Check your manhood at the door, lest you burn it with wing sauce.

One great thing about being home is getting to hang out with Joe. My interests generally align with those of a 17 year old boy (minus little girls and the weight room, to name two.) I did not find a single person in Boston who followed or enjoyed watching mixed martial arts. Most people thought I was weird for doing so. At home, it's a given that the fight will be watched one way or another.

Last night was UFC 98. I'm not a fan of Pay Per View, in general. After a little research, I decided Joe and I would go to Buffalo Wild Wings where I would drink copious amounts of beer, bet on fights with him and force him to be my designated driver. That plan was foiled when I discovered Joe's still on a restricted license and can't drive after 12. Ugh. High schoolers.

Three of Joe's friends joined us. The fights were set to start at 10 but we were all hungry and bored so decided to leave the house at 8. Joe drove the youngens and I to BWW. Joe's "car rules" restrict the music selection to hip hop and oldies so we blared disco the entire way there.

Sidenote: I will never understand why high school boys feel the need to A) stare everyone down B) make strangers feel uncomfortable by rolling down the windows, blasting Brick House and winking at mothers behind the wheel and C) use only the wrist of their right arm to drive.

Bringing testosterone filled high schoolers to Buffalo Wild Wings is like bringing bringing Noelle and Christina on the T dressed in costume on Halloween. They spend 20 minutes trash talking each other before making crippling life decisions. 

Joe and I, despite the warning from our waitor, decided on the hot wings. Joe's friend Tyler decided on the Blazin chicken wrap. For those of you who have never been to a Buffalo Wild Wings... an order like this occurs so rarely that the chefs bet $10 on Tyler finishing his meal.

The food came fast and the chefs and waitstaff hid in various corners to watch the reaction from our table. Joe took a bite of Tyler's Blazin wrap and started tearing up. The waitor brought him a little cup of chocolate milk to ease the pain, at which point Tyler and Zach called Joe a little bitch and insults were exchanged.

By the time Tyler had consumed 3/4 of his wrap, the waitor had delivered 6 cartons of chocolate milk.

Waitor: (replenishing Tyler's milk carton supply) Dude. These are usually for little kids but take some more! I don't know how you're eating that, dude! You're crazy! I think you've had a gallon of milk, man!

Joe: (still complaining about the single bite he took 20 minutes earlier) I feel like one of those cartoon characters that has just eaten something hot and is steaming from the ears!

Face redder than a stop sign and eyes tearing like my mom at graduation, Tyler admitted defeat. Someone in the kitchen was out $10. He just couldn't do it. He downed the rest of the milk and went to the bathroom. Tyler returned and put his forehead to the table while everyone made fun of him.

After 15 minutes in this position, someone finally asked Tyler if he was ok.

Tyler: Dude. (He hushed to a whisper) I forgot to wash my hands before pissing.

The table erupted in laughter. Tyler's mouth wasn't the only thing in pain. Zach handed him some Handy Wipes in a futile attempt to dull the burn. Tyler disappeared into the bathroom returning 10 minutes later with a distressed look on his face. The waitor sensed his pain and asked how his mouth was.

Tyler: That's alright. But I forgot to wash my hands before I went to the bathroom.... So now it burns... (points to his crotch.)

Waitor: Ooooooohhhhhh. Sorry man, I can't help you there.

Eventually, the tears dried up, the burning stopped and Tyler begged the waitor to take away the rest of his wrap. Lyoto Machida (the guy I called to win) beat Rashad Evans (the guy Joe called to win), knocking him out for the first time in his MMA career. I barked for a few minutes while Joe stormed out the front door. Everyone returned home fairly unharmed.

A word to the wise: DO NOT order the Blazin anything! Check your pride at the door before your hurt yourself. And by God if you must get something Blazin... PLEASE wash your hands before touching anything but the wings.