Far across the world, in places unfamiliar and largely unknown to us, lies an untold legend of the bravery and adventuring of two men of immense strength and handsomeness. Their heroism is told in hieroglyphs on the walls of temples across these foreign lands, and the indigenous peoples chant their names in songs around funeral pyres and buffets of roasted flesh in celebration of these heroes.
The legend tells of one man who had facial hair so manly and delicious it made Chuck Norris and the Dos Equis guy look like Giada DeLaurentis’ husband Todd (who is a little bitch) and Ina Garten’s husband Jeffrey (who is another little bitch) and then made them fight on a trampoline hovering over a vat of KY Jelly while singing Katy Perry songs. It tells of another man with a vast array of black shirts, shirts so black they made Wesley Snipes look like Clay Aiken and crafted with such fine materials that they made Versace look like Kathy Ireland’s K-Mart line of clothes if they were modeled by the hobo in front of Angie & Jimmy’s.
This legend says these men made women quiver so hard it could start earthquakes. This legend says they walked with enough swagger to make Sinatra stop being an alcoholic just long enough to realize he’d been out-swagged and then start becoming an alcoholic again. This legend spoke of men risking it all to review the most delicious of foods.
This legend…is the Legend of the Temple of Casey Jones Grill.
Truthfully, no one knows for sure what transpired that night. The only written record of their mighty tale was to be transcribed by a third companion, a scribe who was to document what happened so that history books would know for sure how Xavvi and Tyler fought their way through the urban jungle. That scribe, known only by the ancient word “jai-suhn” which means “he who resembles a sponge of the sea”, was said to have begun the writing of the tale…but it was never completed. What you see here is the cobbling together of spoken tales, with historian’s notes and their best guesses as to the meanings of these riddles and fables:
Our story begins on a cold and blustery December evening, if legend is to be believed. Xavvi left his palacial manor, driving a sleek, jet-black 1938 Muggins Simoon roadster [Historian’s Note: Legend may have that car confused with a beat-up Honda Prelude] and retrieved the scribe Jai-suhn from his village of tree-people and went to get Tyler, the other half of the adventuring duo. They made the long and arduous trek north, to territory rarely seen by those who live in the Valley of the Bird of Fire and Ash.
Fighting through carriaged beasts carrying pale passengers with hair the color of lightning itself and skin like the very gila monsters that roam the desert [Note: Chalky Oompa Loompa-colored Scottsdale blonde hoes in SUVs on the 101?], the duo and their scribe arrived at the temple of Casey Jones Grill. As Xavvi whipped the roadster into a narrow lane, he grinned wryly at scribe Jai-Suhn, tipped the brim of his fedora and said,
“It’s all in the wrist, kid.”
As our adventurers sauntered up to the great doors of the Temple of Casey Jones Grill, they noticed strange symbols on the windows. Written in green was a curved symbol, open on the right but pointed towards the bottom, with great curvature on the left.
“Must be a bunch of Cheeseheads in this joint.” wasTyler’s observation, he an expert on religious symbolism. Yes, this temple obviously worshipped the deities of meat and cheese packaging, whose green symbol joined the bright yellow wedge glyph to form a mighty warning to any that dare enter. One could almost smell the musk of sour beer in the air.
“Let’s see what kind of traps the Cheeseheads left for us this time, old friend.” Xavvi chimed in, and walked into the Temple of Casey Jones Grill for the first and last time. The group was instantly greeted with a monstrosity.
The natives had obviously left a guardian at the door to protect the precious wings, beer, and Packers paraphernalia (though it did a horrible job of guarding those New Times over there) [Note: Fuck the New Times. Article-stealing bitches]. Xavvi and Tyler used their cunning and their wit to sneak past the guardian and onward to a large mesa by which they could try to break into the treasure of the Temple of Casey Jones Grill.
A servant of the Temple of Casey Jones Grill approached them and, in her ancient Cheesehead dialect, asked what their hearts desired. Was this a trap? “Choose wisely,” she said, “for while the true treasure will bring you life, the false treasure will take it from you…” So it was, and so Tyler and Xavvi put their heads together to come up with a game plan. Of all the choices of wing-treasure to speak of, what three would they take?
“We choose Medium, Hot, and Honey BBQ.” the duo said defiantly. And so their fates were sealed.
The servant of the Temple of Casey Jones went away and brought back pitchers of ale for the adventurers to guzzle upon. The heroes were particularly happy about the gold they had to hand in to partake in this ale. The Temple of Casey Jones Grill doles out an hour of happiness every day but the lord’s day, but this hour is a misnomer! The hour lasts from 3 – 6PM for food specials with drink specials till 7PM. Domestic pints of ale were $2.25, or $3.50 for larger chalices. This pleased the adventurers to no end until they realized they had raced the very sun itself to get all the way up to the Temple and thus only had time for one round of drinks at the happiest of prices before returning to standard price. They could have stayed for “reversal of hour of happiness” [Note: Reverse Happy Hour – 10-Close, food and drink specials] but would they even survive long enough to see that?
There must have been a trance, or a spell set upon the group, because by the time they realized their treasures were in front of their very faces, the wing-treasure was already starting to disappear. They were lucky to have snapped shots of them before the final one was gone, but there is no record of the pile of treasure as it was delivered to them, only these partial records of wing-treasures you see.
Tyler took a Hot. Scribe Jai-suhn took a Honey BBQ. Xavvi braved the Medium. They each looked at each other, unsure of what was going to happen. They knew they had to dig in to see if their selections would bring them life eternal, or lead to damnation. Tyler led the pack and took the first bite. Prompted by his bravery, scribe Jai-suhn took his first bite. Xavvi followed, knowing that if salvation were coming he would be able to wait for it. He bit in. Was the treasure of the Temple of Casey Jones a true salvation of the soul, or was it a cursed gold?
Let’s just say that if you find yourself at the Temple of Casey Jones Grill for delicious wing-treasures…
These wings were but illusions! The legend had spoken of them as they would speak of precious gems, as of diamonds and rubies and untold treasures waiting in the northern jungles for brave warriors to rescue from their slumber [Note: Yelp reviews had Casey Jones Grill’s wings pegged as the most awesome the North valley had to offer]. Instead they were a mirage in the desert, the promise of delicious wings marred by poor cooking, slow service, and generic wing sauces.
What bastard, what truly mischievous bastard had stolen the wing-treasure and replaced it with this slop? The wings were said to have been lukewarm when served. They were said to have been sauced with bland, generic sauces tasting like bottled sauces from the shoppes of Le Fry’s Foode & Drugge Stores. The Honey BBQ tasted like KC Masterpiece sauce. The Hot tasted like bottled Frank’s Red Hot. The medium tasted like crow-anus.
The adventurers looked at each other, disappointed. Oh, even this legend does seem to exaggerate, for modern research points to the wing-treasures of the Temple of Casey Jones Grill not being “awful” but just “incredibly tepid, mediocre, bland, not worth making a trek to northern Phoenix for”. They were very average in size, or so the tale says, and the cooking was not soggy but had little in the way of texture to aid them. They were not the wing-treasures of legend. No, they were fool’s gold.
But what was this? Scribe Jai-suhn was devouring them. “NO!” Tyler and Xavvi shouted, but to no avail. Scribe Jai-suhn had already dedicated his poor, unwitting soul to the mediocrity and would stay there for eternity, never knowing for sure what the upper echelon of wing-treasures would hold. Then again, he was no professional wing-treasure adventurer. The two studs though…they were tasked with a similar fate, and no amount of wing-cunning would be able to rescue them from this hell. [Note: Below-average wings make a good night bad, and a bad night into a Nickelback song]
They stumbled out, looking for solace from this cursed “treasure”, but there was no solace to be found. It is said that the scribe Jai-suhn returned to his tree village in body, but his mind never recovered. His incomplete writings were never found, but the tale has been told from person to person. No one knows who could have told it. Was it Tyler? His last known photo was in front of the temple, the stink of disappointment apparent on his masculine face:
It is said that he still wanders the city, a ghost whispering the tale of the Temple of Casey Jones Grill to those with a brave spirit. Is it he who has ensured this tale endures for the ages? Let’s hope for his sake that he has managed to move far far away from the Temple of Casey Jones Grill, because it was a really boring area [Note: 32nd St and Bell, or as we call it, “No thanks, I’ll meet you guys when you decide to come back to civilization”].
And what of Xavvi?
What of that last brave and devastatingly sexy man who risked it all for the sake of finding the wing-treasure that would save us all? Did he make it home alive? Were the wings at the Temple of Casey Jones Grill bad enough to kill him dead, or did he somehow flee from the jungle of pain, swinging from vines and racing from natives to the safety of his own land?
And that is all we know of the brave adventurers Xavvi and Tyler. That is all we know of the Legend of the Temple of Casey Jones Grill. They say if you listen close, on a hunger-filled football sunday, you can still hear the pen of scribe Jai-suhn, chronicling the fable. They say you can hear the screams of agony from Xavvi, his stomach exploding with anger that he had traveled 30 minutes to eat something so bland. And they say you can hear the whispers from Tyler, who has never been found.
They say he sounds like the wind, itself whispering, “The Paaaaaackers are fucking laaaaaaame. Take your laaaaaame wiiiiiings back to Wiscooooonsiiiiin you cheeeeesy fuuuuuucks” [Note: No translation needed. Seriously, the Packers are fucking lame. Take your lame wings back to Wisconsin you cheesy fucks.]
This post was written by Xavvi