Xavvi told me about a place called Luxe Lounge in Maricopa that was supposed to have a killer wing challenge. I wasn’t worried.
In fact, going in I was a bit cocky. We laughed off the wings Zipps warned us about, we handled the Donkey wings at The Reef without issue, we easily (but fucking slowly) got through the hottest wings the Hops N’ Heat contest could throw at us, and I had already experienced The Toothpick at NY Boys. How much worse could it get?
This is how I expected it to play out: Xavvi and I would strut through the door and order up the suicide challenge wings. We would smirk at their warnings and sign their death waiver without a care. After the wings arrived we would pick each of the dozen wings apart with little fanfare. When we finished, we would raise our fists in the air like victorious boxers and we would head home to watch the the highlights of the whole event on ESPN.
That isn’t exactly how it played out.