August 21, 2003


Stretching our gastric constitutions to the brink of Irritable Bowel Syndrome, The Asses of Fire Tour nonetheless continues to march like Sherman through the various restaurant plantations of Tampa Bay in search of the finest chicken wings the area has to offer.

The latest stop: The Greenery Pub.

You can do a lot of things to prepare yourself for eating spicy foods. You can take a Pepcid. You can drink some milk to quell the oral flameage. You can pace yourself in a way that provides a comfortable, yet stimulating, eating experience.

One thing you can't prepare for: seeing someone mining for nasal McNuggets in the car next to you on the way to the restaurant, as this petite Florida flower was doing along Fletcher Avenue:

As Rommie subsequently noted: "I give her an 8.8 on technique, but a 9.5 on difficulty. Thatís a sweet backhand move."

Once we actually arrived and were able to purge that image from our brains, we enjoyed these wings a lot. They weren't as hot as the Hellfire Wings at The Tampa Bay Brewing Co., but the hottest of the hot still packed a punch while providing flavor as well.

As you can see from the above photo, Mitch, left, and Rommie, right, were a tad hungry and took to performing with wings what would have been considered syncronized swimming had this been done in a pool. The symmetry of their eating patterns mesmerized Dirk, center.

The wings and drums were also of gargantuan size at times. The one in the photo above was so large, we deemed it The Steroid Wing. It may have been injecting andro, for all we could tell. As this picture clearly shows, the drummette was as large as Rommie's head. For the record, I have no idea what he's looking at.

All was not well, though, after the meal. The cumulative effects of having eaten two plates of molten wings two days prior at the Brewing Co. caught up to Rommie in a big way. He even apologized for having to let the waistline of his pants out a little. Rommie doesn't usually apologize for such things, so we know it had to be bad.

The belching and the rectal emissions became so pronounced in the car - mind you, this was only mere minutes after leaving the pub - that when this truck passed us...

...we weren't sure if the truck's exhaust had just backfired or if one of us had just blasted our own catalytic converters.

All in all, it was a successful and satisfying adventure, if you overlook the fact that we did irreparable harm to the lining of our stomachs, colons and duodenums.

Posted by Jeff at August 21, 2003 09:27 AM | TrackBack