Sam and I recently had some wings from BW3 (Buffalo Wild Wings) and I was of a mixed impression; they were good because they delivered what they promised, namely, that I would eat wings in exchange for money. By the same token they were not good because I selected a “rub” instead of “sauce”, which is like eating a pixy stick and telling your friends that you just drank some cool aid. It’s just not the same.

I will arrange to have the sauce put on the wings next time by a certified wing technician. Spicy garlic.

Just like my nickname in Community College.

ba doom ching.

About radamdavidson

I'm a husband, dad, and pastor living in Portage, Michigan. I suppose I'm a euphoric melancholy generalist with average skills, experiences, and passions across several intertwined disciplines and hobbies including music, speaking, writing, leadership, ministry, and collecting cultural artifacts from the 1980's -- mostly vintage boomboxes. You can read my blog at, subscribe to my podcast (RadCast) or friend me on
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