These Are My Wishes Should I Die During This Hot Wings Eating Challenge

The last will and testament of Wayne Jenkins

I, Wayne Jenkins, being of sound mind and Dad body, do hereby give you guys the following instructions in the event I am killed trying to retain the title of Hot Wing Eating Champion of Wabash County, Illinois.

First of all, no crying and blubbering and poetry and shit. For you guys will know I will have died doing what I love, and that’s throwin’ down dozens of spicy hot wings in front of a roaring crowd at Dilly’s Bar and Grilly. Weep not for me, friends! And if you must weep, weep into a 36-oz Bud Light in a giant frosted mug at my favorite table while watching the Bears game tomorrow.

To my son Wayne, Jr., I leave my collection of game-day-worn-by-me replica Chicago Bears jerseys, except for my Brian Urlacher one, which shall hang on the north wall of Dilly’s next to the life-sized Kathy Ireland poster.

Someone please tell my ex-wife Laura it wasn’t that I didn’t love her; I just loved bass fishing more. She’ll understand what I mean.

I bequeath full control of my fantasy football team to Rick. Rick, you have proven yourself worthy of making the right draft moves and mid-season trades required to sustain my legacy of winning Frank’s dynasty…