Great moments in competitive eating, hot wing edition.
You have just devoured an inhuman amount of spicy hot wings. Your face is on fire, your brain has essentially stopped functioning in the wake of every bit of your body begging for mercy. Your anus is unprepared for the horrors to come tomorrow. But you've won. You've defeated the other comers at the table. You are the hot wing eating champion of this bar. You stand to bask in the glory and to claim your prize, which is probably like a $50 gift certifcate and a crappy t-shirt. And as that happens one of your opponents reaches over, like Jason springing back to life at the end of any one of a number of Friday the 13th movies, and pulls down your shorts.
What do you do? How do you react?
You punch that motherfucker square in the nose.
And so the chicken wing/violence connection is solidified. Won't anyone think of the children?