Oh man. There is absolutely nothing wrong with wing sauce. Ever. Just the words “buffalo sauce” conjure pleasant images of cold beers in a dark bar on a Tuesday afternoon, the wadded up, orange-stained napkins littering your table top like fallen comrades strewn about the battlefield, sacrificed in the vain effort of keeping ones hands and face relatively clean. The kind of memories that end in a full belly, a keen sense of satisfaction, and, if you’re in a quality establishment, lots of wet-wipes.
I can’t think of a single person I know that doesn’t like buffalo sauce. Maybe not because of its popularity, but because I don’t readily associate with those sorts of people. In fact, if you are one of those people, I’m afraid I’m going to kindly have to ask you to leave.
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