Wing Overdose

A new Buffalo Wild Wings that opened in Belton on Monday drew in sports-bar lovers with the promise of one year of free wings to the first 100 people through the door.

To be clear, those lucky people actually received a coupon book with 52 vouchers for six free wings each. Here at the Department of Burnt Ends, we’ve dreamed up one winner’s diary of those magical 52 weeks.

Week 1: This is awesome! Even better than the time I won a waterbed full of Schlitz!

Week 4: I thought my herpes was back, but if you eat enough hot sauce, your lips kinda break out.

Week 9: I’ve really embraced having fingers the color of red hots. I tell people I marry ketchup for a living.

Week 17: There’s that drumstick!

Week 26: I still haven’t received a reply to my e-mail to the head of Costco. I guess he doesn’t care about increasing the size of their packages of TP.

Week 30: I was fired today. Ted didn’t like the cubicle roof I constructed of discarded bones and Scotch tape.

Week 34: Tried again on Monday to see if I could get one free wing a day instead of six at once. I’d like to shove a few chicken bones up that hostess Clarissa’s hen house.

Week 39: I have renounced the false Christian deity and now worship a god who demands a dozen chickens killed for a single meal. “Discard the rest of the animal,” he commands. “And eat just that fatty wing.”

Week 41: All I smell is paprika.

Week 43: I have eaten Buffalo Wild Wings with my legions of followers devoted to 17 original sauces. We have crushed the jalapeño poppers, seen them served in plastic baskets and heard the lamentations of our stomachs.

Week 52: I think I just passed ranch dressing through my urethra.