For the record, I don't think Hooters wings are that hot. This is not because they aren't hot, it's because I have the amazing ability to handle spice like a champ. I think this is my superpower; it's clearly a gift. Of course not everyone is like me. Most people probably can't handle the level of spiciness I tend to enjoy. These people think Hooters has hot wings. It's all good, I don't think less of you.
One man in particular comes in every Sunday with his wife to have a plate of 10, naked, 911 wings. He sweats and guzzles beer and spends the whole time he's there looking like he is in the most intense, wing-induced pain of his life. Yet, there he is every Sunday, sitting at the same table, eating the same hot wings.
When he orders his wings however, he doesn't ask for them in the usual way. That would make sense. Instead, he asks for ten "stupid hot" wings. Maybe he's from Boston, I don't know. But that's beside the point. I of course had to reflect his love for stupid hot wings in a receipt art. It only seemed right.
Note the pepper. He is "stupid hot." This is made obvious by his self-declaration of heat and red coloring; everyone knows red is directly proportional to hotness. Luckily, that Big Daddy beer is here to keep us "stupid cool." And of course they're all freaking ecstatic about their stupid states of being.
I'm clearly stupid awesome.