake in the taste sensation that is the wing. I order 20 wings in medium sauce, a basket of buffalo chips – golden-crisp, natural-cut potato slices whose taste compliments the wing, and a lot of wet naps. After picking the bones clean and unbuttoning my pants, I sit back, marinate, and decide whether I will again succumb to the wing’s siren song that night for dinner. Tonight, I think I will.

Wings are manna from heaven. They are the Lord’s food.

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I am a jaded, sarcastic girl prone to unreasonable fits of rage. This site is my outlet. I am not classy, nice, or fair. It's best you know that up front.


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