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.

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

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.

Baltika #9 - a blustery A+

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!

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.

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 structure, 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

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 of 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

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