I love Taco Bell. I own every piece of licensed Taco Bell Merchandise, I adopted a Chihuahua, and I was even made an administrator of the official Taco Bell wikia site. I even pawned the copper wiring of my rented 200 square foot estate in East St. Louis just so I could install a Mountain Dew Baja Blast drinking fountain in my bathroom/kitchen.
I eat a small breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day. But when the clock turns past midnight, I hop into my purple Pontiac Aztek to go down on a massive fourth meal at the Border.
It’s been part of my routine ever since I was a child. My first memories were not of school plays or rainy days, but of tacos. When I was asked to sing the alphabet song for my kindergarten recital I instead improved the classic 59/79/99 cent jingle resulting in my expulsion.
I usually only eat Taco Bell once a day for my fourth meal. One happy day though my boss grabbed me while I was putting sawdust on the puke in the bathroom.
“Son, I’m promoting you from Associate Vomit Aide, to Jr. Vomit Aide. You’ll lose your health benefits, but you get an annual bonus of $4.”
He threw 2 Sacagawea dollars, 7 New Jersey State Quarters, and 3 canadian nickels into the sawdust spew. I looked at my watch so that I could file a union complaint, for shorting me the 10 canadian cents I was owed. Normally I would put this in my pension plan but because they stripped me of my retirement savings, thanks Obama, so I felt I should put this windfall to a nobler cause.
I decided I would spend my entire weekend at a 24 hour taco bell. I’m not one of those hip kids with a laptop so I brought my 75 pound CRT monitor, e-machines Pentium 1 PC, anime wall posters, and surround sound speaker setup so I could create my own entertainment hub inside the booth closest to the men’s bathroom.
A man wearing a dress shirt took my hand off my joystick just as I was about to beat SexyHotJugs69 in a game of Yahoo Checkers. He was the manager at this fine establishment. I was going to compliment him on the thicky gooness of the cheese sauce as I noticed he was looking quite… disheveled. The manager told me to get my “office supplies” off his table. I told him I was exercising my 2nd amendment rights as a proud American and if he had a problem with that he’d have to take it up with the Taco Bell Corporation.
As Sunday evening arrived I had eaten nearly every menu item at Taco Bell. Sadly I could not get the 100% achievement award which would get my picture on their bulletin board as there was an item missing that I could not get here nor anywhere in the great 50 states that Taco Bell can be patronized.
A new employee I had never met came from the shadows. This startled me as I know every Taco Bell employee by name and have attended many of their daughter’s quinceaneras. I publish to the taco bell newsletter for new hires so I would have known if anyone new was going to start.
He was very white, even for Taco Bell. He had a giant grin carved in his face and his nametag in 12 pt. comic sans font said “Jeff.”
“I don’t want any trouble Jeff. I start work tomorrow with my new promotion and I’ve done all that I can short of being a 100% Taco Bell generalissimo which is now impossible due to the lost Taco Bell Item. I’m going to go home and watch Judge Judy”
“No, don’t go to sleep. Look up!” Jeff grunted. The Taco Bell Menu that rotates from breakfast to lunch rotated a 3rd turn. Prices were listed in a strange hieroglyphic language and a hyper realistic picture of a hamburger lit up like a 70’s game show. Luckily, my creepy UHF TV only picked up one channel that would play Dora the Explorer in Ancient Egyptian so I was able to translate the symbols.
“Taco Bell Bell Beefer - Back for this night only. FREE” My gout filled legs jumped for joy.
“Kid, or shall I say… Generalissimo, I carved this one up just for you.”
I was so busy scarfing down this lost treasure I didn’t even notice that all the employees had been decapitated and their blood sprayed across the entire restaurant. As I took my final bite things started to get blurry. I didn’t panic as I figured this was merely my 48th stroke, as I fell on the floor blacked out. The next day the Police woke me up on the Taco Bell floor and arrested me for four counts of homicide worth 20 years in prison and one count of attempting to defraud a cashier with Canadian currency worth another 40.
“How do you plead for your heinous crime and multiple homicides Mr. Bojangles?” asked the Judge.
“Call me Generalissimo. And I have only one thing to say. ¡Yo Quiero Taco Bell!”
And noone in the court room was ever seen again.