This Sunday I had the distinct pleasure of heading out to Ren’s house to celebrate the greatest five-year old boy on the planet, Benner. Yeah, he rocks, and his party was super fun. But that is a tale for another time. I come to tell you about the wings. The Buffalo wings that I shared with Ren, JPal and The Big Man. And what story about food would be complete without the aftermath?
The wings were from some local place out by Ren, who lives just outside of Bumfuck. It’s friggin’ far. One day, I will ride my shiny new bike out there, and then I will shower, nap, and chase Benner around the yard, where we will both step in dog crap and have Ren clean us up. Ren and her hubby want me to be Benner’s Manny, and I don’t really have a problem with that, except for living way the fuck outside of this wonderful city of Chi-town.
But the wings could make me move. They were delicious and meaty, and the sauce was quite hot without being over-the-top and killing my tongue. And no acid reflux, which surprised me.
The wings weren’t the only things on fire. Apparently I was quite funny. But the night before, GringO and Wheels and other work buddies got me drunk and I hadn’t hit the sheets until 0500 on Sunday, so I don’t really remember anything that I said. But a Buffalo wing almost came out of JPal’s nose, so I take that as a pretty good indicator.
So, a little while ago, what I had been dreading finally happened. I passed the wings. And it was everything I imagined, and feared, it would be. As I write this, I am sitting on a bag of ice, listening to the cubes sizzle and crack against my naked browneye, which passed what I can honestly say felt like the Devil’s vomit over an hour ago. Pity me...
But it was so worth it. Thank you, Ren, for everything. Including this festering wound in my ass that is weeping battery acid.
-Zeepdoggie
About Us
- Zeepdoggie & GringO
- Chicago, Illinois, United States
- There are two of us, we bloggers. First, there is Zeepdoggie, who is best summed up with the quote, "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." He's sometimes funny. Then there is GringO, who does the art thing well, is more often the funny one, and has exceptionally poor customer service skills, so don't ask him for shit. We are not a couple, despite what everyone suggests. We have in common: hatred of retail, being broke, musical tastes, unformulaic comedy,and hyperaggressive tendencies. The things we differ on: who we find attractive (sometimes), family upbringing, future goals (or lack thereof), artistic talent, and our ability to grow facial hair (one day, GringO, one day...).
City of Chicago
Ground Zero
7 comments:
I can't remember exactly what it was, but I think it involved the phrase: "you can wrap yourself up in your own big burrito of stink!"
J.Ko, I believe that is the nail that almost drove me into a coffin of laffs!
Pat, I looked at your blog, and it is awesome. I don't think you really want me as a link partner. I mean, did you actually read the shit I write? And that's not even taking into account lil ol' GringO either.
Trust me, you're better off without us. Just ask my mom!
Wow am I glad I read this today. This is what you missed Cowboy vs. Samurai for? Good for you.
Dude, wings are the gift that keep on giving.
The baby and I so totally want some now.
We need at least a monthly wing feast. I am too serious about this. Who's up for it?
I could be tempted to indulge in a monthly wingfest.
Wingfest= euphoria. And don't blame wheels and me! Who's the guy who brought along the 9 year old scotch which made me sprout another chest hair (for a total of 2)and increased the size of my skull by 13.4% the morning after? Yeah, that's what I thought.
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