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Poems

Oliver Gottlieb Apr 2020
I want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings, where you need to jog up three black carpet handicap-ramps just to reach your table.
I want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings, where it takes 14 minutes for the waitress to arrive, and 72 minutes for the food to come out.
I want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings, where they change their mac n’ cheese recipe every week just to **** you off.
I want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings, where all 300 TV screens are airing adds simultaneously.
I want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings, where you ask for queso without salsa, but they can’t hear you; over the Flex Seal commercial blasting at full volume.
I want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings, where every wing sauce besides honey-barbecue tastes like Jalapeño Takis drenched in McDonald’s buffalo sauce.
I want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings, where it’s Kids Wednesday, everyday.
I want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings, where the bathrooms have approximately 4 urinals, 2 baby changing stations, and 17 ******* TVs.
I want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings, where desserts always on the menu, but never in your mouth.
I want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings, where the party games consist of a single, rigged, claw machine, full of nothing but green and pink rubber *****.
I want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings, where the bar smells like congealed grease, olive oil, and a rusted frying pan.
I want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings, where the only customers are bald-white-guys and fat-black-women.
I want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings, where the one birthday clown is a 54-year-old Indian *** offender.
I want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings, where dreams die and ****-babies are born.
I want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings, where their iceberg lettuce is grown under black-light.
I want to go to Buffalo Wi-
Wait, are you not in the mood for chicken?