I'm watching the seachickens kick ass in the first half, and I've just downed what they call a '7-alarm wing' --just one-- and oh myyy. . .
I made it, though.

The hawwt is so burn, though, I can feel it on my lips. My eyeballs started sweating, and my nose ran. Away from my face.
Anyway, we're winning . . . For now.
Go Hawks!