Ryan Keith McCann, Senior Food Critic of the Texas Travesty
Disclaimer: the following is a report on crimes against humanity, be aware that graphic content is described below.
After my debacle last week at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Orlando, my editors knew I was upset. As the VIP Senior Mother Plucking Food Critic, my demands are usually met (though, to be honest, my only demands are really just unlimited Pluckers and Mountain Dew).
Now, I normally hate surprises. I almost always hate hate hate surprises. But since the Travesty owed me for that god-awful trip last week, I figured they’d surprise me with, well, Pluckers, obviously.
I was wrong.
On Sunday evening, I met with my editors at the office. I was quickly directed outside to the parking lot, blindfolded, stuffed into the back of a van, and then taken on a drive for what seemed like hours. Still, I assumed Pluckers would be waiting for me at the end of the trip. Perhaps, I thought, we were venturing to Dallas to visit the Pluckers on Greenville, where I first discovered the glory of Pluckers lemon pepper wings.
Hours passed, my stomach growled, tears soaked through my blindfold, just craving, just fiending for Pluckers.
Finally, I was thrown out of the van and put into a chair. I smelled lemon paper chicken and some sort of fried cheese, but something was off. I heard a plate dropped onto the table in front of me. Sweat dripped down my forehead, I could tell by the noxious odor rushing into my nose that I had been betrayed yet again. Yet this betrayal was much more personal.
Harry Potter didn’t have lemon pepper wings, but he didn’t even try to offer lemon pepper wings. He tried to do his own thing. But nothing’s more offensive to me than impostors – and whatever scents were coming at me were nothing but Pluckers knock-offs.
I stuck my trembling, fearful fingers down to the plate. These wings were small and sad - not full of love and hope and deliciousness like Pluckers wings are. I raised the chicken, directed it toward my mouth, and then allowed the failure of flavor to assault my taste buds, officially destroying any doubt that I had about it not being the real deal.
They took my blindfold off and revealed, not only that I had been betrayed, but that they had even forced me to betray my true love. I had cheated on Pluckers…
It was Buffalo Wild Wings.
I quickly vomited the Pluckers wanna-be wings everywhere, finally understanding what heartbreak truly feels like, as the nasty nonsense spewed back up from my stomach (I’ve trained my tummy to reject any wings except for the perfection of Pluckers.) The Buffalo Wild Wings staff had a mess on their hands.
I had to combat Ebola-like symptoms for days following the catastrophe. This includes nausea, bloody bowel movements, chest pain, raised rashes, and eye bleeding. But the physical pain of consuming Buffalo Wild Wings was nothing compared to the emotional abuse of cheating on Pluckers.
To Buffalo Wild Wings, you’re an impostor and should be ashamed of yourself. To my editors, y’all are terrible people and should be ashamed of yourselves.
To Pluckers, I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I’m ashamed of myself, and hope you can one day forgive me.
- Does the food taste better than Pluckers? No. It is a weak imitation of perfection.
- Is it a better value than Pluckers? God no, I’m offended that you would even ask.
- Is it healthier than Pluckers? Well, actually, no.
- Does it have my favorite flavor of Pluckers wings? Yes, they offer ‘lemon pepper’ but they don’t offer Pluckers lemon pepper, which is the only flavor that matters.
- Is it Pluckers? No. Not even close.
- Rating: -5,000 out of 5. My experience couldn’t have gone any worse.