[Starts with a group of people watching a game]
Male voice: The big game is right around the corner and Wing Pit has your party covered.
[door bell ringing]
Pedro: Wings are here.
All: Yes!
Male voice: We’ve got game day specials that will keep the whole party happy like our touchdown tray.
Heidi: Two dozen wings and two sauces delivered piping that to your door in time for kickoff, for only $24.99.
Pedro: That’s something we can both agree on.
Male voice: For calling audible and try Wing Pit Super Bowl supreme platform.
Heidi: Four dozen juicy buffalo wings for only $39.99.
Kenan: Now we’re talking.
Male voice: And if your party’s really raging, go for two with Wing Pit’s Tailgate Feast.
Heidi: 20 dozen wings, five ethnically troubling sauces like Asian zing and Jamaican me spicy, a gallon of ranch for just $89.99.
Pedro: Awesome. Thank you. We’re probably good on wings though.
Male voice: But you could be great on us with we pitch new tray of tears.
Heidi: 600 of our succulent wings, plus 15 butt destroying sauce, and a kiddie pool of ranch for $205.99.
Kenan: There’s only like 15 people here. We don’t need all that.
Male voice: But you want it, just like you want Wing Pit’s hard slurry chicken smoothie. It’s 40 liquified wings mixed with 80 proof grain alcohol. You must be over 12 to order.
Kenan: Over 12?
Male voice: And if you’re thirsty for more, try Wing Pit’s new chicken carnage platter.
Heidi: 3000 tangy wings packed in black contractor bag thrown straight through your window in time for kickoff.
Kenan: Hey, if you don’t stop, I’m calling the police.
Male voice: Well, good luck because we own the police. Wing Pit donates millions to police charities so we can operate with total immunity.
Heidi: And that let us serve you the chip noble.
Male voice: 5000 wings, 10,000 beaks, a full pallet of hot sauce Airdropped ranch. And two of the sickest saddest celery sticks you’ll ever see.
Heidi: All pumped in your party via cement chute.
Pedro: Why are you doing this?
Male voice: To honor Chirax the chicken god of death. To save the souls of the chickens you have slayed.
Pedro: No. Please make it stop.
Male voice: Your friend your sheer.
Male voice: Wing pit, let the slaughter begin.