 Guys, these times are too spicy. When America sat down to this big plate of national hot wings, we were feeling comfortable and a little adventurous. We got a few bites in and the sweat began to bead on our fetid national brow, after which we realized we were likely in for a bout of serious national indigestion. Now we're swamped in a wave of national nausea. Not even a large national glass of milk, Mitt Romney for instance, can stop the burning. We're now soaking in our own frantic juices and wishing for the sweet release of national death.