I found myself this Friday night at Urge Gastropub — a great restaurant with a fantastic beer list — for their 4th anniversary celebration. As part of their special menu for the night was the “Pucker butt wings.”  While their name isn’t very memorable, their effect on your body most definitely is. These wings were covered with a sauce made from the 4 hottest peppers on the planet: the Carolina Reaper, Moruga Scorpion, Trinidad Butch T Scorpion, and the famous Ghost Pepper. With names like those (“Butch T”??) you know Mother Nature ain’t messing around.

In our group of 10, only 3 of us were courageous enough to order them; the rest of the table was much more level-headed. Shortly afterwards our waitress brought us each a waiver to sign. We happily signed it — like a dope I signed it as if I were signing an official hospital document: with date and time — and waited for the plate of wings to arrive.

And soon a plate full of 9 sauce-soaked wings with an extra drizzle of sauce landed in front of us. Here I am at the start, still happy and enjoying life. Note the gloves, which a friend provided and proved to be a very valuable accessory.

Happiness quickly turned to pain…and sadness…and panic. Admittedly the first few wings were tasty, but then the burn sunk in and it was an intense heat like nothing I’ve ever experienced. My tongue and face both felt like they wanted to burst with fire. I kept sticking out my tongue in an attempt to cool it but that was pointless. Sips and gulps of beer didn’t help at all, and neither did getting up and pacing around the room. My eyes started tearing up and my nose started pouring out its own fluid…all of which Sally had to wipe away for me periodically. A quick glance around the room revealed the other two guys were equally suffering.

I was only halfway done and almost ready to to call it quits when I received a blessing: a glass of milk delivered by our waitress. Milk typically hasn’t helped me much in the past with spicy foods, but then again I’ve never tasted spice like this. That cool milk coated and soothed my tongue and was the only thing that allowed me finish off all 9 wings.

A slow and painful ten minutes later the wings were finished but the aftermath was only beginning. My lips and tongue continued to tingle for hours, and soon the rest of my GI tract started churning. Unfortunately — but as expected — 12 hours later the wings took out their biggest revenge on me: basement fire. (And that’s a fire that I couldn’t put out for a full day.) Despite all that, I’m looking forward to participating again next year.

I edited a short (1:30) video of my suffering. Watch, and experience the pain with me.