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.
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