MVP Time!!!

It's the most coveted award in the history of everything. MVP of the Super Bowl? That for pussies. Whatever they give the best player in that world cup thing? Lame-o's and wankers. Best Performer at the AVN awards? Well, actually.... no - still doesn't compare! We're talking the award that awards the dedication and the commitment to eating chicken wings over the span of 5 days...in a row! An award so special, so rare, that we're actually splitting the award in to 2 categories this year as we have 2 extra outstanding participants this year.

Most Wings Consumed Award - that goes to Peaches, with over 200 wings eaten in a week. Damn - that's a fuckload of chickenwings. Also - his face never really broke out - so I expect him to improve on that number the next time we have the week of wings.

Highest Wing Average Award - this goes to DoubleDown, who for the four nights he showed up was a slaughterhouse of chicken eating fire. The man can eat chicken wings like it was his job. A job he loved and was compensated well for at that.

Special thanks to LAPSE - for compiling all the numbers and creating some awesome charts. Special thanks to The Fence, again, for coming through on the shirts, at a great price. And special thanks to all those that participated, and who spread the word of the week of wings. If you are reading this, and didn't join us for any nights out - stop out for a few nights on our next tour of self destructive gluttony. Yeah - you'll probably wake up not quite feeling your best, but you'll have a good time, and get a dumb nickname on this here blog. How can you resist?

Calories Burned for Walking 4.0 Mph, Level, Firm Surface, Very Brisk Pace				340
				Cal per Hr
Total Distance Travel by Week of Wings (miles)				1519
Or Walking form New York, NY to North Platte, NE

Friday

Forgive me for slacking over the weekend - actually, you don't have to. Weekends are the domain of the slacker. I slacked so well over the weekend, it sort of slacked over into Monday.

Anyways, I awoke on Friday ready to end the week of wings. I hadn't eaten breakfast or lunch all week. I had strong suspicions that major organ systems were on the verge of collapse. However, when it comes to this sort of unimportant trivial bullshit, you know I can't walk away. Friday was naturally a clusterfuck. Between being busy at work, really, and trying to figure out where to go for wings, I wasn't sure how things were going to work out. We decided to take our chances and head to Mad Mex in the North Hills for the closing night of the week of wings. I talked to The Fence and DoubleDown to see who could get there first. DoubleDown wasn't going to get there until "later", while The Fence was shooting for 6 PM. Not sure we were going to be able to get a table, I undauntedly headed due north in the suburban sprawl wasteland that is McKnight Road. I arrive at Mad Mex a little after 5:30 and ask for a table for 12. The hostess is cute, as hostesses tend to be. (Not always, though.) They don't have any 12 tops, so they offer to push a bunch of 2 tops together. That works for me. I was travelling Gordon Lightfoot style, and figured that was lame, so I switched over to George Thorogood style for the time being. Translation: It isn't too much fun to sit at a restaurant alone, so I started drinking.

Fortunately, The Fence, and his wife, who we're going to call Kelly Lynch today, as Roadhouse is her favorite movie, Cheeseplate and LT arrived around 6 as promised. I had ordered some chips and dips (pico, black bean and a cheese dip.) The dips were good, they kept giving us the bottom of the bag chips though - all broken and ass kicked. Lame. Peaches arrived shortly thereafter with Juice right behind him. Have to salute the Juice - he put in work this week and was around for an impressive, unexpected 4 nights. LAPSE and the Boss were not going to attend tonight - as they had tickets to Blue Man Group, which is cool I guess. I'd go, if only to see what the deal is. I'd expect to be annoyed though, but I've gone into shows like that before only to be impressed.

We start ordering the wings, which were half off. Good deal. Mad Mex has only 4 sauces, but those sauces all have 3 levels of intensity; mild, wild and insane. I order a large order of classic buffalo insane and a small order of southwest insane. Cheeseplate and The Fence split a few orders of mild San Francisco and mild Buffalo. Peaches orders 3 large orders of assorted flavors. That really puts the pressure on DoubleDown - who I just exchanged texts with. He has just left is house that is a good 45 minutes to an hour away. He may miss the special. The Juice puts together another nice showing with his order. The Fence is drinking a margarita, but everyone else is drinking beer. I'm drinking Dos Equis - which is ok. There are some beers on draft that look more interesting, but they are a little too high in the alcohol by volume percentage for me to try as I am driving. The waiter asks if we could go on one check - everyone is fine with that. It looks like there will be no shirt signing tonight...

That being said, the waiter seems like a good enough fellow. He is willing to taunt The Fence (or is it Cheeseplate - not sure) over the name of an item. Laughs by all. The Fence reaches out to DoubleDown, to get his order in before the special ends. Quality fellow he is. The ladies had all ordered something other than wings, but they had all sampled them as well. The wings arrive - and are decent. The sauces are very good, and for the first time all week, the insane makes me break into a bit of a sweat. Finally. The only thing holding them back is that they are a little too fatty. That is too bad because they could have been contenders. Still very good. The Southwest sauce is quite good - I would recommend.

Both Peaches and DoubleDown finished off their triple orders - which is in excess of 40 wings. Not a bad showing at all. Cheeseplate has 18 or so- which is a strong showing for him. The bill was the highest of the week, but that was to be expected - as we stayed past the happy hour special, and drinks began to get pricier. At the end, everyone was glad to have the week of wings be over, but all also seemed glad that they had taken part of it.

Thursday

I wake up on Thursday not sure I want to eat anymore. I don't mean eat anymore wings, I mean anymore food ever. I've been skipping breakfast and lunch, outside of an apple or so. It's sort of like Supersize Me, but I don't that kick ass moustache. This isn't intentional, well not having the moustache is, but the not eating thing isn't. I just haven't been hungry. I guess too many wings and too much beer will do that to you. I am a little late for work because I leave the house late. Why? Because I wanted to watch the end of "What happened to Baby Jane?" - clearly I've injured my brain. Also - I have a doctors appointed scheduled for today - or at least it was scheduled for today. I'll go see the doctor in a few weeks after some detoxing...

So tonight we're headed off to "The Barking Shark," in the North Hills. None of us have ever been there. The Fence suggest maybe we should go to Shenanigan's instead, as it is a little closer. I threaten to pistol whip him, as required, and counter with the offer to go to Shenanigan's on the condition that we burn it to the ground. Actually, that's probably a little much. I don't like the place too much, but I don't hate it. I don't want to go mostly because I don't think the food is very good. Before I depart, I google directions and check out the bar's website. Wing night on Thursdays? Fuck yeah! I love it when a plan comes together. I ask the girl in the cube next to me what was the name of the dude on A-Team who said that - she doesn't know. Not sure what that is about. Anyways - the wing special on the website is pretty kick ass. .10 a piece from 8-11. That is a fucking deal. I get home and mess with a post for this, and then start trying to catch up on all the shows on my DVR that I've missed this week. I head out about 7 - and it takes about a half hour to get there. It would have taken less time, except I was stuck behind some asshole who thought that 10 mph was the desired speed to drive on Babcock Boulevard. It's a 2 lane road. This asshole then had the audacity to make a left turn. Yeah - it pissed me off a bit. The Fence sends me a text telling me that they are there, they have a table and the wing special is actually .25 a piece from 7-11. Now that isn't bad, but update your fucking website people. At least there is still a wing special. The parking lot is small, but it is only one spot left, so I'm hopeful that the wings are good.

I walk in to see Cheeseplate, his wife, we'll call her LOUDTALKER or LT for short, Juice, and The Fence, and the wife of The Fence, who we'll refer to alternatingly as either Mary Kate or Ashely. (I'm not going to lie - I'm not in love with that nickname but I couldn't think of anything better. You deserve better, but I'm not sure what to do...) The wives compliment the beard. I'm looking less like a trucker today, I guess. They have Straub Light on tap - score. I'm liking this place. The table has a pitcher of it - good call Cheeseplate. They've all order wings already, and they arrive. I ask the waitress for a glass. Just as a warning - I'm going to focus on the waitress again for this post, mostly because the waitress was sort of a trip. Her name was Nicole and she was pretty cute I guess. She also sort of reminded me of that time I found a ringtail lemur and tricked it into smoking crank. That may not have happened, but the waitress was animated to say the least. I also order some wings. I ask the waitress what are the hottest wings on the menu. She suggests honey habanero, x-hot and something called man-eaters. Man-eaters? In the words of the master, who were the advertisings wizards that came up with that? Generally speaking, men eat wings, and men eat the hottest wings. Most men don't want to eat something named man eaters. Most men don't listen to the Hall & Oates "hit" Man-eater for the same reason. Actually, probably not for the same reason. Men don't listen to that song because it is lame.


I get 10 x-hot and 10 honey jalapeño. I steal a wing from the rest of the table - it was decent. Not sure what the table is eating, Carribean BBQ is appearently a hit - but you know by now I don't go near that kind of shit. Mary Kate wants a t-shirt. My wings arrive, but I promise to head out to my car and grab her and LT a shirt each. Nicole asks what the story with the t-shirts are. She asks if we are in a wing league. I'm not sure if there is a such thing as a wing league, but if there isn't, it's just another reason why this country is going down the tubes. I bet they have wing leagues on Costa Rica. Someone call Nancy Grace - she'll get to the bottom of this shit. And if we're lucky, she'll choke do death on a chicken bone. I explain the week of wings to the waitress. She asks me if I've been shitting a lot. I explain I've only been eating chicken, so it hasn't been too bad. Here's the thing - if you have balls, hot sauce doesn't make you shit.

Peaches arrives. He had hurt his balls jumping down off a wall. Ok. I had heard that he was going to tap out as far as eating wings was concerned. He was down by 10 to DoubleDown, who may or may not be showing up. His concern wasn't his stomach or that he didn't feel up to it - he was worried about his face breaking out. He may be meeting the love of his life this weekend, and if he has pimples, she may pass on him. I guess the future love of Peaches life is superficial, which he seems to be ok with. He says he's worried about looking like he's in high school. I suggest that he just date high school girls. Cheeseplate yells across the table "he already does!" It's funny because it's true. Anyways, the waitress tells us that dating high school girls is ok as long as they are at least 16. She then recites the age of consent laws. Her claim is that she taking some law classes. I'm perversely impressed with any girl who can recite the age of consent laws, but I think she could have finished stronger than "so head to the high school football game!" Peaches takes that ball and runs with it, though. He guesses that she was a gymnist a was cheerleader. My guess is that she was on the dance team. Peaches was 2/2. I was 0/2.


The wings arrive. The x-hot are decently hot - but they don't cause me to break out in a sweat or anything. The honey jalapeño are more interesting, but I think I'd have preferred them a little bit hotter. That is just me though. She says they are popular, and I can see why. Here is the issue with the wings here. They make a ton at the beginning of the night, and then add the various sauces as they are ordered. I understand this, and no one likes waiting for wings, but I'm not sure that this is the answer. The method they use to keep the wings warm is also causing the to shrivel up and be dry on the inside. That doesn't stop me from eating them. Peaches decides that the rumors of his death are greatly exagerrated, and orders 30 wings of various flavorings. He was 10 behind DoubleDown at the start, and figures 30 Thursday and 30 Friday will put the game out of reach for DoubleDown if he doesn't show up.


Speaking of which - The Fence sends DoubleDown a text that Peaches is eating wings tonight, and that people would be there until at least 10:30 - but maybe not too much later. He decides that it isn't worth the trip. He'll need to be back with a vengence on Friday if he wants to retain the belt.

LAPSE arrives - yeah - LAPSE! He as a bunch of stats that are pretty impressive. I'll make a separate post for those. He's been charting the progress we've been making. I'll figure out how to post it here at some point. It's pretty good stuff. He orders more wings.


Nicole starts talking to Cheeseplate, LT, The Fence and Ashley about how they met each other and how they knew the other was "the one." Oh Nicole - you fooled us all. Beneath that wild, pro sexual predator attitude exterior lurks the heart of a true romantic. Also, The Fence is not a fan of this line of questioning. I can relate to that. She asks us what we all do, and tells us she is in school for social work. She used to work a terrible job for some douchey fashion desinger and decided that she'd rather help people. That makes sense. She seems to have good people skills, but as a miserable bastard, all it means to me is that the more she talks, the less she goes and gets beer and wings for us. To that end, I break up the conversation by ordering another pitcher. I've mentioned that I really like Straub Light, but I think they must have had Honey Brown in this tap recently because it tastes a little off. Peaches points out to Mary Kate that Nicole has a really sex back. Mary Kate has two reactions. (A) That isn't her back, it's her ass, and 2 - why are you telling me this specifically? I didn't notice her back, but as I mentioned, she was cute. As far as the second point - I did find it a little strange. Peaches definitely was speaking directly to Ashley about Nicole's back/ass. Ashely must be the expect on backs and as it turns out, asses as well. She should update her résumé.


I've been remiss in my write up to this point by not discussing the fine job that Cheeseplate, LT and Mary Kate have been doing in the wing eating area. Impressive showing for all 3. I order 10 more, 5 hot garlic and 5 hot ranch. I had tried to convince Peaches to order the hot ranch by suggesting that it sort of sounded like hot pants. That would have worked, except the waitress said that they weren't that good. As I ordered them, everyone reminded me of this. Iasked her, but as she started to explain why, I told her I didn't care and that she should bring them. She did. They were really gross looking. She pointed out that I didn't care, which was a fair point to make. LT thought they looked like hot sauce mixed with ranch, and that they weren't so gross looking. Good point LT. That is what they tasted like too. Here is the thing, I don't really like ranch that much. I only wanted to order them because hot ranch sort of sounds like hot pants. The hot garlic were decent - but I'd reserve judgement until I had them fresh.


I go and grab shirts for Ashley, LT and one for the Boss - LAPSE can take it to her. I also prevent Peaches from entering the men's room after the largest, sloppiest chubster exited. It went like this: "Dude" (head nod) (puzzled shoulder shrug/why look on face) (glance at chubster/glance at men's room door) (giggles. retreats from door.) Non verbal communication - it's a life saver.


I order 5 more wings - tangy mustard. They're pretty good. Nicole is back and begins her line of questioning towards the married folk again. The Fence decides it's shirt signing time. Nicole is game. She goes and grabs some sharpies. The Fence has her write a love letter on his back. It didn't start "Dear Penthouse Forum," but it was still pretty good. On Mary Kate's back you ask? "Your husband is an ass." Well done. The waitress doesn't claim to be creative, but she writes a pretty clever message on Peaches back. "You're kinda cool, but don't come back." That's clever because all the other waitresses had wrote messages imploring him to come back. I don't recall what she writes on Cheeseplate's back. She asks LAPSE - he tells her to write "You've gained weight this week, but you still look good." Not sure if that is what she wrote. I had her write "I knew you were an outlaw," well, for obvious reasons. LT never put her shirt on - so it remained free of any message. Nicole asks "aside from here, what was your favorite place this week?" Well phrased. We all have different answers, or at least differing answers - I'll make a different post discussing this.

The ladies and Cheeseplate leave shortly afterwards. I offer to drop off The Fence, as he is ready to stay out a little bit. Everyone else is good for a pitcher or two. We hung out for a bit - had some more beer. This post is already way too long - but we had some laughs, a few Irish Car Bombs may have been had, and we all left before it was too late. I gave our waitress this URL - and told her that there was going to be a good bit about her. Maybe there was.

Wing count - I don't really remember - Peaches had the most. I had 26. LAPSE had a lot too. Overall, I thought that the place was pretty nice, a bit far for me. The waitress definitely made the night more entertaining, though it took me a while to come around to her. I'm not sure I'd go there for wing night again, but I would go there to get wings again, and try them freshly made.

Wednesday

I am the only one who thinks Wednesday is the most boring day of the week? You can at least complain about Mondays. Look - there's a reason that no one has ever written a song about Wednesday. If they have, I don't want to hear it, or hear about it, so kindly, keep your mouth fucking shut. This Wednesday, though, we are going to Sonny's Place, which is never boring.

Years ago, when Cheeseplate, Roostar and myself had a half of a duplex together, we used to go to Sonny's every Wednesday. Wings, booze, walking distance. It was great. Not as many years ago, Cheeseplate and I stopped by to watch the hockey game. Some character, an alleged purveyor of narcotics, as it were, was upset that he wasn't getting free drinks, stormed off promising to return shortly and shoot the place up. Seems kinda excessive to me, but at the same time, I can see the appeal. I'd personally want to wear on of those western style duster jackets and reenact the scene from The Unforgiven. Anyways, the bar tender assured us that it was entirely possible that he could come back and shoot the place up. Cheeseplate and I briefly discussed leaving, but then decided to move to the back of the bar, and hatch an escape plan in case the bullets did start flying. ("We'll tunnel our way to freedom!") Anyways, at Gators on Tuesday, I told this tale to Peaches, and suggested he may want to come heavy, pack heat, carry, etcetera. In my defense, I had been drinking.

So I get to the bar at 7:30 or so - The Fence had sent me a text letting me know he was in the back of the bar. Not sure if it was to avoid bullets or not though. DoubleDown and Juice had parked at about the same time I did - so we all walked at once. Peaches and The Fence had two tables in the back and a pitcher of Coors Light. Ok - not the ideal beer, but I'll spare you the macho bullshit about a man's beer. We decided that we ought to order as many wings as we can at a time. The fryer at Sonny's can hold 60 wings - so initially order 30 cajun and 30 hot. The 2 circle tables that we have pushed together are actually very good as far as including everyone in on the conversation. We start to plan, "The Heist." Actually, we start to plan to start planning a heist. We don't actually plan a heist. Well, I have this idea involving a rogue elephant and 4 metric tons of liquid nitrogen, but it is dismissed out of hand immediately. (Genius is never appreciated in it's own day.) At about this time, Peaches leans back and drops his gun. This could have been a disaster but we were fortunate in 2 ways. 1 - it didn't go off, and (b) no one was around. The Fence asks if the safety was on - which Peaches can directly answer, as the safety would have to exist in order to be in the state of off or on. Peaches puts the gun away, and manages to keep a hold of it the rest of the evening.

The wings arrive not too much later. As soon as they arrive, we order 30 hot garlic and 30 honey mustard. Back to the first batch - they were actually quite good. The flavor was perfect on the hot wings. You could discern both the hot sauce and the butter, but the flavors were still mixed together. The cajun wings were really good too - but I don't know what goes into cajun wings, so I can't really show off about that.

Now - we're sitting in the back of the bar, which is also where the women's restroom is at. At one point, a rather attractive, yet obviously skanky chic was headed to the restroom as it was already occupied. The following conversation took place:
- skank: Is there someone in there?
- peaches: Yeah. You could come sit with us though...
- skank: What?
- peaches: Umm - nevermind.
- skank: No, I really couldn't hear you - what did you say?
- peaches: No - it was nothing...
(skank exits scene to ladies room.)
(skank reenters the scene to exit back to the front of the bar.)
- peaches: I was getting a lot of eye contact there.
- scoville: Yeah, she probably wants it.
- peaches: Think she has a boyfriend?
- scoville: Yeah, she probably does. She probably has a few diseases too.
- peaches: So I'd need to wrap it up then, huh?
On the next very special episode of "As the week of wings turns" we find out who is Molly's father, where Old Man Finnegan buried the treasure and why Austin hates his father. Don't miss it!

Anyways - back to the wings - the honey mustard and the hot garlic arrive. I order another 6o - same order as the first. (30 hot/30 cajun.) The chef asks if he can add a little extra spice to them - we're good with that. The Fence and Juice think that might have been too strong a call - but Peaches and DoubleDown are in another close race and putting up huge numbers. Now remember yesterday when I was whining about the lack of bone plates? Well, that was not the issue here at all. We each had our own bone plate. Seriously, it was fucking awesome, and should be the standard. I think we've allowed the anti-bone-plate-fascists to win for far too long, and it's time to strike back in the name of freedom and/or gluttony.

The third batch takes a long time to make. We spend this time brainstorming the whole heist thing. I can't give details. What has been very nice is the price of beer. $3.50 a pitcher during the Wednesday wing special. I think that is less than the price of a draft beer at some of the other places I've been to recently. We order quite a few pitchers - but no one is getting too tipsy. The third batch arrives. The chef brings them out - he says he tossed in some extra - but that we weren't going to be able to eat 240. No one protested that too loudly. They must have opened up a different bag of chicken, because these wings were much fattier than the first two batches. We still eat most of them, but the fattiness is just too much, and we are unable to finish the massacre. It's a shame too. The extra spice the chef added made the sauce even better. We get the check - it's around $50. We've been averaging around $140 a night so far, so this is the fuckin steal of the century. We leave a nice tip and head off into the night. Peaches catches the skanks eye as he is leaving, causing her boyfriend to stand up and try to look tough. That is as far as it goes. I remember the short drive home, and again, do not pass out on the couch.

Peaches ends up with over 60 wings - DoubleDown is over 50. I break 30. The Fence and Juice account for themselves very well, too. It's a good night for us, a bad night for chickens, everywhere. So here is the deal with wing night at Sonny's. If you like good wings, and not spending very much money, this is the place to be. Just order the wings in small batches to avoid too many of the fatty ones. A lot of the other participants think it is a little too rough to bring a lady friend, but I think it depends on the lady in question. Then again, I'm really hood, so...

Tuesday

Big Cancer was supposed to bring you good folks all the details, but he is AWOL. I'm hoping he'll edit this post and add his take on the evening. I'll give you the quick and dirty details...

We went to Gators in Bloomfield. Cheeseplate wanted to get there early to watch the game. The wing special starts at 10 on Tuesdays, but Big Cancer assured us that the wing special isn't really all that special - and to be honest, I was looking forward to some sleep - so I was totally on board for an early start. The Fence was on umm, the fence about coming out, and eventually decided to skip Tuesday and hold out for Wednesday. Cheeseplate wasn't feeling up for it either. Fair enough. I arrived at around 7:30. LAPSE and Lady LAPSE, or as we like to call her, The Boss, along with Double Down and his fiancé Misty Stratus (you have to say that out loud as Miss D Stratus for that to make sense) had already order beers. The Boss and Misty commented that my beard matched my outfit - and agreed that I could pass as an OTR truck driver. (That's probably why I'm getting all the attention from hookers. It has nothing to do with my stares.) I'll point out that they weren't being mean with this, just surprised, as they hadn't seen the beard in it's month old glory. There is a pitcher of Yuengling on the table. We order some hot wings and some cajun wings.

Peaches shows up shortly after. I text Big Cancer - he is on his way as well. He arrives at about the same time the wings do. Both flavors are pretty tasty. I'm not sure they were as tasty as some of the flavors we had Monday, but still, you wouldn't complain. There is a monkey wrench thrown in here though. There aren't enough trays to allow us to use one as a bone plate. Having to toss your discarded bones on a napkin on the table is ok, but seriously, give us a bone plate. The first order was for 20 of each flavor. We order 20 more Cajun, DoubleDown is a fan, 20 Hot BBQ, and 20 Gold wings. The gold wings are Gator's honey mustard wings. I've had them prior to Tuesday, and am a big fan. (They are a bit messy though.) We get some more beer. Now up in to this point, each of the ladies had only had one wing. Enough to say they participated and not much else. They decide to try the gold wings and end up with a total tally of 12. That's impressive. Hmm - I guess we shouldn't be surprised that the ladies loved the gold. Just imagine if they had diamond wings, they'd be keeping up with DoubleDown - Heeeyo! Try the shrimp cocktail - it's delish!

Speaking of DoubleDown - he is taking the wings down. He's taking the wings down to China town. (He named the various parts of his body after neighborhoods. China Town is his belly. Under no circumstance would I advise taking DoubleDown up on an offer of a tour of Verona. Fellas - trust me on this...) Seriously though, he is putting in an impressive effort. We finish up that batch and Peaches throws down the gauntlet. He orders 40 gold in an attempt to keep up. DoubleDown counters with 20 more Cajun. Big Cancer and I decide to bring the heat. Insane Buffalo - towards the top of the charts as far as the wings at Gators go. We order 10 because we are planning on poaching some of the other wings as well. Well, again, the cajun wings were good. The gold were great. The insane buffalo wasn't hot as advertised. A more apt description would be maybe a neurotic buffalo. That's a reach, but this buffalo would definitely be found competent to stand trial. Legal humor always leaves the crowd in stiches. We split 7 to 3 - with yours truly carrying the burden. (Really - I didn't think they were hot at all. Then again, I used Scoville as my fake internets name for a reason.)

At the end of the night - Double Down finishes with 49 wings. That is impressive. Peaches is above 30. The rest of the gentlemen are all above 20. Not bad for a Tuesday night. I actually remember driving home too - and at no time, pass out on the couch.

The Shirts

Mondays, of course, suck. This Monday more than usual. The Steelers lost (Sunday Night) at the last second, and it is a game they should have won. When the Steelers lose, I try to avoid the internets. I really don't want to read about the game or even think about it. (At least the ALCS finishing up was the big story nationally - so I wasn't too reminded of the pain.) The Fence calls me at work to tell me that the week of wings shirts are ready, and that he would bring them to bowling. I have to give The Fence some dap on the shirts. Actually, I have to give him a lot of credit. I was trying to get quotes for shirts, as the natives were demanding them. He mentioned that he knew a guy in his networking group that could make them for us. I had a guy at work draw a logo for me, and he had done a nice job. I had sent The Fence the logo via e-mail, and had to bust his balls a bit to get him to talk to his boy. (Busting his balls may be putting it a little strongly, but these are the internets.) Anyways - as soon as he talked to his boy - he really made it happen. His boy really hooked us up on the shirts. I was expecting to spend way more on the shirts. I was also expecting the shirts later in the week - so to get them Monday was a huge bonus.

Monday

Typing that makes me think of the movie "The Shining," and along with the quote from Fight Club on the masthead - it occurs to me that I am probably less of a douche bag than I could be. But then again, people always tell me I sell myself short. That's not really that relevant, so let's move on. I will get to the wings, but we'll be taking the scenic route.

I had a conference call run late and left work about 2 hours later then I normally do. I arrived at bowling 2 frames into the first game. We were bowling against Cheeseplate's team. They have X-Ray. Just as an aside, and as much as I think X-Ray is a good guy, I'm not sure he should be allowed to bowl in our league. I mean, he has robotic knees (and probably a sophisticated pin targeting system.) I didn't realize I signed up for a league where I was going to be bowling against cyborgs. Anyways - X-Ray and his pin killing technology bowled really well. My captain - LAPSE (that's an acronym - Lance Armstrong's purchaser spandex e-bay - periods are for pussys [that was unintentional - I'm keeping it]...) wasn't able to keep up with X-Ray. We were swept, but as always, are already plotting our horrible revenge. At least we lost in a hurry - so we left the alley to head to the bar. I had to stop and pick up Big Cancer, but he lived along the way. (We bowl in Lawrenceville, he lives in Bloomfield, and the bar is in Shadyside.) Big Cancer is either 30 or 31 but does not have his drivers license. He just never got it. Weird - huh? Along the way, I noticed how they've really invested a lot into East Liberty. Gentrification for the win. They opened a lot of those smug ass yuppie stores for people that care about saving the whales or the world or something unselfish like that. To each their own I suppose.

So we arrived at Buffalo Blues. The lot across the street was empty. I was going to park there, but Cheeseplate warned me that my car would likely be towed. He's sensible like that. I ended up parking on the bridge. He had the shirts with him. They turned out really well. They've remodeled Buffalo Blues. I like what they did mostly. Lots more TV's. all high-def, but at the expense of some seating. We get a table for 10 - it takes a minute for them to set it up. LAPSE arrives as we are waiting. We head back into the room for wing eaters I guess. Or at least, the room for male wing eaters. That is ok - we're here to eat wings and take names - not to break hearts and get numbers. That's a good thing - as we're far more likely to be successful in the former endeavour compared to the later. Our waitress is named Sarah. I'd say she's cute - but I guess reasonable minds could differ on this point. She's impressed by my box of shirts, and seems interested in subscribing to my newsletter pertaining to the week of wings. I suppress the urge to be an asshole when she asked if I made the shirts. (I answer - "Well, I had them made", as opposed to "Yes, I actually have a cotton farm and a polyester factory, and a sweatshop overseas. God bless those hardworking Honduran Bastards.") No sense in annoying the waitress.

Now Buffalo Blues has very good wings, but they may have the best wing special of all time. That may be an oversell - but here it is: On Monday Nights, for every pitcher of beer you order, you get a free dozen wings. Seriously, if you live in Pittsburgh, like good wings and are going to a bar to watch MNF and don't go to Buffalo Blues, well then sir, I question your intelligence and the makeup of your general character. We order a pitcher of Miller Lite and one of Yuengling for the beer. For the wings, we start with Red Hot and Spicy Garlic. The waitress approves of the spicy garlic order. Thanks. The defending MVP of the week of wings, Double Down, had requested that we have some waiting for his arrival. I start passing out shirts. LAPSE tosses his on, as does Big Cancer. I throw mine on as well. Cheeseplate is just too cool to put his on. He's difficult like that. At bowling, all the yinzers were making fun of him for wearing a girls shirt, not totally unjustly, so why he is too cool for my awesome week of wings shirt is beyond me. Whatever. The beer arrives and is cold. I hadn't eaten dinner aside from some combos at the alley, and had drank beers while bowling - so I was hoping that the wings were going to be forthcoming, otherwise, I was going to get more fucked up than I intended. They arrive before too long and are very good. The chicken is consistently a high quality. Not once during the evening did I bite into one of those wings where it has an off taste or texture. The Red Hot wings are their standard Buffalo-style wing. While I like my wings very hot, I still thought these were very tasty, despite being of medium heat. They weren't claiming to be very hot, so they lose no points. The spicy garlic are umm, spicy and garlicy, I guess. Also very good. I may like them better.

Sarah asks if we need anything. I answer "world peace." Ouch. Terrible. I wasn't trying to work her, really, so I'm not even sure why I would answer anything cute. As I was saying it I realized it was terrible. Sort of an "age of enligthenment" moment. I actually look away as I say it. She tells me that she'll see what she can do. Big Cancer tells me that while that was terrible - he was proud of me letting it go. He tells me he's seen me chase bad lines/jokes before, and that I had apparently learned at least something. (I'm blaming the world peace thing on the gentrification - fuck it - I'm off to Whole Foods...)

The Fence and his brother, Juice, arrive. Double Down is right behind them. All of them get shirts. I try to pawn off a XXL on Double Down - but he isn't having it. They all toss on their shirts. Cheeseplate, ironically enough, is unwilling to stand alone, and finally puts his shirt on. Big Cancer claims his wife called that. Cheeseplate unwilling to wear the shirt until everyone else did. Good call. Two more pitchers are ordered - same beer. For the wings, we get some type of BBQ and another spicy garlic. I don't like BBQ as a flavor in general, so I forgo those wings. They all get eaten - so they must have been tasty. Peaches has arrived and also puts on his week of wings t-shirt. We look bad-ass. Ok, we look like a bunch of guys wearing the same t-shirt, but still...

Two more pitchers - the Yuengling is going much slower than the Miller Lite. I switch to Yuengling. I think we get Howling Wolf and Red Hot Parmesan. I don't remember what Howling Wolf was supposed to be. Someone help me out. I don't like parmesan wings in general, but these wings aren't covered to the point of being obnoxious. We're becoming too much work for just Sarah so she is getting help from another waitress. She's cute -I don't remember her name - let's call her Blondie. At this point, I'm probably close to drunk - so events may not have happened in this specific order or at all from this point on. We order more wings - red hot and 2 orders of spicy garlic. Sarah tells me that she is working on the world peace. Ouch.

Cheeseplate is still a little disappointed that I didn't have the shirts named/numbered. He's planning on bring a sharpie on Tuesday to mark up his shirt. The waitress hears that and says she has a sharpie. Someone suggests that she signs everyone's shirt. She's actually excited to do so. That's pretty cool. She shows her loyalty to her employer by tagging it with the restaurant name, the date and her signature. Well, except for Peaches' shirt, where she includes her phone number. He's a handsome devil, he is. I ask her to call Blondie over - she's also up to sign the shirts. She's less the model employee and more the narcissist, whereas she signs them "I'm awesome" along with her name. She includes her myspace page addy on Peaches' shirt. Seriously. It's probably too easy to make the joke about one being awesome and one having a myspace page as mutually exclusive, so I'll pass. One of the two have vandalized Juice's and Double Down's shirts, adding an eye patch, or a mohawk. Not sure I'd have allowed that, but again, to each their own. Peaches and Double Down decide to go mano y mano and order wings without beer. They are both going for that coveted MVP trophy. (Fuck - I have to find a trophy...) I drink some more and remember less. I wake up on my couch at 3:19 AM.

So, as far as the MVP race goes, Peaches learns you can't dance with the defending champ, you've got to knock his bitch ass out. Double down consumes 35 wings to Peaches 30. I top out with 20 (all drumsticks - rock on.) Big Cancer is around that amount too. Not sure about anyone else - help me out here.

Back by popular demand...

Popular enough - so fuck off. Sorry - I'm sort of still kicked in the ass from last night. Anyways, people had been asking me when I was going to set up another week of wings. They never ask, "hey -I'm going to set up a week of wings - which days can you make it?" They all claim to have wives and responsibilities and all this other gay shit. Actually, they have never claimed that - they most likely don't want to step on my toes. Maybe I come across as a territorial bastard. Maybe they think all I have going for me is the ability to plan a week of eating chicken wings. I guess that is what I do best - enable. Well, fake (non)existential crisis aside, here we are. This year I'm actually going to do things less half-assed. It'll still be half assed - just less so. (No - that doesn't make 3/4ths of an ass or any other ass fraction.) Case in point - we have this website, to allow for these nonsensical ramblings, and we even half bitching t-shirts this year. We're way ahead of the game.

So - on to the skinny about the week of wings. We go out M-F and eat wings and drink beer. The more consumed the better. Someone will post something dumb about each place, maybe along with some pictures. Since this is the interwebs - I'm going to refer to everyone by some lame nickname. Also - since this came out on SNL - we won't be punching each other this year. It is too commercial and is now wholly owned alternatively by the liberal media/big corporations and the military-industrial complex.



So - off we go...