The Macho Taco
Look at these tacos. Pretty weak singularly, but when you take three of them and put them together you obtain a Voltron of flavor on your tongue. Here's how.
First of all, lettuce is for girls, so if you're wanting something with that you should go eat your sissy salad and not something called a taco. Come to think of it, all of these toppings piss me off, so I decided I'd make them frown as though to say, "Gosh Derek, we sure are sorry we suck so much."
Real men eat barbeque sauce on everything. If I ever end up in a situation where I have to crawl across a desert for days and finally reach civilization, the first thing I'll ask for is a nice cool glass of barbeque sauce for my poor, parched, and non-honey glazed throat.
The sauce they serve at taco bell isn't so much taco sauce as much as it is a 5 year old doing his best Hulk Hogan impression. I replaced it with salsa, Tostitos brand, extra hot.
Another problem with these tacos is they lack any kind of meat. Several slices of bacon were applied liberally, and torn up chunks of beef jerky were added to the top of that to help give it that smoky mountain flavor.
The final bend on your road to delicious is actually closing this beast. By now your tacos should be stuffed with enough animals for you to be legally declared a zookeeper. This makes putting your tacos together difficult. After a little trial and error that resulted in the loss of some precious salsa and one strip of seared pig flesh, I found the best way to get them together was to stick two corners together and just try to jam the last one in as hard and blindly as possible - the virgin method. However, the center kept buckling in so I had to get some peanut butter, the industrial sealant of the food pyramid, to hold this thing together. A thin layer at the center added not only enough support to help me pick it up, but it probably provided the final amount of protein needed to make this creation a living organism in the eyes of science.
And remember to always wash down your dinner with a tall glass of milk. You'll need some strong bones to support the insane amount of muscle mass you'll develop eating this.
Sometimes corporations get tired of coming up with their own stupid marketing devices and hand over the power to the public - the business equivalent of giving a teenage girl the universe's most powerful laser cannon. In 2004 Taco Bell launched a campaign where customers could send in their ideas for clever and quirky sayings to be printed on their billions of packets. Company employees then sifted through piles of entries to pick the winners, most of which are awkward attempts to shove nacho, taco, or other menu items into a sentence. If the winners picked are any indication of the quality of the entries, I think we can all safely assume that either Taco Bell food is full of brain-eating parasites or that their company, Yum! Brands, Inc., is led by the most delightful army of non-threatening grandmothers ever. Below is a time capsule of some of the entries.
Not to be used as a floatation device.
Imagine this. You're happily taking off on a transatlantic flight. Suddenly your neighbor's cellphone goes off and triggers a catastrophic engine failure. You look down at the stack of Mexican food on your lap and think to yourself, "The only thing standing between me and Davy Jones' s locker is this taco sauce. If...if only it doubles as a floatation device, I can wait it out while my bean burrito swims for help!" But then you read the grim warning on the label and let out one final curse to the God that abandoned you to this soggy doom.
Food's not supposed to save your life anyway. There's a reason you've never read the headline "Fat Lady Shot Seven Times - Thanks Bananas for Plugging Bullet Wounds." Hard-hitting news programs are forever reporting on new ways that cheeseburgers are trying to kill you, and the Supersize Me guy spent a couple of weeks turning his liver into gravy to prove this point. I'm not saying I would never trust a taco sauce packet in a fight - I'm just saying I'd better make sure I have a back-up plan consisting of disguising myself as a barber, a musical montage, and dressing my opponents like women in case things go bad.
When I grow up, I want to be a waterbed.
When I was growing up I wanted to be GI Joe's Roadblock more than anything else. I imagined a day where I would only speak my sentences that somehow rhyme. Problem is I'm one honkey cracker, and Roadblock's ass is so much blacker...turkey! Still I try, and I know that one day my cornbread-fed soul will overcome my skin color and my sassy prose will help fight global terrorism. When that day comes you still won't see anyone with a waterbed full of taco sauce. And even if someone manages this, his loco ass will spend every night alone on it. No hooker is going to want to slosh around on a bed full of something that smells like spicy onions, especially when the God damn crazy pulls out his nacho hat full of contraceptives.
My sauce is an honor student at Taco Middle School.
Thanks, taco sauce packets. Now not only do I have the inevitable rise of zombies weighing at the back of my mind, but I also have to contend with the notion of your asses coming to life and fucking each other silly at night. Proud taco sauce parents, I don't care if you start gluing yourselves and your stupid soccer mom sayings to the backs of SUVs, you're not getting citizenship as long as there's a breath of air in this patriot's lungs.
Why is there even an educational system for plant-based products? It's like going to school for 12 years knowing you're going to be that one guy on the highway construction crew that has to stand and turn the stop sign all day. They're all going to end up in the same stew of delicious anyway, and -- wait, what? No. No it's not racial profiling. I'm just saying that all of the ingredients growing up on the taco farms will become sauce, so -- no. No that's not an unfair stereotype. Look I asked one of my black friends about this, and he said, "Ain't that always like the white man? Taco sauce goes to school and makes good grades and still can't even break out of the system." Look, taco sauce people, I'm not saying I agree with the way things are, but maybe if you people would stop being so damn tasty you could get real jobs.
You had me at taco.
Stupid catchphrases never go away, and just when you thought middle-aged people were finally over screaming, "Show me the money" at baby showers, business meetings, and in line at the grocery store, Jerry Maguire is back with its lesser but just as deficient catchphrase. Thanks, taco sauce, I'm glad I won your heart by clenching your face in my teeth, ripping a chunk of your upper torso off, and dumping your spicy hot entrails all over a delicious layer of beef and sour cream. Had I known that was all it takes to win a woman's heart I'd have cut out the roses and chocolate crap and simply gone right for the jugular years ago.
Nice palm. I read a great deal of pleasure in your future.
Somebody somewhere is getting paid less than a dollar a day to squirt watered down jalapeno juice into packs. While that probably falls somewhere between the definitions of tragedy and hilarity, a million dollar taco executive thinking this would be a good idea pulls these two words together and uncomfortably wedges his fat ass between them.
I don't want a condiment telling me anything about what's going to happen in my future, especially when my palm is concerned. The only people allowed to do that are gypsies, and I don't even think they have to go to college for that. I don't even like them around me either. All they do is point and scream "CUUURRSSRSED" at people before dissolving in a puddle of dry ice. On second thought, comparitively, I guess having a piece of plastic telling me I'm going to masturbate doesn't sound bad, though it's going to be tough when the only stimulation I have is the torn open remnants of my dinner staring back at me and calling me a fucking loser.