We arrived early at the penguin, and managed to get a seat at the sacred tower of power, where we fought and killed a dragon that had been alive for over 4000 years.
ps. secret agent man power, how goes your epic struggle? have you had any good wing night experiences in vermont country's mountain castle strongholds? i have been good, and everything that is good that could possibly happen to me is happening. provided below is an example...
and yes, that's right, everyone loves the cat house.
-secret agent razzle dazzle
Monday, November 16, 2009
Yeeeeess.
I was accompanied tonight by my close cohorts: secret agent bandolero comanchero and secret agent muffinautumn happyshine. The wings were perfectly salty and crisp as far as their skin went, though they were noticeably dry in their meats. We consumed a round of connicticut brewery "hooker"'s ipa and Irish red ale. Bishop jughead was not present and as a result we ate sweet baby rays knowing that we're happy and we're safe in our little hideaway beneath the waves.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Brief
Agent razzle dazzle: Today I had the best lager I have ever tasted. It is the Baltic number 9 bottled in st Petersburg Russia. It is delicious and spicy and is the perfect beer for a day like today, chilly and breezy. It has been almost a month since my last post, but I have not missed a day since I first began coming here. In the absence of agent man power it has been difficult to rationalize posting an entry detailing the events of a wing night spent alone. Regardless of this, I will say in brief that the wings have been good. Better than ever. And I have had an exceptional time eating them at a leisurely pace. I have begun to notice that the wings are lightly salted and buttery when you take the time to eat them slowly. The buffalo sauce has been awful as usual and I tried for some time to eat them in honor of agent man power, though I now have come to the bitter realization that there are certain things that man power will always be more manly and
powerful than I at accomplishing. Penguin pizza. You need to have more choices for sauces or at least tone down the buffalo, it tastes like pure Tabasco. There are increasingly more and more bars in town that offer a heftier selection as well as boneless wings and more than just one day of opportunity; but I digress, I'm not even asking for something so drastic, no matter what happens, you are my wing night of choice. Just take my words to heart baby.
powerful than I at accomplishing. Penguin pizza. You need to have more choices for sauces or at least tone down the buffalo, it tastes like pure Tabasco. There are increasingly more and more bars in town that offer a heftier selection as well as boneless wings and more than just one day of opportunity; but I digress, I'm not even asking for something so drastic, no matter what happens, you are my wing night of choice. Just take my words to heart baby.
Baltika #9 - a blustery A+
Monday, September 14, 2009
Trajectory: Tragedy
From the journal of Secret Agent "Thomas" Manpower. 9/7/09
Damn this cheap scooter. I managed the last ten miles on bare rims after my tires got shot out by that trucker. I shouldn't have tested to see how many times I could get him to pull his horn. I even managed another few bends in the road without, battery, seat, or handles. I shouldn't have tested my handgun, gernade launcher, and kung-fu on my mode of transportation. All this being said, I simple cannot travel on a vehicle I have driven into a chasm so deep I can't see, hear, or fathom the bottom of. I shouldn't of thought about that video I saw of a kitten on Youtube... Oh man that's.... Oh geez that's funny.... Give me a second. Whoo. Damn cheap scooter. I'm actually not entirely sure how I didn't fall into that gigantic gorge with my scooter. I mean I was riding it, and I was definitely wearing a seatbelt, because that's about all there was left of that two bit scooter... I don't know I was drunk. But not now. Now I'm just lying on the rumble strip of I-89 wondering how I'm going to get my revenge at that bastard who killed my wife and kids, and how I'm going to learn to stand on my own two legs for once with both of my thighs fractured in several places. I'll sleep on it.
_________________________________________
An email recovered from Secret Agent Manpower's email (because he never logs off)
From: firestarter118@excite.com {Inspector Jumpjet}
9/8/09
Heyyyy, so I crashed my "8000 cubic ton displacement" zeppelin into a telephone tower so I can't fly my zeppelin and I can't use my phone. Luckily this very nice timber farmer/cabinet maker is letting me use his dialup internet. We've been playing checkers waiting for it to load. He's also expecting a new grinding stone to be quarried from Barre. We're seeing what arrives first: his hunk of stone, my email. Anyhow, if you could wire me some money that'd be pretty nifty of you, because I don't know how to play checkers and I've been playing checkers now for a few days; so you know, when you get around to it, that'd be really cool; the sooner the better. And I've got this skywriting gig coming up so I'm good for the money. Cool. Well bye.
-Inspector Jumpjet
_____________________________________________
Five Ol' Nugget Alley Wing Review by Secret Agent Mister E.
Having spent the past few days locked in my room waiting for the phone to rind, lost in a dream of what the future might bring, I thought it best to get out of my dark den and stroll down the street on my wooden legs, which support my wooden body. How do I power these legs? Wooden you like to know? Ha ha ha. Yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaa. So how've you been? Great. Wow! Another wingnight again huh? Well here we go.
On my way over to Five Ol' Nugget Alley I was surprised to see my colleague Secret Agent Man-Power who I hadn't seen since we were reviewing ants on a log back at the Petty Bar Foods Testing and Refinement Academy when we were just cadets. He seemed in a bad way holding himself up on crutches and all. The real sad part was he was supporting himself despite the fact that he was sitting in a wheel chair. The real sad part though was that the wheelchair didn't have wheels. So it was more of just a chair. The really sad part though, to tell you the truth, was that he didn't even have crutches, he was just pantomiming having them. He tried to tell me something, but his face was so battered and swollen that words couldn't escape from it's crevices. I could see into his eyes however and they pleaded for wings. I got him inside the local dive and had my good friend and server "Man Backgam Man" to cook us up a "Noah's Arch" each. He soon returned with ten wings for both of us. The wings came in pairs of two for you see there are five flavors of wings at Five Old Nugget Alley: Buffalo, BBQ, Honey BBQ, teriyaki, and maple chipotle. You see our planet is lush in resources unlike the harsh barren desert world of Boston, so we can afford such luxuries.
The atmosphere was cool, calm, and pleasant per usual. I learned of the shipping news from Man Backgam Man and played a round of darts. Well actually, I just imagined a game of darts. I won. Man-Power phased in and out of consciousness. In due time he was in much better health. "These wings are great, service is top notch, atmosphere is the best I could ask for, the wings are a little overpriced, and the soda is a bit lacking in flavor, now where can I get enough weapons to take down the devil?" He said. Now mind you I thought the soda was quite good and it's no fault of mine he left the ice to melt in it so long....
-Excerpt from Secret Agent Mister E's wing review 9/9/09 -
_____________________________________________________
Audio tape delivered in an anonymous package to The Holiday Ranch postmarked 9/10/09
Dark Shadowy Figure #1: So as you see gentlemen we've got Secret Agent Man Power in quite a bind.
Dark Shadowy Figure #2: And what of the one they call "Razzle Dazzle"
Dark Shadowy Figure #1: He's been about his duty just as he was trained reviewing the Boston wing night and just to keep his hands tied even longer we've given him a task of writing down a list of his 10,000 favorite things.
Dark Shadowy Figure #3: How about his "Destrocto Bag"? A device like that could kill GOD, or well God, or a god, or gods, or whatever, I don't want to offend anyone of varying faiths.
Dark Shadowy Figure #1: It's no longer on his person due to our ploy with Inspector Jumpjet and all. Yes it seems that.... (several minutes of intangible audio) This coffee sucks! Anyhow Clawsaw will take care of the problem, should there be one. Boy I'm starving
Dark Shadowy Figure #3: Burgers?
Everyone: Burgers! (shuffling, silence)
-The rest of the tape contained an eclectic mix of dance songs including a rare track of Prince performing the original version of "Nothing Compares to You" with The Family.
-End Tape-
________________________________________________
Page 34 from the journal of Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle:
567: seaweed
566: the feeling of gravel under my bare feet
565: foamcore
564: frankenthumb
563: oxyacetalyne
562: the word "twiddly"
561: "the granstream saga"
560: trackball mice
559: Gauguin
558: hats, all kinds
557: micah
556: scotch
555: popsicles
554: papaya
553: raisins
552: rain
551: the color "aquamarine"
550: djembe
549: wax paper
548: carnations
547: almonds
546: spatulas
545: blueberries
544: lockers
543: lumber
542: nostrils
541: bombs
540: elbows
539: Parcheesi
538: gophers
537: nesquick banana syrup
536: mountains
535: mezzo piano
534: cactus
533: the "#" sign
532: "goobers"
531: vaulted arches
530: elmo
529: toothpaste
528: leaves
527: plato
526: body armor
525: nails
524: hunger
523: wallets
522: radeberger
521: devil's food cake
520: arby's
519: blowpops
518: gumballs
517: high heel shoes
516: clorophyll
515: stop lights
514: wigs
513: jam
512: elephants
511: sega genesis
510: incandescent lightbulbs
509: russia
508: pomegranate
507: aliens
506: orange
505: nerf
504: gumby
503: "mad about you"
502: blueberries
501: pork
500: rhythm gymnastics
499: silk
498: turkey basters
497: goats
496: tiaras
495: glass
494: picking stuff up
493: microwaveable chicken pot pie
492: ghosts
491: bricks
____________________________________________________
-Tune in next time to find out if Secret Agent Manpower will survive! What are the secret dealings of Inspector Jumpjet? Read the actual review for this week's wingnight, will Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle find true love, so what's the deal with payphones, and who on Earth is Clawsaw? Find out next time on: Wing Night Reviews with Man Power and Razzle Dazzle!
Damn this cheap scooter. I managed the last ten miles on bare rims after my tires got shot out by that trucker. I shouldn't have tested to see how many times I could get him to pull his horn. I even managed another few bends in the road without, battery, seat, or handles. I shouldn't have tested my handgun, gernade launcher, and kung-fu on my mode of transportation. All this being said, I simple cannot travel on a vehicle I have driven into a chasm so deep I can't see, hear, or fathom the bottom of. I shouldn't of thought about that video I saw of a kitten on Youtube... Oh man that's.... Oh geez that's funny.... Give me a second. Whoo. Damn cheap scooter. I'm actually not entirely sure how I didn't fall into that gigantic gorge with my scooter. I mean I was riding it, and I was definitely wearing a seatbelt, because that's about all there was left of that two bit scooter... I don't know I was drunk. But not now. Now I'm just lying on the rumble strip of I-89 wondering how I'm going to get my revenge at that bastard who killed my wife and kids, and how I'm going to learn to stand on my own two legs for once with both of my thighs fractured in several places. I'll sleep on it.
_________________________________________
An email recovered from Secret Agent Manpower's email (because he never logs off)
From: firestarter118@excite.com {Inspector Jumpjet}
9/8/09
Heyyyy, so I crashed my "8000 cubic ton displacement" zeppelin into a telephone tower so I can't fly my zeppelin and I can't use my phone. Luckily this very nice timber farmer/cabinet maker is letting me use his dialup internet. We've been playing checkers waiting for it to load. He's also expecting a new grinding stone to be quarried from Barre. We're seeing what arrives first: his hunk of stone, my email. Anyhow, if you could wire me some money that'd be pretty nifty of you, because I don't know how to play checkers and I've been playing checkers now for a few days; so you know, when you get around to it, that'd be really cool; the sooner the better. And I've got this skywriting gig coming up so I'm good for the money. Cool. Well bye.
-Inspector Jumpjet
_____________________________________________
Five Ol' Nugget Alley Wing Review by Secret Agent Mister E.
Having spent the past few days locked in my room waiting for the phone to rind, lost in a dream of what the future might bring, I thought it best to get out of my dark den and stroll down the street on my wooden legs, which support my wooden body. How do I power these legs? Wooden you like to know? Ha ha ha. Yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaa. So how've you been? Great. Wow! Another wingnight again huh? Well here we go.
On my way over to Five Ol' Nugget Alley I was surprised to see my colleague Secret Agent Man-Power who I hadn't seen since we were reviewing ants on a log back at the Petty Bar Foods Testing and Refinement Academy when we were just cadets. He seemed in a bad way holding himself up on crutches and all. The real sad part was he was supporting himself despite the fact that he was sitting in a wheel chair. The real sad part though was that the wheelchair didn't have wheels. So it was more of just a chair. The really sad part though, to tell you the truth, was that he didn't even have crutches, he was just pantomiming having them. He tried to tell me something, but his face was so battered and swollen that words couldn't escape from it's crevices. I could see into his eyes however and they pleaded for wings. I got him inside the local dive and had my good friend and server "Man Backgam Man" to cook us up a "Noah's Arch" each. He soon returned with ten wings for both of us. The wings came in pairs of two for you see there are five flavors of wings at Five Old Nugget Alley: Buffalo, BBQ, Honey BBQ, teriyaki, and maple chipotle. You see our planet is lush in resources unlike the harsh barren desert world of Boston, so we can afford such luxuries.
The atmosphere was cool, calm, and pleasant per usual. I learned of the shipping news from Man Backgam Man and played a round of darts. Well actually, I just imagined a game of darts. I won. Man-Power phased in and out of consciousness. In due time he was in much better health. "These wings are great, service is top notch, atmosphere is the best I could ask for, the wings are a little overpriced, and the soda is a bit lacking in flavor, now where can I get enough weapons to take down the devil?" He said. Now mind you I thought the soda was quite good and it's no fault of mine he left the ice to melt in it so long....
-Excerpt from Secret Agent Mister E's wing review 9/9/09 -
_____________________________________________________
Audio tape delivered in an anonymous package to The Holiday Ranch postmarked 9/10/09
Dark Shadowy Figure #1: So as you see gentlemen we've got Secret Agent Man Power in quite a bind.
Dark Shadowy Figure #2: And what of the one they call "Razzle Dazzle"
Dark Shadowy Figure #1: He's been about his duty just as he was trained reviewing the Boston wing night and just to keep his hands tied even longer we've given him a task of writing down a list of his 10,000 favorite things.
Dark Shadowy Figure #3: How about his "Destrocto Bag"? A device like that could kill GOD, or well God, or a god, or gods, or whatever, I don't want to offend anyone of varying faiths.
Dark Shadowy Figure #1: It's no longer on his person due to our ploy with Inspector Jumpjet and all. Yes it seems that.... (several minutes of intangible audio) This coffee sucks! Anyhow Clawsaw will take care of the problem, should there be one. Boy I'm starving
Dark Shadowy Figure #3: Burgers?
Everyone: Burgers! (shuffling, silence)
-The rest of the tape contained an eclectic mix of dance songs including a rare track of Prince performing the original version of "Nothing Compares to You" with The Family.
-End Tape-
________________________________________________
Page 34 from the journal of Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle:
567: seaweed
566: the feeling of gravel under my bare feet
565: foamcore
564: frankenthumb
563: oxyacetalyne
562: the word "twiddly"
561: "the granstream saga"
560: trackball mice
559: Gauguin
558: hats, all kinds
557: micah
556: scotch
555: popsicles
554: papaya
553: raisins
552: rain
551: the color "aquamarine"
550: djembe
549: wax paper
548: carnations
547: almonds
546: spatulas
545: blueberries
544: lockers
543: lumber
542: nostrils
541: bombs
540: elbows
539: Parcheesi
538: gophers
537: nesquick banana syrup
536: mountains
535: mezzo piano
534: cactus
533: the "#" sign
532: "goobers"
531: vaulted arches
530: elmo
529: toothpaste
528: leaves
527: plato
526: body armor
525: nails
524: hunger
523: wallets
522: radeberger
521: devil's food cake
520: arby's
519: blowpops
518: gumballs
517: high heel shoes
516: clorophyll
515: stop lights
514: wigs
513: jam
512: elephants
511: sega genesis
510: incandescent lightbulbs
509: russia
508: pomegranate
507: aliens
506: orange
505: nerf
504: gumby
503: "mad about you"
502: blueberries
501: pork
500: rhythm gymnastics
499: silk
498: turkey basters
497: goats
496: tiaras
495: glass
494: picking stuff up
493: microwaveable chicken pot pie
492: ghosts
491: bricks
____________________________________________________
-Tune in next time to find out if Secret Agent Manpower will survive! What are the secret dealings of Inspector Jumpjet? Read the actual review for this week's wingnight, will Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle find true love, so what's the deal with payphones, and who on Earth is Clawsaw? Find out next time on: Wing Night Reviews with Man Power and Razzle Dazzle!
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
man power, MIA
in the absence of secret agent man power, i will be reporting alone, although i can barely contain my sorrow.
secret agent man power was last seen exiting the boston metropolitan area by scooter with a bag so dangerously volatile in its contents it was described poetically by intel as a "basket woven in pure dynamite". reportedly his last words described a plan to take down the man who destroyed his life once and for all, "even if it kills me", he allegedly proclaimed.
man power went off our radars shortly after he left the desert wasteland that lies north of boston; key informants have stated that his destination is the mountains of vermont-country.
dead dead dead. man power is dead and there is no hope for any of us to survive alone.
wings this week were delicious! i took it upon myself to eat both buffalo and regular so as to consume the full experience of wing night. along with me was secret agent bandolero comanchero, a wing night newcomer, despite being a long time agent. we both agreed that the wings were far too spicy, and unfortunately the dining hall was busy, and not an adequate environment for the (also MIA) RAY. regardless of all obstacles the wings were perfect, and frighteningly large. the chickens this week must have been the size of turkeys, and twice as clever.
the beer this week was the sinebrychoff porter, from finland. i'm delighted to report that this was my first finnish beer, though regrettably, it was a little tricky to finish. it was a barley-strong flavor, and it was flattish, maybe i had a cursed bottle. the result was a heavy, syrupy, almostbarleywine. i wasn't too much of a fan.
the help was very pleasant and was smiling the entire time, it was nice.
hunger: enough
wings: too spicy, for the 3rd consecutive time
beer: probably fine, but just not my thing
atmosphere: 2 stars
service: 30+ percent tip.
as promised, here is footage of a ninja warrior battling a rival ninja on mission hill.
secret agent man power was last seen exiting the boston metropolitan area by scooter with a bag so dangerously volatile in its contents it was described poetically by intel as a "basket woven in pure dynamite". reportedly his last words described a plan to take down the man who destroyed his life once and for all, "even if it kills me", he allegedly proclaimed.
man power went off our radars shortly after he left the desert wasteland that lies north of boston; key informants have stated that his destination is the mountains of vermont-country.
dead dead dead. man power is dead and there is no hope for any of us to survive alone.
wings this week were delicious! i took it upon myself to eat both buffalo and regular so as to consume the full experience of wing night. along with me was secret agent bandolero comanchero, a wing night newcomer, despite being a long time agent. we both agreed that the wings were far too spicy, and unfortunately the dining hall was busy, and not an adequate environment for the (also MIA) RAY. regardless of all obstacles the wings were perfect, and frighteningly large. the chickens this week must have been the size of turkeys, and twice as clever.
the beer this week was the sinebrychoff porter, from finland. i'm delighted to report that this was my first finnish beer, though regrettably, it was a little tricky to finish. it was a barley-strong flavor, and it was flattish, maybe i had a cursed bottle. the result was a heavy, syrupy, almostbarleywine. i wasn't too much of a fan.
the help was very pleasant and was smiling the entire time, it was nice.
hunger: enough
wings: too spicy, for the 3rd consecutive time
beer: probably fine, but just not my thing
atmosphere: 2 stars
service: 30+ percent tip.
as promised, here is footage of a ninja warrior battling a rival ninja on mission hill.
Monday, August 31, 2009
A big-ol' jamboree
Not everything about being a secret agent is all fun and games, a man's gotta make his rent, and this week there's been an overwhelmingly high need for brilliant and talented agents such as myself and manpower.Hunger was at an all time low. My stomach was burning with fatigue, but the wings were like obstacles to my tired body. Sir Knight JP was polite as always, "is everyone here hydrated and well fed?" he would say. But in my exhaustion the only thing I could say was "uggugguhha", which was actually a haiku about friendship, but my vocal skills failed me.
Wings were probably good, but I could only stomach a fraction of the multitude that I had been presented, the beer, however was a glorious victory in my mouth. This week I drank the Ayinger "Celebrator" as per the recommendation of the wise and kind secret agent Johnny Utah. A Bavarian doppelbock, the Celebrator was, though a hefty price, (7.00 USD) it was well worth every penny, it was simply one of the best beers I have ever drank in my entire life. it reminded Ducas LeReese that there is a meaning to our existence on this planet and it made me feel good inside.
Sir Knight JP has an odd tendency to lower the music whenever a customer makes requests with the robot that DJ's at the penguin. Intel reports that this is because Sir Knight JP's cool jazz is the only music that satisfies customers without the unsettling side-effect of waking the fearsome penguin deity that sleeps beneath the Brigham circle plaza. We happen to think that the penguin would like DEVO, tatu, Hocus Pocus by Focus, daft punk, The Yarbles, and madonna, Sir Knight JP digresses.
Cakescapades consisted of 4 whoopie pies and a gallon of patchwork chocolate and vanilla ice cream from hood. A dog tried to kill us. The owner explained in a kind fashion "Oh you have ice cream? Oh he'll kill you. No I'm serious, he'll kill you. For ice-cream, yeah he'd kill anybody." After lathering the owner with our Hood brand ice-cream and watching her own dog devour her whole (it was a big dog) we decided to roll around in the soft grass of Happy Hill and enjoy the fine intricacies of life. Happy Hill was founded by Seamier J. Hapihil in 1904 as a monument to himself after inventing kittens, juggling, and smiles. Happy Hill is actually entirely landfill excavated from, the once prominent, Roxbury fixture, "Suffer Knoll"; proving that no man can move mountains, wrong, wrong, wrooooongggg!Later in the night during our post-cakescapade romp, we encountered two ninja warriors battling for their honor in the streets of mission hill. Ducas LeReese was much impressed with their showing. Much like street hockey the event was postponed due to traffic.
Escaping with my wings, which I was not able to finish, we needed to make a quick getaway. Thankfully secret agent Man Power was clever enough to have found a multi-braker, tri-rotor, custom-fibepanel supercar. Traveling at mach 8 we were able to reach the Holiday Ranch before Midnight.
In other news, on an interplanetary mission, I traveled to satellite 99, my first thoughts upon my arrival was that the value of the Zargonian "bif" was heavily inflated, to my surprise I was wrong, though the wings on S99 cost 100 bif apiece, (slightly more than our dollar) my 1000 bif dinner was surpisingly superior. the Zargonian chicken is born without any skeletal st
ructure, therefore they yield a clear advantage over Earth chickens with sheer convenience. It is most unfortunate that United Nations regulations prohibit the importation of Zargonian livestock on account of their tendency to mutate and become aggressive in our atmosphere. these wings were delicious, they came with much more blue cheese than our typical outing would bless us, as well as a cup of celery. now, the most incredible thing about these floppy, moist, and buttery Zargonian wings was that they were absolutely slathered with honey barbecue sauce, the kind that even Baby Ray would be impressed by! I pray for the day wherein Earth restaurants might carry honey bbq sauce wings for 10 cents apiece. my childhood friend and human-plus companion Vyers Chrono-7, with whom I was traveling, agreed that the food, (and the android women) were, for the most part, the highlight of his trips to Zargon's surrounding outposts.See you next week.
-Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle
But wait there's more! It's time fore the Secret Agent Man Power minute with your host Secret Agent Man Power.
Well it appears that while I was out burning rubber in my new supercar Razz-L Dazz-L has pretty much informed you of tonight's happenings. Well I bet you didn't remember that 12 years ago today the lovely princess of Wales was kill by Godzilla as she drove through an underpass did you? So that's why I couldn't be around for most of this report. As a Welshman it is my duty to drive at excessive speeds every twelve years on my lady's birthday. Because Princess Di loved eggs, and eggs come by the dozen, and Cheaper by the dozen was a bad movie starring Steve Martin, and Steve Martin was in Novocain with Kevin Bacon, and Bacon goes good with eggs. That's why I do it.
Also I'll have you know we had a full cast of characters at our table tonight. Ducas LeReese, C.Q. Clover, Inspector Jumpjet, Juggernaut Johnson and eight-hundred of his shadowy minions, Raver Neighbor, Fistosaur, and Hovergirl who was late and entered with a surly "Hey Jumpjet! You know that indent in the bottom of a refrigerator where all the foul liquids collect and turn to puss? That's your mom." She then vomited on the Queen of England who was in town to applaud how fast I can go in my new supercar.
Also I'll have you know that I'll be visiting the outer spiral arm of the Upper Valley Galaxy sometime next week to take core samples of their foreign wings and sign autographs. Which is a perfect segway into some wings I had recently at a sub-station called "The Red Hat"... Oh I only have 15 second. Oh, well okay... The wings were better then the Penguin and cost the same, the waitress was nice, but a Coke cost me four goddamn dollars! Goodnight... We've got a few more seconds? Oh well, be sure to...
This has been a broadcast of the Petty Bar Foods Testing and Refinement Committee. We hope that you enjoyed this program and that you'll be just as intrigued by the following six hours of broadcast tones. Goodnight.
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep
Monday, August 24, 2009
That is the biggest pig pile I've ever seen.
Today is August 24th 2009. Somewhere out there in the ether a woman's tear ducts dry from exhaustion, helplessly looking on as her child's stomach bloats with the gasses of starvation, unable to process food any longer because of a digestive malformation. Somewhere out there a boy's dog is hit by an automobile. The boy will never outgrow the pain and will forever be encumbered by a schism, which will render him awkward and ungainly in social situations. He will never form a lasting relationship with another human being and will eventually kill himself on the anniversary of this very day. And here in Boston it's Wing Night. MMM MMM Wing Night!!! (: MMM MMMMMMMMMM! Yummy.
Our ongoing struggle with the weather was relieved today by a five second rain shower that cooled thing off to a somewhat normal temperature, which was followed by the sun coming out again and Suffolk County erupting into plumes of fire. If we hadn't crawled on our stomachs we would have died from asphyxiation, which is why we were a bit late to wing night tonight. Razzle Dazzle was sent on a recon and rescue mission to Stop & Shop to retrieve Sweet Baby Ray and check into the day old bakery situation. Angus Rocket, Oxford, and myself continued on to forcefully capture a table.Resistance was strong, we didn't get our favorite booth, and my hand was blown off by a sawed off shotgun, but we did manage to wrangle ourselves a seat. A new waiter came to tend to us who goes by the name Wallace Rooker (jokingly referred to as "Rookie"). There was some confusion with ordering because Angus Rocket can only speak in swears but eventually Sir Knight JP came galloping up so gallantly with his back pattery and infinite charm and all was put away nice and neat in no time at all. Afterwards lite conversation was had. Oxford, as it turns out, is a student o
f Northeastern Academy of Combat and Psychic warfare where she majors in graphic design with strengths in lazer management.A cool breeze entered the Penguin and it's name was Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle. The doorman asked for his ID. Rzzl Dzzl showed him his fists. The doorman showed Mr. Dazzle his brains and what they look like splattered all over the floor. Because you don't fuck with Razzle Dazzle, okay hombre?
With the last of my fading strength I cauterized my wrist using the excessive buffalo sauce and hard lined the rest of my wings straight in my veins. Oxford put on an impromptu lazer light show; the class IV lasers caused some collateral damage, but in my blood deprived state they lulled me right into comfy slumber.
-Secret Agent Man Power
hello, this is secret agent RAZZY-d. tonight i crawled through the mission hill jungle to arrive at my destination, whereupon i was attacked by a carnivorous plant. after finally escaping its jagged and sweet-smelling maw, i noticed that it had left its venomous pluumshewgunmbee juice on my skin, leaving my purple, and with a "pins-and-needles" sensation. i rushed to the penguin and plowed my way to the table, just barely allowing myself the time to grab my passport. sir knight jp was quick to notice my distress and offered to serve me my drink of the day, the magnanimous "samuel smith's nut brown ale". after pouring a salve of it on my alkaline ridden flesh, i continued to savor it with my tongue. one sip and i was in flavor country; i thought to myself: "this simply has to be one of the most delicious beers i have ever tasted in my entire life". "you can really taste the nut" oxford exclaimed after a sip. according to the label, the water used in processing the ale comes from a well that was dug over 400 years ago, and
continues to serve the brewery today in northern england. it seems somewhat unnecessary to even rate it at this point, but for posterity i will have you know that it is an enormous circle with the largest dot possible within its perimeter.wings were okay. kinda moderate.
the well for making the beer will never dry, which is far more than i can say for the well of bounty known as cakescapades. for the third week straight, we have been unable to recover a satisfying cakescapade. this week we folded and bought 3 pieces of cheesecake,
because the only friggin "yesterday's bakery" goods were danishes. DANISHES.as a result, i give cakescapades a single mark, a "den-mark".
atmosphere was lovely, we couldn't eat our wings in the tower of power like usual, or even the old "Razzly-corner", but even in the mid table we felt right at home because sir knight JP was on the prowl. he just went and pulled out our chairs for gods sake. what a sweetie! sweet knight jp gets an A for atmosphere and a SUPER for superb service.
CONCLUSION:
HUNGER INDEX: critical mass
BEER: large circle, maximum dot.
WINGS: okay
ATMOSPHERE: ASERVICE: super
CAKESCAPADES: denmark
Monday, August 17, 2009
I bet you 20 wings you don't read this in the correct order
I thanked Angus Rocket for the ride to Penguins. We'd been doing Laundry together to save on quarters even though we had an amply supply from raiding Madam Assassin's spare change jar. Angus couldn't attend wing night this week on account of having a date to kill a girl's cat. "She's allergic to it for butt's sake!" He said in a huff. I was glad that at least he had something to keep him occupied and had already thought of a way to justify it. His 1984 Volvo Wagon sped off at 200MPH leaving only Angus' familiar scent of burritos.
Man was my power low. It was so hot and muggy today I could have rubbed flaming Vick's Vapo Rub all over my body and gotten the same effect. Thank God I got water-boarded though, it's less expensive than going to the pool.
I found the gang in our pleasant corner of satisfaction chowing away. They all greeted me as Nathan, which I guess was some sort of inside joke they'd formulated in my absence. I shruggingly resigned to their snickering and ordered the usual. Missing from the regular Penguin buzz was Sir Night JP... Oh damn a typo. Oh how I wish I wasn't using a type writer right now. In JP's presence was the much dreaded Bishop Jughead. I threw her the evil eye upon which her return glance made me go blind for eight minutes. Luckily I've spent long nights mapping out the Penguin completely by feel, smell, and sonar; getting all the little intricacies under my skin and knowing beyond all doubt that Penguin Pizza was a living, breathing, entity existing to serve, biting it's lip, holding it's breath in anticipation of our smile.
The scent of my buffalo wings brought my vision rushing back along with tears of pain, because boy were they spicy. Inspector Jumpjet sat in between Hovergirl and a Ghost. Upon his aviator's chest was a shirt that read "My other girlfriend is cool". I was glad to see the inspector finally giving that uppity Hovergirl her comeuppance. Conversation strayed from scientific discoveries to "your mom looks like this ugly guy in a movie" debates. During a brief lull Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle did a back flip and everyone in the bar applauded, with exception of Bishop Jughead of course whose arms are tentacles allowing her no physical means to clap. I hope she dies.
Because we were forced to go to Defcon 2 in her presence we had to treat Sweet Baby Ray like a stowaway taking him out, only briefly, for his honey-BBQ goodness and then placing him below the table again and out of sight of the devious eyes of our wretched foe whose skin is like sand paper and voice has similar qualities. The regular wings all and all were quite good this week. Juicy, meaty, they didn't complain, I didn't complain.
Inspector Jumpjet and Hovergirl boarded their dirigible and floated fondly away. Juggernaut Johnson mounted his shadowy minion and road off into the sunset. The ghost told me my father was proud of me and faded away with a smile. Wing night, having wrapped up so nicely I decided to leave the full bounty of change from Madam Assassin, and it was at that moment Bishop Jughead came to clear our table. She eyed the bag of change we'd left as tribute, which quite possibly was a 50% tip. "What is that?"...
Moment's pause.
"What!? Did you trainer not feed you your rotting fish this morning or were you too busy shedding your skin you goddamn lizard! Evil, you're evil! We can't even buy you off. EVIL! EVIL! EVI..." At that Bishop Jughead threw a fireball in my face burning off my scalp and is why I write this entry with a wig on.
Apparently I continued on for quite sometime in a waking comatose, as if sleepwalking, as we journeyed through Stop & Shop. And as we journeyed we didn't stop believing even though Razzle Dazzle's earlier scouting had revealed a dry well of day old baked good. Instead we splurged on angle food cake, ice-cream sandwiches,
french vanilla ice-cream, cereal of all varieties, and a slice of cheesecake. We found out what Spumoni was, how it related to Neapolitan, and why Neapolitan has the name it does. Wanna know? Well go look it up in a book, lazy. Afterward we waltzed through the shimmering fields of Happy Hill. It was there that my life ended.
The ice-cream with ice-cream sandwiches in it was so good I could swear my life just ended.
Goodnight sports fans.
Wings: Solid
Atmosphere: Pound it
Service: Check you later
Hunger Rating: Respect
Cakescapades: Yo Yo Yo I'm bought' ta drop da' bawm in dis' hawz
Man was my power low. It was so hot and muggy today I could have rubbed flaming Vick's Vapo Rub all over my body and gotten the same effect. Thank God I got water-boarded though, it's less expensive than going to the pool.
I found the gang in our pleasant corner of satisfaction chowing away. They all greeted me as Nathan, which I guess was some sort of inside joke they'd formulated in my absence. I shruggingly resigned to their snickering and ordered the usual. Missing from the regular Penguin buzz was Sir Night JP... Oh damn a typo. Oh how I wish I wasn't using a type writer right now. In JP's presence was the much dreaded Bishop Jughead. I threw her the evil eye upon which her return glance made me go blind for eight minutes. Luckily I've spent long nights mapping out the Penguin completely by feel, smell, and sonar; getting all the little intricacies under my skin and knowing beyond all doubt that Penguin Pizza was a living, breathing, entity existing to serve, biting it's lip, holding it's breath in anticipation of our smile.
The scent of my buffalo wings brought my vision rushing back along with tears of pain, because boy were they spicy. Inspector Jumpjet sat in between Hovergirl and a Ghost. Upon his aviator's chest was a shirt that read "My other girlfriend is cool". I was glad to see the inspector finally giving that uppity Hovergirl her comeuppance. Conversation strayed from scientific discoveries to "your mom looks like this ugly guy in a movie" debates. During a brief lull Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle did a back flip and everyone in the bar applauded, with exception of Bishop Jughead of course whose arms are tentacles allowing her no physical means to clap. I hope she dies.
Because we were forced to go to Defcon 2 in her presence we had to treat Sweet Baby Ray like a stowaway taking him out, only briefly, for his honey-BBQ goodness and then placing him below the table again and out of sight of the devious eyes of our wretched foe whose skin is like sand paper and voice has similar qualities. The regular wings all and all were quite good this week. Juicy, meaty, they didn't complain, I didn't complain.
Inspector Jumpjet and Hovergirl boarded their dirigible and floated fondly away. Juggernaut Johnson mounted his shadowy minion and road off into the sunset. The ghost told me my father was proud of me and faded away with a smile. Wing night, having wrapped up so nicely I decided to leave the full bounty of change from Madam Assassin, and it was at that moment Bishop Jughead came to clear our table. She eyed the bag of change we'd left as tribute, which quite possibly was a 50% tip. "What is that?"...
Moment's pause.
"What!? Did you trainer not feed you your rotting fish this morning or were you too busy shedding your skin you goddamn lizard! Evil, you're evil! We can't even buy you off. EVIL! EVIL! EVI..." At that Bishop Jughead threw a fireball in my face burning off my scalp and is why I write this entry with a wig on.
Apparently I continued on for quite sometime in a waking comatose, as if sleepwalking, as we journeyed through Stop & Shop. And as we journeyed we didn't stop believing even though Razzle Dazzle's earlier scouting had revealed a dry well of day old baked good. Instead we splurged on angle food cake, ice-cream sandwiches,
french vanilla ice-cream, cereal of all varieties, and a slice of cheesecake. We found out what Spumoni was, how it related to Neapolitan, and why Neapolitan has the name it does. Wanna know? Well go look it up in a book, lazy. Afterward we waltzed through the shimmering fields of Happy Hill. It was there that my life ended.The ice-cream with ice-cream sandwiches in it was so good I could swear my life just ended.
Goodnight sports fans.
Wings: Solid
Atmosphere: Pound it
Service: Check you later
Hunger Rating: Respect
Cakescapades: Yo Yo Yo I'm bought' ta drop da' bawm in dis' hawz
i love chicken.
Agent Razzle Dazzle here! I'm glad to be here, and boy oh boy am I just killed with delight to be eating wings right now! My colleagues and I are smoking sweet sweet "cookies & cream" electric cigarettes and I'll be honest, these lasersmokes taste like the future// (people in the future use doubleslashes to punctuate their sentences//)//
At approximately 17:02:43 I managed to rendezvous with Inspector Jumpjet and his cohorts (((Hovergirl, Juggernaut Johnson, one of his shadowy minions, and a strange silent man who wore a headband and may have been a ghost))))) We've been eating copious amounts of wings, and the sun is beating down like an iron chain. As a result I have committed to subject myself to a rigorous diet of two beers and a threefold wing budget!! Tonight I am ordering three plates of regular wings (supplemented, of course, with my newfound R.A.Y [really awesomely yummy] special formula) as well as one "riggwelter black sheep ale" and a "southhampton double white". I'm just dying to eat some wings here, party-people.
I'm just going to jump right into the beer review, because I am exceptionally delighted by my choices this week. To begin, the black sheep ale was delicious, a hearty ale with a crusty rasp that grated at the corners of your tongue. Named after the Norse word for back, or shoulder "rigg" and the word "velte" meaning to overturn. I'm proud to say that it had me feeling pretty good after 3/4 of the pint-five bottle was consumed, though not on my back ELL OH ELL. Decent for an eight dollar beer, and highly capable of hiding it's vicious bite. however, my goal this evening was not to feel good, but rather to feel cool. I then got a message Secret Agent ManPower that he was currently being water-boarded and would be a tad late. The mental image sure did dry my throat out, therefore the only thing to do was consume more delicious exotic brews, ultimately leading me to the "southhampton double white" which is thus far, second only to the tropical mango pale ale in terms of its success as a lovely summer ale. an incredibly difficult beer to make, it is carefully crafted from lemon, coriander and orange as well as unfiltered wheat grain. truly a fine belgian-style beer.
BEER SCORES:
RIGGWELTER black sheep ale: a large circle with a subtle, but concentrated 2mm dot.
SOUTHHAMPTON double white: a circle that is large, but not quite as large as the tropical mango pale ale, but larger than the circle provided for the hoeergarden. with a dot smaller than the others.
At approximately 17:02:43 I managed to rendezvous with Inspector Jumpjet and his cohorts (((Hovergirl, Juggernaut Johnson, one of his shadowy minions, and a strange silent man who wore a headband and may have been a ghost))))) We've been eating copious amounts of wings, and the sun is beating down like an iron chain. As a result I have committed to subject myself to a rigorous diet of two beers and a threefold wing budget!! Tonight I am ordering three plates of regular wings (supplemented, of course, with my newfound R.A.Y [really awesomely yummy] special formula) as well as one "riggwelter black sheep ale" and a "southhampton double white". I'm just dying to eat some wings here, party-people.
I'm just going to jump right into the beer review, because I am exceptionally delighted by my choices this week. To begin, the black sheep ale was delicious, a hearty ale with a crusty rasp that grated at the corners of your tongue. Named after the Norse word for back, or shoulder "rigg" and the word "velte" meaning to overturn. I'm proud to say that it had me feeling pretty good after 3/4 of the pint-five bottle was consumed, though not on my back ELL OH ELL. Decent for an eight dollar beer, and highly capable of hiding it's vicious bite. however, my goal this evening was not to feel good, but rather to feel cool. I then got a message Secret Agent ManPower that he was currently being water-boarded and would be a tad late. The mental image sure did dry my throat out, therefore the only thing to do was consume more delicious exotic brews, ultimately leading me to the "southhampton double white" which is thus far, second only to the tropical mango pale ale in terms of its success as a lovely summer ale. an incredibly difficult beer to make, it is carefully crafted from lemon, coriander and orange as well as unfiltered wheat grain. truly a fine belgian-style beer.
BEER SCORES:
RIGGWELTER black sheep ale: a large circle with a subtle, but concentrated 2mm dot.
SOUTHHAMPTON double white: a circle that is large, but not quite as large as the tropical mango pale ale, but larger than the circle provided for the hoeergarden. with a dot smaller than the others.
cerealization at its best
Hello my dear readers, this is secret agent Man-Power, the manliest of of all powers. Tonight I had to run some errands, because even secret agents have to run errands. I had to, pay some bills, vanquish Madame Assassin in the museum of torture, do some laundry, and traffic was pretty bad too. So I ran a little late; whatever. From what I gather, however, Razzle Dazzle managed to execute some stealth reconnaissance in preparation for cakescapades, as well as acquire a drop-pod of R.A.Y no. 85. After arriving on-site at appoximately 17:02 Agent Razzle Ddazzle was killed.
Monday, August 10, 2009
crab-log crablog cra-blog
Razzly-D here, it is quite the eventful day for a night of wings. inspector jumpjet is celebrating his 5,023rd. birthday today, which was celebrated with 5023 loopty loops and then one more for good luck. Boston has dried and withered like so many aging grapes, orangutan's have developed culture, but the event to top the evening was a visit from the mysterious and charismatic secret agent Ashburn-Sandstorm, who is 
visiting on a mission to evaluate our performance on behalf of the main branch.
Today marks the 42nd wing night we have attended and also the 42 day we've had something to look forward to during the course of our bleak, meager lives.
This just in: dinosaurs walk among us, as many of you may have realized. with the recent engineering of dinosaur/avian regresso-hybrids, the reality of dinosaurs living amongst us is a stunning reality that we must face. a world of giant chicken eggs awaits us. this also promises to ensure the future of "giant wing night", a dream of all wing night patrons. And you can read about it in a book... Somewhere.
Today we arrived on site early, the entire saloon was empty besides us, the usual chess pieces, and regrettably, Bishop Jughead. if it weren't for Bishop Jughead, the night would have been nearly perfect. shortly after our complaints, however, like a miracle Jughead was no more, leaving us with nearly a perfect start. Our preliminary strike force included you're two famed secret agents, Braino (The Girl With The Visible Brain), Ducas LeReese, and Ashburn Sandstorm whose watchful eye watched,
always watching with that watchful, watchful eye of his. Visits from our district managers can either bring joyful songs of revelment or drastic budget cuts and would likely end us up at "celery night" with secret agent Lame Face and Jeremy the idiot from accounting who just likes going there.
Secret Agent Manpow-er was at ill ease for earlier that day he was force fed burgers for information. Needless to say they ran out of burgers, received no information, and are all now dead. with gripping determination he ordered the regular twenty wings, as did I along with a Seria Nevada. To my surprise Secret Agent Sandstorm ordered "The same thing he's having", which to my relief was in reference to a guy across the way, but to my horror that guy had ordered exactly the same thing as me. I was under the knife. Every move I made must be in perfect tandem with my DM. This is where my expertise on wings and the night they have so encapsulated would be put to the test.
Service was swift and nimble, sir knight JP offered to redeem his mistakes with a free drink which did not go unnoticed. and other chess pieces were quick to offer napkins to clean up the mess that i had made, (more on that later) though they did not offer me a replacement for the sole victim of my transgressions, a single lost beverage.
I drank a Sierra Nevada pale ale, continuing my adventure into the world of pale ales that i've been performing lately. I am told by offshore secret agent Johnny Utah that according to reliable intel, Sierra Nevada pale ale is the golden standard for pale ales. overall, it was very basic, with a oo e to it as well. it is a good beer for someone who wants to show a friend what a pale ale is supposed to be like, but without any gimmicks. A solid beer with a rough edge to it, hearty flavor and easily consumed. I give the Sierra Nevada pale ale a medium sized circle with no dot.
I was not able to adequately review this beer beyond taste and texture however as a result of a terrible unforeseen incident involving our dear and beloved secret weapon, sweet baby ray formula no. 9. My fingers were nearly soaked to the bone with the volatile, but delicious new concoction, and as a result, after grabbing with full force towards my glass of cool misty Sierra pale ale, the slickness of my skin pushed the glass beyond my grasp; spilling the sweet sweet sweet sweet nectar all over the table, my passport, and worst of all... Supervising secret agent Ashburn Sandstorm.
As you can see in the picture I came in at a hard angle and it is only cunning luck that I survived, although at the time I wished for death. If only the room could fill with poison gas oh happy it would have made me to escape the disappointment of Ashburn Sandstorm via poison gas. Although he showed no emotion and simply digested the spilled beer through his skin as if it were second nature. What a pro!
The wings altogether went above and beyond the wacky level. Malformed wing ran amuck. Wings of a non-wacky nature were decent, but not as decently decent as the wackwings. moist and smlump, they were the smlumpiest wings i have had the pleasure of eating in quite a while. too many times have i came to penguin expecting smlump and getting nlumb.
Bleu cheese was soupy, inconsistent and unreliable. though it was surprising that today, of all days i was gifted with the largest chunk of cheese of all time, weighing in at 20 pounds and 3 ounces, not less than 1 inch in diameter (it was truly really extremely dense cheese matter).
Currently Secret Agent Manp-ower is Catatonic and is bleeding from his eyeballs in the most pleasant way so I wish not to disturb him, but it is my assumption that the wings were once again too saucy. Although that it appeared that Ma-npower'saucevoir was larger than everyone else's. Perhaps it's an inside job against us. Maybe it's the doings of Bishop Jughead.
Things really started to heat up at Penguin as more of our esteemed guests arrive on the scene including Cheif of Police Wigglesworth, Nigel Pendelton, The Burrower, C.Q. Clover (who was late on account of solving a spooky mystery), Oxford the animal tamer and his half man half large cat ally "Leopardo", lastly was Hovergirl who always brings her "ha-ti-dah" attitude for poor Mr. Jumpjet, who is well mannered in all ways and can only put up with it by an amazing feet of self control, and on his birthday of all things. I'll say. I will say.
We decided that it may be best to tally forth before our friends got around to the birthday brawl they're so fond of (and by the sound of the sirens Inspector Jumpjet had a grand ol' 5023rd birthday). We were also eager to impress our superior with the fine work we've been doing with cakescapades. With the poison now fully drained from my body I was feeling in high spirits. I felt that luck was on my side and with a spring in my step I entered the cozy passageways of Stop & Shop. Now imagine if you will a heard of Elephants crossing the Savanna in search of a water hole. They come to the spot they've known for unheard ages.
A secret haven of water whispered down through the generations. Upon arrival however they find a dry desolate pit and they know their young will not survive to see the sunrise the following morning. That's the way I felt when I reached the day old bakery section. Hot dog buns, stale cookies, and a despair in my heart. That's what I found there. I quickly pulled off the fulled priced whoopie pie emergency maneuver that I learned way back when I was a cadet, but it only barely saved our cakescapades. We trekked up the face of happy hill and shared whoopie pies to whomever would do a handstand.
It wasn't the best of wing nights, it wasn't the worst of wing nights. It fell well within that range of melancholy that shall be soon replaced by memories of happier times or sadder times depending on how this big ol' world smiles upon us. And for our standing with Ashburn Sandstorm? As I type this memo to you in the confines of The Holiday Ranch he stands in the corner rasping his knuckles against the wall and breathing heavily, which I know is considered an act of good will in some countries, not this one, but some. So tune in next week to see what becomes of our damned souls. And now onto Secret Agent Man-Po-wer for his take on the evening.
The Secret Agent Man Power Hour! With Secret Agent Man Power!
Man I'm full. I'm sleepy too. I wonder where I'll sleep tonight. Inspector Jumpjet can't be that old. I think he's like twenty something. Maybe I'm wrong. Whoa a quarter!
-Secret Agent Powerman.
atmosphere: 9
wings: A Thumb, not up nor down, just there.
service: 4/5
cooling tower bridge decomposition ball checkpoint reservoir tank: 9
beer: A medium sized circle with no dot (credit for being solid, demerit for being boring)
Cakescapades: ** and a +
visiting on a mission to evaluate our performance on behalf of the main branch.Today marks the 42nd wing night we have attended and also the 42 day we've had something to look forward to during the course of our bleak, meager lives.
This just in: dinosaurs walk among us, as many of you may have realized. with the recent engineering of dinosaur/avian regresso-hybrids, the reality of dinosaurs living amongst us is a stunning reality that we must face. a world of giant chicken eggs awaits us. this also promises to ensure the future of "giant wing night", a dream of all wing night patrons. And you can read about it in a book... Somewhere.
Today we arrived on site early, the entire saloon was empty besides us, the usual chess pieces, and regrettably, Bishop Jughead. if it weren't for Bishop Jughead, the night would have been nearly perfect. shortly after our complaints, however, like a miracle Jughead was no more, leaving us with nearly a perfect start. Our preliminary strike force included you're two famed secret agents, Braino (The Girl With The Visible Brain), Ducas LeReese, and Ashburn Sandstorm whose watchful eye watched,
always watching with that watchful, watchful eye of his. Visits from our district managers can either bring joyful songs of revelment or drastic budget cuts and would likely end us up at "celery night" with secret agent Lame Face and Jeremy the idiot from accounting who just likes going there.Secret Agent Manpow-er was at ill ease for earlier that day he was force fed burgers for information. Needless to say they ran out of burgers, received no information, and are all now dead. with gripping determination he ordered the regular twenty wings, as did I along with a Seria Nevada. To my surprise Secret Agent Sandstorm ordered "The same thing he's having", which to my relief was in reference to a guy across the way, but to my horror that guy had ordered exactly the same thing as me. I was under the knife. Every move I made must be in perfect tandem with my DM. This is where my expertise on wings and the night they have so encapsulated would be put to the test.
Service was swift and nimble, sir knight JP offered to redeem his mistakes with a free drink which did not go unnoticed. and other chess pieces were quick to offer napkins to clean up the mess that i had made, (more on that later) though they did not offer me a replacement for the sole victim of my transgressions, a single lost beverage.
I drank a Sierra Nevada pale ale, continuing my adventure into the world of pale ales that i've been performing lately. I am told by offshore secret agent Johnny Utah that according to reliable intel, Sierra Nevada pale ale is the golden standard for pale ales. overall, it was very basic, with a oo e to it as well. it is a good beer for someone who wants to show a friend what a pale ale is supposed to be like, but without any gimmicks. A solid beer with a rough edge to it, hearty flavor and easily consumed. I give the Sierra Nevada pale ale a medium sized circle with no dot.
I was not able to adequately review this beer beyond taste and texture however as a result of a terrible unforeseen incident involving our dear and beloved secret weapon, sweet baby ray formula no. 9. My fingers were nearly soaked to the bone with the volatile, but delicious new concoction, and as a result, after grabbing with full force towards my glass of cool misty Sierra pale ale, the slickness of my skin pushed the glass beyond my grasp; spilling the sweet sweet sweet sweet nectar all over the table, my passport, and worst of all... Supervising secret agent Ashburn Sandstorm.
As you can see in the picture I came in at a hard angle and it is only cunning luck that I survived, although at the time I wished for death. If only the room could fill with poison gas oh happy it would have made me to escape the disappointment of Ashburn Sandstorm via poison gas. Although he showed no emotion and simply digested the spilled beer through his skin as if it were second nature. What a pro! The wings altogether went above and beyond the wacky level. Malformed wing ran amuck. Wings of a non-wacky nature were decent, but not as decently decent as the wackwings. moist and smlump, they were the smlumpiest wings i have had the pleasure of eating in quite a while. too many times have i came to penguin expecting smlump and getting nlumb.
Bleu cheese was soupy, inconsistent and unreliable. though it was surprising that today, of all days i was gifted with the largest chunk of cheese of all time, weighing in at 20 pounds and 3 ounces, not less than 1 inch in diameter (it was truly really extremely dense cheese matter).
Currently Secret Agent Manp-ower is Catatonic and is bleeding from his eyeballs in the most pleasant way so I wish not to disturb him, but it is my assumption that the wings were once again too saucy. Although that it appeared that Ma-npower'saucevoir was larger than everyone else's. Perhaps it's an inside job against us. Maybe it's the doings of Bishop Jughead.
Things really started to heat up at Penguin as more of our esteemed guests arrive on the scene including Cheif of Police Wigglesworth, Nigel Pendelton, The Burrower, C.Q. Clover (who was late on account of solving a spooky mystery), Oxford the animal tamer and his half man half large cat ally "Leopardo", lastly was Hovergirl who always brings her "ha-ti-dah" attitude for poor Mr. Jumpjet, who is well mannered in all ways and can only put up with it by an amazing feet of self control, and on his birthday of all things. I'll say. I will say.
We decided that it may be best to tally forth before our friends got around to the birthday brawl they're so fond of (and by the sound of the sirens Inspector Jumpjet had a grand ol' 5023rd birthday). We were also eager to impress our superior with the fine work we've been doing with cakescapades. With the poison now fully drained from my body I was feeling in high spirits. I felt that luck was on my side and with a spring in my step I entered the cozy passageways of Stop & Shop. Now imagine if you will a heard of Elephants crossing the Savanna in search of a water hole. They come to the spot they've known for unheard ages.
A secret haven of water whispered down through the generations. Upon arrival however they find a dry desolate pit and they know their young will not survive to see the sunrise the following morning. That's the way I felt when I reached the day old bakery section. Hot dog buns, stale cookies, and a despair in my heart. That's what I found there. I quickly pulled off the fulled priced whoopie pie emergency maneuver that I learned way back when I was a cadet, but it only barely saved our cakescapades. We trekked up the face of happy hill and shared whoopie pies to whomever would do a handstand. It wasn't the best of wing nights, it wasn't the worst of wing nights. It fell well within that range of melancholy that shall be soon replaced by memories of happier times or sadder times depending on how this big ol' world smiles upon us. And for our standing with Ashburn Sandstorm? As I type this memo to you in the confines of The Holiday Ranch he stands in the corner rasping his knuckles against the wall and breathing heavily, which I know is considered an act of good will in some countries, not this one, but some. So tune in next week to see what becomes of our damned souls. And now onto Secret Agent Man-Po-wer for his take on the evening.
The Secret Agent Man Power Hour! With Secret Agent Man Power!
Man I'm full. I'm sleepy too. I wonder where I'll sleep tonight. Inspector Jumpjet can't be that old. I think he's like twenty something. Maybe I'm wrong. Whoa a quarter!
-Secret Agent Powerman.
atmosphere: 9
wings: A Thumb, not up nor down, just there.
service: 4/5
cooling tower bridge decomposition ball checkpoint reservoir tank: 9
beer: A medium sized circle with no dot (credit for being solid, demerit for being boring)
Cakescapades: ** and a +
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Second Sortie
This evening for dinner I ate poison. I am typing this with my last sparks of consciousness, barely even able to lift my own head, like a newborn babe. Now I'm not one to point fingers, especially not at the fine establishment that the penguin most definitely is; but if anyone knows what it feels like to be poisoned it's me. To be completely frank, I'd have to say that my keen intuition leads me to believe that our enemies have finally attempted to remove me from the picture.
My duties as an esteemed food critic however are of greater priority than even my own safety, and therefore I will not be phased by these threats.
I ate my 20 wings, I drank my sweet Colorado Dale's pale ale, and dammit, I ate seven delicious cupcakes. You listen to me now, if a little bleeding out of my eyeballs is supposed to stop me from eating cupcakes, think again, because if you want to stop me from eating sweets, next time bring your brass knuckles and fight me like a man.
-Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle
-Earlier that very day-
Ever since the ruby of a thousand tears was unearthed in Downtown Boston and subsequently releasing a one hundred year curse of famine and drought upon the greater bay area, it's been damn hot around. What better way to forget about an ancient mummy curse then to take a quick dip in the community pool? This was the well thought plan of myself and my well esteemed colleague Razzle Dazzle whose enjoyment for chlorinated pool water is unparalleled. Luck was not on our side this day, nor was luck, or even simple courtesies such as "sorry". Upon arrival at the Hennigan "Community Center" we not only had to disable the robotic sentry units, which shot first and didn't even ask questions later, leap a pit of burning diesel fuel, and be hit directly with lightning just to enter the building, but we were also presented with the most diabolical of all evil traps... Bureaucratic red tape. Apparently the term "Open Swim" implies that the pool is only open to those under the age of 18. The managers of the pool handed Razzle Dazzle a schedule clearly outlining when the 18-35 crowd could relax in the cool waters. Let’s see if you can make sense of it.
10-11am – Hennigan Summer Program
11am-12pm – Rainbow Connection SACC
12-1pm – Maintenance
1-2pm - ACEDONE
2-6pm – Open Swim
6:30 – 7:30pm – Aqua Aerobics 35+
7:30 – 8:30pm – Adult Lap 35+
8:30 – 9:30pm – Maintenance
6:00pm being subject to a strange time anomaly it can be assumed that those not under 18 and not attending one form or another of pagan water-worship can enter the pool at 6:00pm (Earth hours) be torn from the space time continuum and swim as long as they please in a land beyond time. When everyone has had their fill of swimming the Hyper Dimensional Resonator is turned off and time picks up where the swimmers left it. At least that’s what we assume happens because Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle and I had more important things to do at six o’ clock. That is, if “important” were wings, “do” was eat, “six o’ clock” was five o’ clock, and the sentence was completely rearranged to spell out “It’s Wing Night again!”
I the loathsome time after being denied access to the pool and before consuming flesh we we’re cast into state of delirium. I looked on as my cohort Raz-Daz consumed some strange berries. I thought to warn him not to consume this alien fruit, but my higher brain functions began to falter and fail as my hunger pangs set in.
-Secret Agent Man-Power
-Meanwhile-
The scorching desert heat has whet my appetite to the extreme limits of my being. Without feeling, without remorse, I will devour poultry with reckless abandon once again. Secret agent razzle dazzle reporting; this mission was a doozy, one of the hottest days of a wet and rainy summer, the sun has caused the city to forget about the harvest-worthy fronts, and given reign to the unrelenting fire of a parched sky. Amidst the drought, food has been scarce, and the people of this wasteland constantly feud over who gets the first pickings of the criminally slim rations that are passed out by shipping caravans from areas more fortunate. The mulberries that the local village was so proud of, long since over-harvested, sprouted sickly branches, barely even capable of sparing me the devastating solar rays; and as I waited at our rendezvous point, the locals, though (in a fight) they offered little challenge, were still less than hospitable.
We met and rushed to the cantina post-haste, stopping briefly at the oasis only to find that the spring had dried as well. Upon our arrival, we were surprised to see that there were few people in the bar. Our entourage took our seats and placed our orders, automatically, it seemed, as our desperate daydreams had placed the order in perfect rhythm time and time again during our long journey, which felt a whole lot shorter on account of seeing bishop jughead walk out the door just as we arrived.
WINGS, I said. Twenty. I peered over my passport to see what countries I hadn’t been to in a while, “and a Colorado, Dale’s Pale Ale” I said, feeling the humble twinges of homesickness, yearning for the sweet hoppy blood of America. Sweat poured from my brow, not out of heat, but out of relief, like an astronaut kissing the gentle green earth after his flight.
The dale’s was adequate, a recommendation from secret agent Johnny Utah, the off-site expert on rare and exotic sundries. Cool, refreshing, served in a can, trickling with dew. It had a hearty aroma, but it fell on my tongue as watery and flat, like a foggy Irish stout, not at all like a pale ale. Fortunately, it was just the kind of sensation I needed to feel, and therefore, I was saved by my beer yet again. This time, it’s a thick circle, with a teeny tiny cavity.
the wings on my side were equally sustaining, but at best, adequate. The drumsticks (I’ve found) are often dry, to the point of being the target of much infamy, whereas the actual wings were a delight to behold. The TRUE highlight of the ordeal was the bleu cheese dressing, NEVER before in my entire career of wing night excursions have I ever enjoyed a more textured, fruity, and bountiful plastic cup of liquid cheese than I did tonight. Literally 70% of it was occupied with life-affirming fortune in the form of priceless nuggets of the stuff. cheese.
-Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle
-From across the table a different story was unraveling-
I looked on in horror as my friend the Razzler drank his beer straight from the can. The voice of my grandmother came to me saying “put that in a glass, you don’t know whose hands it’s touched or how much poison has been dumped on it since it left the factory.” Of course my grandmother was arrested when I was five for triple homicide, so I just tried to put it out of mind.
As I always say you can bring a horse to water, but you can’t miss out on Penguin Pizza’s ten cent wing night. And also as I said earlier there’s nothing as refreshing as a quick swim on a hot summer’s day, but if a big, fat, two-bit, hack tells you can’t go swimming because he’s a complete jerk, and then you try to discuss it like grown-ups but he just laughs in your face and then breaks the neck of a chipmunk. If that’s the case then there’s nothing as refreshing as a pile of spicy hot wings on a hot summer’s day. The buffalo sauce situation at Penguin’s has spiraled completely of control.
As you may remember from last week they’ve been dishing out buffalo sauce like they were punches, and this week my wings got the crap beat out of them. A deep pool of sauce was left on my plate by the time I had finished (which I refer to as a saucevoir). If you don’t believe me just take a gander at the picture.
To further complicate the situation, free refills are no longer allowed. We were informed that the glasses are bigger, but that’s hardly true, and that doesn’t mean I still won’t want a refill. Shortly discussed that this must be a new provision of the emperor’s food rationing efforts. Pacing myself with my Pepsi I managed to make it through my spicy wings without major medical complications. I took a second to survey my surroundings.
C.Q. Clover was to my left whose crime solving skills are second to none, Sgt. Noir to my right whose marksmanship is second to none, then Braino whose brain is clearly visible when she’s not wearing her signature wig. Together the form the 93rd Action Battalion. Also accompanying us was Ducas LeReese: roughneck extraordinaire. All were locked in the blissful conversation of “wing-talk”, which has no words, only the lip smacking sound of wing digestion. I had a brief meeting with my boss, Sweet Baby Ray, then plunged head long into my regular wings. My first bite brought a twinge of disappointment. Too dry, not enough tenderness, no heart, no love. If Ray hadn’t been there I don’t know how I would’ve made it through. Unlike Razzle Dazzle’s Bleu Cheese my own was drippy and without chunks. “Inconsistency” I muttered. C.Q. Clover cocked her head amidst a wing to inquire what I had said. “Onion sister dead sea” I said to cover my tracks.
“They didn’t bring me enough lemons on the side even though I specifically asked for them.” C.Q. announced seemingly ambivalent to the fact I had said something that made absolutely no sense. C.Q. Clover has the odd trait of spreading lemon juice on her wings much as we spread Sweet Baby Rays on our own wings. Although the lemon folly had been committed by our occasional server Her Lady Queen Kim of the Dire Mire it was corrected by the always jovial Sir Knight JP who then delivered a reassuring pat on the back, which made everything right in my mind.
My Pepsi had been a bit on the lighter side all night and by the time I killed my final wing the ice had melted to the point where it was just flavored water. It was at about this time that reinforcements arrived. Angus Rocket whose crimes against humanity shall not be mentioned here, Captain Soul whose contributions to humanity shall not be mentioned here, Inspector Jumpjet and his sidekick Hovergirl who were in good spirits having just taken first place in the Bay State aeronautics competition, and lastly Juggernaut Johnson and two of his shadowy henchmen. We paid for our bill without receiving the bill and performed the highly advanced switcheroo maneuver that ensures that those close to us are always with a place to sit. We braced ourselves, received high fives from Sir Knight JP, and ran head long into the blistering heat in a mad dash to Stop & Shop.
-Secret Agent Man Power
And now it’s time for… CAKESCAPADES!!
This week we came upon a decent haul, without the help of Ducas LeReese, I would have been unable to resist buying every single cupcake on the shelf, on account of my cake proclivities… Having been a cattle rancher for some years as well as a botanist Ducas can quite literally smell danger from a mile away. Well maybe not a mile that would be ridiculous, all the same Ducas was sure that there was “Poison in them cupcakes ye dern fools!”
Heeding Mr. LeReese’s’s’s words I bought only two packages of “poison” cupcakes. To my shock and disgust these “poison” cupcakes, we actually poison cupcakes, and I have quite the allergy for poison. After going into hyperbolic shock and painting the town red with my madhouse antics I was finally revived by several eppy pens and a heart transplant. I have good reason to believe I’ve been assaulted by our arch nemesis Dr. Death and the artificial flavor in my cupcake was not vanillin, but none other than Dr. Death’s Death Medicine, which tastes great and really takes the edge off, but is horrible for your health. If it hadn’t been for Ducas LeReese saving the day with ice cream sandwiches all would have been lost.
I’ll get you Dr. Death! By God you may have gotten away with killing my wife and children, but nobody ruins my cakescapades!
-Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle
THE RUNDOWN
Pre-wing adventures: 0
Desire for Wings: 8
Atmosphere: 6
Service: 8.5
Wings: 5.75
Cakescapades: 4
Overall rating: 5.42 and a thick circle with a teeny tiny dot
Better luck next time.
My duties as an esteemed food critic however are of greater priority than even my own safety, and therefore I will not be phased by these threats.
I ate my 20 wings, I drank my sweet Colorado Dale's pale ale, and dammit, I ate seven delicious cupcakes. You listen to me now, if a little bleeding out of my eyeballs is supposed to stop me from eating cupcakes, think again, because if you want to stop me from eating sweets, next time bring your brass knuckles and fight me like a man.
-Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle
-Earlier that very day-
Ever since the ruby of a thousand tears was unearthed in Downtown Boston and subsequently releasing a one hundred year curse of famine and drought upon the greater bay area, it's been damn hot around. What better way to forget about an ancient mummy curse then to take a quick dip in the community pool? This was the well thought plan of myself and my well esteemed colleague Razzle Dazzle whose enjoyment for chlorinated pool water is unparalleled. Luck was not on our side this day, nor was luck, or even simple courtesies such as "sorry". Upon arrival at the Hennigan "Community Center" we not only had to disable the robotic sentry units, which shot first and didn't even ask questions later, leap a pit of burning diesel fuel, and be hit directly with lightning just to enter the building, but we were also presented with the most diabolical of all evil traps... Bureaucratic red tape. Apparently the term "Open Swim" implies that the pool is only open to those under the age of 18. The managers of the pool handed Razzle Dazzle a schedule clearly outlining when the 18-35 crowd could relax in the cool waters. Let’s see if you can make sense of it.
10-11am – Hennigan Summer Program
11am-12pm – Rainbow Connection SACC
12-1pm – Maintenance
1-2pm - ACEDONE
2-6pm – Open Swim
6:30 – 7:30pm – Aqua Aerobics 35+
7:30 – 8:30pm – Adult Lap 35+
8:30 – 9:30pm – Maintenance
6:00pm being subject to a strange time anomaly it can be assumed that those not under 18 and not attending one form or another of pagan water-worship can enter the pool at 6:00pm (Earth hours) be torn from the space time continuum and swim as long as they please in a land beyond time. When everyone has had their fill of swimming the Hyper Dimensional Resonator is turned off and time picks up where the swimmers left it. At least that’s what we assume happens because Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle and I had more important things to do at six o’ clock. That is, if “important” were wings, “do” was eat, “six o’ clock” was five o’ clock, and the sentence was completely rearranged to spell out “It’s Wing Night again!”
I the loathsome time after being denied access to the pool and before consuming flesh we we’re cast into state of delirium. I looked on as my cohort Raz-Daz consumed some strange berries. I thought to warn him not to consume this alien fruit, but my higher brain functions began to falter and fail as my hunger pangs set in.
-Secret Agent Man-Power
-Meanwhile-
The scorching desert heat has whet my appetite to the extreme limits of my being. Without feeling, without remorse, I will devour poultry with reckless abandon once again. Secret agent razzle dazzle reporting; this mission was a doozy, one of the hottest days of a wet and rainy summer, the sun has caused the city to forget about the harvest-worthy fronts, and given reign to the unrelenting fire of a parched sky. Amidst the drought, food has been scarce, and the people of this wasteland constantly feud over who gets the first pickings of the criminally slim rations that are passed out by shipping caravans from areas more fortunate. The mulberries that the local village was so proud of, long since over-harvested, sprouted sickly branches, barely even capable of sparing me the devastating solar rays; and as I waited at our rendezvous point, the locals, though (in a fight) they offered little challenge, were still less than hospitable.
We met and rushed to the cantina post-haste, stopping briefly at the oasis only to find that the spring had dried as well. Upon our arrival, we were surprised to see that there were few people in the bar. Our entourage took our seats and placed our orders, automatically, it seemed, as our desperate daydreams had placed the order in perfect rhythm time and time again during our long journey, which felt a whole lot shorter on account of seeing bishop jughead walk out the door just as we arrived.
WINGS, I said. Twenty. I peered over my passport to see what countries I hadn’t been to in a while, “and a Colorado, Dale’s Pale Ale” I said, feeling the humble twinges of homesickness, yearning for the sweet hoppy blood of America. Sweat poured from my brow, not out of heat, but out of relief, like an astronaut kissing the gentle green earth after his flight.
The dale’s was adequate, a recommendation from secret agent Johnny Utah, the off-site expert on rare and exotic sundries. Cool, refreshing, served in a can, trickling with dew. It had a hearty aroma, but it fell on my tongue as watery and flat, like a foggy Irish stout, not at all like a pale ale. Fortunately, it was just the kind of sensation I needed to feel, and therefore, I was saved by my beer yet again. This time, it’s a thick circle, with a teeny tiny cavity.the wings on my side were equally sustaining, but at best, adequate. The drumsticks (I’ve found) are often dry, to the point of being the target of much infamy, whereas the actual wings were a delight to behold. The TRUE highlight of the ordeal was the bleu cheese dressing, NEVER before in my entire career of wing night excursions have I ever enjoyed a more textured, fruity, and bountiful plastic cup of liquid cheese than I did tonight. Literally 70% of it was occupied with life-affirming fortune in the form of priceless nuggets of the stuff. cheese.
-Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle
-From across the table a different story was unraveling-
I looked on in horror as my friend the Razzler drank his beer straight from the can. The voice of my grandmother came to me saying “put that in a glass, you don’t know whose hands it’s touched or how much poison has been dumped on it since it left the factory.” Of course my grandmother was arrested when I was five for triple homicide, so I just tried to put it out of mind.
As I always say you can bring a horse to water, but you can’t miss out on Penguin Pizza’s ten cent wing night. And also as I said earlier there’s nothing as refreshing as a quick swim on a hot summer’s day, but if a big, fat, two-bit, hack tells you can’t go swimming because he’s a complete jerk, and then you try to discuss it like grown-ups but he just laughs in your face and then breaks the neck of a chipmunk. If that’s the case then there’s nothing as refreshing as a pile of spicy hot wings on a hot summer’s day. The buffalo sauce situation at Penguin’s has spiraled completely of control.
As you may remember from last week they’ve been dishing out buffalo sauce like they were punches, and this week my wings got the crap beat out of them. A deep pool of sauce was left on my plate by the time I had finished (which I refer to as a saucevoir). If you don’t believe me just take a gander at the picture.To further complicate the situation, free refills are no longer allowed. We were informed that the glasses are bigger, but that’s hardly true, and that doesn’t mean I still won’t want a refill. Shortly discussed that this must be a new provision of the emperor’s food rationing efforts. Pacing myself with my Pepsi I managed to make it through my spicy wings without major medical complications. I took a second to survey my surroundings.
C.Q. Clover was to my left whose crime solving skills are second to none, Sgt. Noir to my right whose marksmanship is second to none, then Braino whose brain is clearly visible when she’s not wearing her signature wig. Together the form the 93rd Action Battalion. Also accompanying us was Ducas LeReese: roughneck extraordinaire. All were locked in the blissful conversation of “wing-talk”, which has no words, only the lip smacking sound of wing digestion. I had a brief meeting with my boss, Sweet Baby Ray, then plunged head long into my regular wings. My first bite brought a twinge of disappointment. Too dry, not enough tenderness, no heart, no love. If Ray hadn’t been there I don’t know how I would’ve made it through. Unlike Razzle Dazzle’s Bleu Cheese my own was drippy and without chunks. “Inconsistency” I muttered. C.Q. Clover cocked her head amidst a wing to inquire what I had said. “Onion sister dead sea” I said to cover my tracks.“They didn’t bring me enough lemons on the side even though I specifically asked for them.” C.Q. announced seemingly ambivalent to the fact I had said something that made absolutely no sense. C.Q. Clover has the odd trait of spreading lemon juice on her wings much as we spread Sweet Baby Rays on our own wings. Although the lemon folly had been committed by our occasional server Her Lady Queen Kim of the Dire Mire it was corrected by the always jovial Sir Knight JP who then delivered a reassuring pat on the back, which made everything right in my mind.
My Pepsi had been a bit on the lighter side all night and by the time I killed my final wing the ice had melted to the point where it was just flavored water. It was at about this time that reinforcements arrived. Angus Rocket whose crimes against humanity shall not be mentioned here, Captain Soul whose contributions to humanity shall not be mentioned here, Inspector Jumpjet and his sidekick Hovergirl who were in good spirits having just taken first place in the Bay State aeronautics competition, and lastly Juggernaut Johnson and two of his shadowy henchmen. We paid for our bill without receiving the bill and performed the highly advanced switcheroo maneuver that ensures that those close to us are always with a place to sit. We braced ourselves, received high fives from Sir Knight JP, and ran head long into the blistering heat in a mad dash to Stop & Shop.
-Secret Agent Man Power
And now it’s time for… CAKESCAPADES!!
This week we came upon a decent haul, without the help of Ducas LeReese, I would have been unable to resist buying every single cupcake on the shelf, on account of my cake proclivities… Having been a cattle rancher for some years as well as a botanist Ducas can quite literally smell danger from a mile away. Well maybe not a mile that would be ridiculous, all the same Ducas was sure that there was “Poison in them cupcakes ye dern fools!”
Heeding Mr. LeReese’s’s’s words I bought only two packages of “poison” cupcakes. To my shock and disgust these “poison” cupcakes, we actually poison cupcakes, and I have quite the allergy for poison. After going into hyperbolic shock and painting the town red with my madhouse antics I was finally revived by several eppy pens and a heart transplant. I have good reason to believe I’ve been assaulted by our arch nemesis Dr. Death and the artificial flavor in my cupcake was not vanillin, but none other than Dr. Death’s Death Medicine, which tastes great and really takes the edge off, but is horrible for your health. If it hadn’t been for Ducas LeReese saving the day with ice cream sandwiches all would have been lost.
I’ll get you Dr. Death! By God you may have gotten away with killing my wife and children, but nobody ruins my cakescapades!
-Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle
THE RUNDOWN
Pre-wing adventures: 0
Desire for Wings: 8
Atmosphere: 6
Service: 8.5
Wings: 5.75
Cakescapades: 4
Overall rating: 5.42 and a thick circle with a teeny tiny dot
Better luck next time.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Man Power's Run Down Of The Day's Happenings
Having successfully conquered yet another wing night and having now returned to Holiday Ranch (our base of planning) without harm I can reveal that which was once shrouded in secrecy. Our review of the day goes as follows.
Desire For Wings - 7 out of 10
Having gone into wing night with the traditional 17 hour fast I, Secret Agent Man-Power, was thusly sore with hunger. Having also gone for a jaunty swim with associates C.Q. Clover and Sgt. Noir at the Jamaica Plain Community Center I was also quite worn. and give a hunger rating of 8.
Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle however had been received several bullet wounds early in the day and had to eat a bowl of frosted flakes to up his red blood cell production. These injuries also kept him from entering the pool because the life guard said so. He gives a hunger rating of 6.
An altogether rating of 7 a fairly low hunger rating for us.
Atmosphere - 8
It being what most would call "one hell of a hot day" we found ourselves in the unconditioned halls of The Penguin sweating like dying soldiers on a desert battlefield. Finding our favorite booth unoccupied however made up for the heat. From the quiet shady haven of our booth we had the rare chance to enjoy a relatively quiet day at the Penguin. Our arch nemesis Bishop Jughead stalked the cavernous haunt occasionally uttering a ghastly groan and devouring a child or two, but otherwise left us alone to enjoy the company of Sweet Baby Ray whom Bishop Jughead has a profound hatred for. Her presence left us uneasy throughout our meal and detracted from the atmosphere. We we're eventually joined by associates Inspector Jumpjet, Juggernaut Johnson, and his shadowy henchmen. Conversation was light and the meal over all was pleasant and relaxing.
Service - 8
Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle was not particularly razzled nor dazzled by the service and thought it to be a rather average day, although service at the penguin is generally above average. Razzle was quite bemused by the lack of napkins and from the poor recommendation of beer. He gives a rating of 7.
I on the other hand found service polite, and performed with utmost haste. We had been seated no more then a minute before the call for wings was out. Our server, Sir Knight JP, was in good spirits and referred to the Pepsi as a Coke which tickled my bearded chin for a prefer Coke over Pepsi despite the fact that I can, in no way, tell the difference once I am actually consuming it. I also had no need to request a refill for Sir Knight JP was in top form and had transcended lateral thinking so that he could literally read my mind like the fine print of a manuscript and predict precisely when I needed my cup filled. I give a rating of 9 for an average of 8 on service.
Wings - 8
The wings were of an astounding quality tonight. I was drawn to comment on the beautiful sheen upon our wings' arrival, which was matched by that of the juiciness and tenderness. Razzle Dazzle was 100% gungho about his wings giving a rating of 9 leaving only one digit in our rating system to top today's bounty.
I was also thoroughly impressed, but I found the buffalo wings a tad too saucy which has been a disturbing downward trend I've witnessed since the fondly remembered heydays of wing night. The regular wings were slightly less juicy and I found only one "wacky wing" (wacky wings are what we theorize are wings personally touched by God). The "Coke" redeemed much of the meal temporarily quenching my insatiable desire for destruction, revenge, and carbonated beverages. It was cool and of a more vibrant taste than usual. I give a rating of 7 for an average of 8.
Cakescapades
Our usual post meal hobby brings us to Stop & Shop to peruse the day old bakery shelves for discounted cake. Inspector Jumpjet accompanied us and his hands were well needed for the amount of cake we walked away with was staggering. Five cakes in all along with a box of pie. The confectionery goodness was enjoyed in leisure upon a rolling hillside in a much desired cool breeze. A perfect 10 from both Secret Agents. (Secret Agent Man-Power left, Inspector Jumpjet right)
Today's Beer Review
Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle finds that often words muddle what we actually feel and finds that drawing various sized dots with and without holes in the middle as a much more accurate portrayal of his beer experience.
Overall rating - 8.2 and a underwhelming dot.
Desire For Wings - 7 out of 10
Having gone into wing night with the traditional 17 hour fast I, Secret Agent Man-Power, was thusly sore with hunger. Having also gone for a jaunty swim with associates C.Q. Clover and Sgt. Noir at the Jamaica Plain Community Center I was also quite worn. and give a hunger rating of 8.
Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle however had been received several bullet wounds early in the day and had to eat a bowl of frosted flakes to up his red blood cell production. These injuries also kept him from entering the pool because the life guard said so. He gives a hunger rating of 6.
An altogether rating of 7 a fairly low hunger rating for us.
Atmosphere - 8
It being what most would call "one hell of a hot day" we found ourselves in the unconditioned halls of The Penguin sweating like dying soldiers on a desert battlefield. Finding our favorite booth unoccupied however made up for the heat. From the quiet shady haven of our booth we had the rare chance to enjoy a relatively quiet day at the Penguin. Our arch nemesis Bishop Jughead stalked the cavernous haunt occasionally uttering a ghastly groan and devouring a child or two, but otherwise left us alone to enjoy the company of Sweet Baby Ray whom Bishop Jughead has a profound hatred for. Her presence left us uneasy throughout our meal and detracted from the atmosphere. We we're eventually joined by associates Inspector Jumpjet, Juggernaut Johnson, and his shadowy henchmen. Conversation was light and the meal over all was pleasant and relaxing.
Service - 8
Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle was not particularly razzled nor dazzled by the service and thought it to be a rather average day, although service at the penguin is generally above average. Razzle was quite bemused by the lack of napkins and from the poor recommendation of beer. He gives a rating of 7.
I on the other hand found service polite, and performed with utmost haste. We had been seated no more then a minute before the call for wings was out. Our server, Sir Knight JP, was in good spirits and referred to the Pepsi as a Coke which tickled my bearded chin for a prefer Coke over Pepsi despite the fact that I can, in no way, tell the difference once I am actually consuming it. I also had no need to request a refill for Sir Knight JP was in top form and had transcended lateral thinking so that he could literally read my mind like the fine print of a manuscript and predict precisely when I needed my cup filled. I give a rating of 9 for an average of 8 on service.
Wings - 8
The wings were of an astounding quality tonight. I was drawn to comment on the beautiful sheen upon our wings' arrival, which was matched by that of the juiciness and tenderness. Razzle Dazzle was 100% gungho about his wings giving a rating of 9 leaving only one digit in our rating system to top today's bounty.
I was also thoroughly impressed, but I found the buffalo wings a tad too saucy which has been a disturbing downward trend I've witnessed since the fondly remembered heydays of wing night. The regular wings were slightly less juicy and I found only one "wacky wing" (wacky wings are what we theorize are wings personally touched by God). The "Coke" redeemed much of the meal temporarily quenching my insatiable desire for destruction, revenge, and carbonated beverages. It was cool and of a more vibrant taste than usual. I give a rating of 7 for an average of 8.
Cakescapades
Our usual post meal hobby brings us to Stop & Shop to peruse the day old bakery shelves for discounted cake. Inspector Jumpjet accompanied us and his hands were well needed for the amount of cake we walked away with was staggering. Five cakes in all along with a box of pie. The confectionery goodness was enjoyed in leisure upon a rolling hillside in a much desired cool breeze. A perfect 10 from both Secret Agents. (Secret Agent Man-Power left, Inspector Jumpjet right)
Today's Beer Review
Secret Agent Razzle Dazzle finds that often words muddle what we actually feel and finds that drawing various sized dots with and without holes in the middle as a much more accurate portrayal of his beer experience.
Overall rating - 8.2 and a underwhelming dot.
Day one continued
Upon leaving the penguin, we managed to scramble up some cake. This time we have two best creme frosted cakes, and two butter cream cakes, as well as one premium white cake with raspberry.
Day one: the conclusion of new beginnings
Secret agent razzle-dazzle here. The wings were of the optimum level of moisture. I ate only regular wings because I do not have secret agent man-power's incredible resistance to spicy foods. Backed up by my secret weapon: a delectable concoction devised by secret agent and head of research and development, baby-Ray; I was able to consume all 20 wings without a moment's hesitation. The wings were of highly advanced juice content, however, the ratio of good wings to weird wings was less than favorable.
The beer of the week was an IPA, my favorite beer for a warm summer afternoon. This week I went for the "Anderson valley" ipa. Brewed in a mom and pop joint in medocino California. This beer's bottle had a lot of friendly and welcoming content to make me feel like I was meant to consume it, however... A little too bitter for my tastes. Very hoppy, too hoppy. More coming soon.
A bold new era of wing research has begun
Hello, all
This is the first of many posts to this blog wherein I, secret agent razzle-dazzle, and my associate, secret agent man-power will be evaluating publicly our Experiences every Monday night at penguin pizza's weekly "wing night" event.
We have just arrived on site at 5:03pm and there are plenty of seats. My partner and I have made or orders and are now awaiting their arrival.
Let's take this moment to explain the rules of wing night. Firstly, you must order a drink, be it water, soda, or alchohol. Secondly you may not perform a take-out of your wings. Those are the basics folks, after that, you are welcome in a world of wings. 10 cents apiece, available in regular (no sauce) and buffalo varieties.
Our usual roles are as follows...
-secret agent razzle-dazzle:
I will be reviewing the beer of the week as well as assisting in the actual review of the entree.
-secret agent man-power:
will be reviewing the buffalo wings, as well as assisting in the main review.
Our wings have arrived along with our drinks
Rd. 20 regular wings and an Anderson valley ipa.
Mp. 10 regular and 10 buffalo and a pepsi.
We'll see you on the other side.
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