True Story:

During a rather slow day of work on thursday, one of the supervisors decided a Wing-Eating contest was in order.  She started planning the whole event, getting very excited by the process.  The manager thought it'd be a great morale-building exercise, and quickly agreed to it.

The game?  Whoever can eat the most chicken wings in five minutes.  I have no idea how they hatched up this plan, but I think it's ingenius.  It's even better than the chili cook-off we had at the government office... and that was a pretty damn cool competition. 

She went from desk to desk, asking for volunteers.  Very few stuck up their hands - I guess they didn't want to stuff their faces in front of their new co-workers.  Either that, or they were afraid of chicken wings, possibly suffering from some post-traumatic incident of one type or another.

Maybe they bit off a chicken's head during a rock concert.  Maybe there was some sort of sexual tension in the past (hey, we're all curious!).  Or maybe the sight of chickens causes flashbacks to the Korean War. 

Yours truly naturally stuck up his hand.  Hell, even though I'm not working during the day of the event (this friday), I'm more than willing to come in for a chance to eat free chicken wings.  Especially because the prize is - get this - a paid day off work.

And did I mention they were free?

I still had to get some information... after all, you should always be prepared, right? 

"What kind of wings will they be?"

"I'm told they'll be hot wings... they're not supposed to be that hot, but they do have a bit of a kick."

"I'm pretty sure I can handle them," I said, maybe a touch too smugly.  When something is declared by someone as being "not that hot", it generally translates into "Dave, you're not even going to taste these".  And "it has a bit of a kick" is just code for "holy crap, I'm a wuss when it comes to spicy foods!"

At least, that's my two cents.  Make of it what you will.

One of my co-workers looked unsure.  She wanted me to win, since the only two other competitors were both supervisors, and I'm sure she wanted me to strike a blow for the little guys.  But, she seemed dubious. "I don't know... they could be pretty hot..."

"I know for a fact I've had hotter and lived to tell the tale," I reassured her.  She didn't know about the fuck off hot wings, and I wasn't going to fill her in.  After all, she could pass the information on to my competitors, hoping for a big raise or something.  Ladies and gents, you can't trust anyone in a chicken-wing-eating contest.  Not even the chicken. 

The manager piped up during this exchange.  "Anyone that's going to enter needs to have a name.  One of your supervisors wants to be called 'Big Cock', but that name's not allowed... but try to think of something funny, but acceptable in an office environment."

I put up my hand.  "Can I be Captain Shortbus?"

"No."

Lame.