Neanderthal man could kick your ass. He didn't eat salads from Fresh Grocer or drink square bottles of Fiji water. (Just so you know, the island of Fiji only has two exports: water and malaria. Keep drinking that high-class water--you'll get what's coming to you.) Neanderthal man wasn't prissy. He hunted for his meals. And after cooking up that Brontosaurus carcass in his cave, he was left with a pile of bones that made him feel savagely good. You know you've accomplished something when you're left with a pile of Dinosaur bones in your cave.
After creating a pile like that, Neanderthal man would give his female the wildest primitive lovin' she'd ever experienced. Nights of bones and bonin' made Neanderthal man love being primitive. He didn't want to evolve.Unfortunately Neanderthal man evolved, and in modern times, there's only one food capable of giving us the sense of primitive accomplishment that Neanderthal man felt: chicken wings. It's the pile of bones leftover that does it.
But what about the bonin'? Neanderthal man had the right idea: food and sex. Clearly, feeling primitive requires little more than that. Wings. Sex. But which is better: eating hot wings or having hot sex?
In the following paragraphs I will utilize my years of expository writing classes to prove that wings are better than sex. I will give several reasons. I will make my high school English teachers proud by demonstrating what I learned in their classrooms: write what you know.
The first thing I know is that eating wings is better than having sex because hot sauce is involved. I like my wings sassy. For me, a fantastically delicious wing requires hearty amounts of spicy sauce. And much like Dr. Doolittle, who is capable of communicating with animals, I can communicate with wings. I know their thoughts and feelings. I know that most wings won't complain if you rub hot sauce all over their bodies. Were you allowed to rub hot sauce all over your partner's body the last time you had sex?
Another reason why I prefer wings to sex: I would take salmonella over syphilis any day. I'm not risking the pristine health of my instrument every time I eat a chicken wing. When I eat wings, I don't have to put a condom in my mouth to make sure I don't get diseases. I trust wings. They taste so good. They would never give me an STD. And they can't get pregnant. (Although I usually look pregnant with a litter of wings after eating 50 or 60. My friends like to put their hands on my stomach to feel the baby wings kick.)
Let me tell you something else about wings: Free wings are absolutely awesome, but when you pay for them you're not considered a deviant, pervert or Hugh Grant. And they come pretty cheap. Paying to have sex with a hooker can get expensive (unless she's a crack-addict and you happen to have some rock on you). You also don't have to eat wings at a cheap motel where you pay by the hour.
The last two reasons why I prefer eating wings to having sex are that I can eat many wings in a row and I can eat several wings at the same time. First, I can eat 50 wings in a row without dropping dead from injuries and exhaustion. Being fat and bloated after eating 50 wings is much better than being chafed and bloody after having sex 50 times. Second, I can fit four or five wings in my mouth at a time and ingest them all at once. Having sex with more than one person at a time can get really tangled. I've seen it in movies. It's basically a really wet game of twister.
When compared to sex, wings are healthier, more delicious, require less effort and involve hot sauce. But don't get me wrong; I'm not joining the seminary anytime soon. Sex rules. Nevertheless, the way to my heart is through my stomach. Which is not to say that if you were trying to wrench out my most important internal organ I would suggest you go rooting around through my stomach to get there. But I live to eat, not eat to live. I'll get my primitive fix in this order: bones first, bonin' second.
