This last weekend I went fishing with my son. It was a great time in spite of the "feels like" one hundred and ten degree suffocating heat and suffering spider bites. It was a strange mixed bag of emotions for both of us as we got to experience some firsts together and mourn the passing of several pop culture icons, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson and Billy Mays. What does all of this meandering rambling have to do with the above Taco Bell video? Guess the passing of such famous icons made me think about that spunky Chihuahua Taco Bell dog. Remember, "Yo quiero Taco Bell"? Well I sure do and while I joined the world in mourning the King of Pop and my favorite Charlie's Angel that dang punk mutt kept popping up into my thoughts. Soon I found myself craving fire sauce smothered bean burritos with extra onions while I surfed on my iPhone for those hot Farrah nipple pics that caused me so much post adolescent angst. Yes, you read that correctly. I said "post adolescent" as the beautiful and talented Ms. Fawcett was only about nine years older than I. On the other hand, Jacko was three and a half years younger than me and died looking like one of the disfigured rotting undead zombie dancers from his Thriller music video. I readily admit that I loved both Michael and Farrah. Not necessarily equally but "love" nonetheless. Loved them in a sense that they represented a part of my past filled with certain fond memories triggered by their imagery and work. I didn't love Billy Mays, though, and that's why I don't have his picture in this post. It isn't because of his D List status. I just never liked his obnoxious and cocky way of screaming at his audience in his feigned excitement for whatever item he was hawking on late night infomercial TV. Plus, I always wondered how he got that fake beard on. I mean, there is no way in hell that was a real beard! The dang thing looked like it was painted on with black boot polish or stolen from those bearded super G.I. Joe dolls (okay, they weren't frakkin' dolls! Don't go all homophobic on me here. They were action figures,okay? Feel better now?) with the amazingly realistic kung fu grip and powerful one-two punch back in the mid 70's. If his beard was any indication of his total hairiness then I bet he had matted monkey hair on his back, too. Not meaning to dis Mr. Mays or disrespect him in his untimely (is there really such a thing as an "untimely" death?) but the guy was hilarious in his exuberance for ultra used car slash snake oil salesman tactics. Okay, I probably did buy a few things Billy was sellin' but I ain't tellin' and ifn I did they probably didn't work as Billy said, anyways. So, back to Yo quiero Taco Bell and the fact that I was craving bean burritos with extra onions all weekend while my son and I caught some monster blue catfish at an unnamed lake located in a further unnamed location. There I was putting liver and cheese stink bait on these big ass hooks on some fishing yo-yos sweating like I was in a sauna in what feels like one hundred and ten degree humid heat and daydreaming about that effin taco bell Chihuahua yo quieroing with fresh hot bean burritos strapped to each side of him while the world and my son mourned the surprising transition of Michael Jackson and probably felt similar to the way I felt when I heard of John Lennon being murdered on my birthday back in 1980. The weird thing was that I had two of those tasty frijoles refritos burritos on the way to the unnamed lake but that was only enough to intensify my insane cravings further. You have probably figured out by now that I have an eating disorder when it comes to certain fast food delights like Taco Bell. Of course, that consumption of mass quantities is nothing compared to my ingestion of raw fish when I get on one of my weekly sushi binges. But that's another story. Back in the day before I became a more controlled soul and took up lacto-ovo pescetarianism I was frequently visiting Taco Bell and placing orders similar to these two guys in this next video.
I know, I know ... sad but nonetheless true and I must admit that I didn't sound nearly as melodious as they do but my orders were just as impressively large. Okay, I am easily man enough to admit my addiction publicly and pick up my white chip and humbly proclaim I was/am/is a Taco Bellaholic now happily (or not) in recovery from my glutenous behaviors. My change of consciousness came about the fateful morning I woke up and couldn't find my toes.
It must have been the chicken because no one ever got fat being a lacto-ovo pescetarian did they? So as long as I only eat pescetarian approved food stuffs I should be okay, right? Then why the hell am I still fighting my Buddha belly and sporting a matching pair of love handles that never get any love? It ain't the chicken, folks, so it's gotta be the quantity. I have to figure how many pounds of sushi may be consumed in a single sitting before it is considered over indulgence and an endangerment leading to extinction of certain aquatic species. That may assist my favorite sushi chef from breaking down crying every time I walk into his all you can eat sushi buffet. Maybe I will ask E or Markoni about it since they are often the sensible types when it comes to consumption of massive quantities of food stuffs. Anyway, it was a great weekend of male bonding between my son and I even if there was several celebrity (and not so celebrity) deaths to contend with. He learned to jump boat wake in a fast SeaDoo with me clinging onto his skinny frame and screaming in terror like a little school girl. How embarrassing and yet so fun and fulfilling at the same time. Isn't life wonderful? So, sorry that Farrah, Michael and Billy have passed on to something better and less painful than this realm we think we exist in, but the rest of the weekend kicked ass and was a blast with my son on the unnamed lake in that also unnamed location. In spite of that infernal yo quiero Taco Bell dog and his cursed delicious frijoles refritos burrito with extra cebolla.