The pale, sticky tortilla was a spongy mass of pores, slowly transformed by the vaguely meatlike sauce and the spicy ambiguous substance spread on it. The beans glistened with a slickness born of panic at their inevitable digestion. They had a fear of my teeth. Before they were put in the wrap, they used to talk to each other, in the heated metal pan, wondering with squelching noises and sticky juices what had happened to their brethren, so recently stolen away. Had I separated some legume family? Was I the monster these round pellets of food spoke about in whispered terms in the dead of night here in the Qdoba?
"Are you gonna eat that burrito, or are you too busy staring at it like it's your long-lost love?"
She had a problem with my burrito-love. I had a problem with her tone of voice. It suggested a condescenting superiority. As if meeting your long-lost love in burrito form ws some ancient taboo, some social faux pas. It wasn't like I was going to take it back to my apartment and fuck the rice out of it. It's not like I was gonna do that for her, either.
"It's not working out, Stacey."
"Excuse me?" Her voice didn't sound hurt. More incredulous. She wsan't used to me daring to voice my opinion.
"I'm a monster. I murder innocent, helpless beans. You don't want to date a monster."
"What?" She demanded an explanation. I wasn't going to get out of this just talking about beans.
"I slept with like 30 hos this one time. I think I have the AIDS. I might be gay. I need my space. I lied about being a virgin. Sometimes I kill people because they're black and in my way. And then I sodomize their corpses with streetsigns I steal from unincorporated towns."
"Talk straight to me, you asshole. If I'm fucking being broken up with in a Qdoba, I'm going to fucking know it."
"This can't be a love like they have in PG-13 romantic comedies. They'd bleep that."
"Is that you reason?"
"If it makes more sense than the thing about streetsigns."
"You fucker."
With a huff and a slam she was out of my life and I was free to enjoy predating upon the burrito in front of me. I ripped it to pieces with my animal canines and I felt glad of the fact that it was soft and yeilding. I thought that this must be how the first ape-like ancestors of my species salvated over the blood of their first wild beast kill. Carnivorous Austrolopithecus, I channeled your spirit into my mouth and that burrito never stood a chance against the hunger of millennia. I grunted. I ooked. I was woman, hear me roar.
Well, I wasn't woman. And, just to clarify things, I'm not woman now, and I wasn't before that. Christ, people, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.
MEAT! Gods and phallic geometry, YES! It was chicken and beef and I don't know what the hell else. Stacey was disgusted when I ordered it. Normally, I refrained from eating meat around her precious vegetarian sensibilities, but she was probably already on the phone with that "just a friend" with that asinine cowboy hat and the working knowledge of computers. Fucker. I bet he never had this power, this ultimate justice of incisor and bicuspid and flesh and muscle and bone.
Whatever. I was done fucking competing with him. She was gone, I was alone, and this burrito was fucking eaten and dissolving in my stomach. I was a man, goddamnit. I didn't need this shit.
PG-13? I was done with that three paragraphs ago, when bitch walked out in a cloud of self-righteous juvenility and I maintained dignity. Dignity. It was mine. I knew she was fucking around behind my back. I knew she was falling in love with Hee-Haw and I knew I was becoming a burden. So I dropped her. Notice the word order. I dropped her. I had the power. I had the control. I had the meat, I ate the burrito, and I fucking murdered some bean's father with my teeth and my ancestors. It was MY power! You hear me? Mine. She had no say. She had no effect. I am going to eat a steak off the ass of a stripper and be PROUD of the X-rated evening. It's not her choice. It's not her say. She can't control me anymore. She can't hold me anymore. No matter how tight. No matter how caring. No matter how often she told me it would all be all right, that she was there for me, that I wasn't crazy, that she believed in me...no matter that...she was gone.
Good riddance, right?
***************
NOTE: The above isn't an actual event. I just felt the need to write some crazy ass stuff here, so I did. That wasn't me. Stacey isn't real. This is all off the top of my head, so it's unrefined and primitive, but I do believe it serves the needs.
So no bitchin' because it sucks. I knows this. It's hopefully at least interesting.
"Are you gonna eat that burrito, or are you too busy staring at it like it's your long-lost love?"
She had a problem with my burrito-love. I had a problem with her tone of voice. It suggested a condescenting superiority. As if meeting your long-lost love in burrito form ws some ancient taboo, some social faux pas. It wasn't like I was going to take it back to my apartment and fuck the rice out of it. It's not like I was gonna do that for her, either.
"It's not working out, Stacey."
"Excuse me?" Her voice didn't sound hurt. More incredulous. She wsan't used to me daring to voice my opinion.
"I'm a monster. I murder innocent, helpless beans. You don't want to date a monster."
"What?" She demanded an explanation. I wasn't going to get out of this just talking about beans.
"I slept with like 30 hos this one time. I think I have the AIDS. I might be gay. I need my space. I lied about being a virgin. Sometimes I kill people because they're black and in my way. And then I sodomize their corpses with streetsigns I steal from unincorporated towns."
"Talk straight to me, you asshole. If I'm fucking being broken up with in a Qdoba, I'm going to fucking know it."
"This can't be a love like they have in PG-13 romantic comedies. They'd bleep that."
"Is that you reason?"
"If it makes more sense than the thing about streetsigns."
"You fucker."
With a huff and a slam she was out of my life and I was free to enjoy predating upon the burrito in front of me. I ripped it to pieces with my animal canines and I felt glad of the fact that it was soft and yeilding. I thought that this must be how the first ape-like ancestors of my species salvated over the blood of their first wild beast kill. Carnivorous Austrolopithecus, I channeled your spirit into my mouth and that burrito never stood a chance against the hunger of millennia. I grunted. I ooked. I was woman, hear me roar.
Well, I wasn't woman. And, just to clarify things, I'm not woman now, and I wasn't before that. Christ, people, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.
MEAT! Gods and phallic geometry, YES! It was chicken and beef and I don't know what the hell else. Stacey was disgusted when I ordered it. Normally, I refrained from eating meat around her precious vegetarian sensibilities, but she was probably already on the phone with that "just a friend" with that asinine cowboy hat and the working knowledge of computers. Fucker. I bet he never had this power, this ultimate justice of incisor and bicuspid and flesh and muscle and bone.
Whatever. I was done fucking competing with him. She was gone, I was alone, and this burrito was fucking eaten and dissolving in my stomach. I was a man, goddamnit. I didn't need this shit.
PG-13? I was done with that three paragraphs ago, when bitch walked out in a cloud of self-righteous juvenility and I maintained dignity. Dignity. It was mine. I knew she was fucking around behind my back. I knew she was falling in love with Hee-Haw and I knew I was becoming a burden. So I dropped her. Notice the word order. I dropped her. I had the power. I had the control. I had the meat, I ate the burrito, and I fucking murdered some bean's father with my teeth and my ancestors. It was MY power! You hear me? Mine. She had no say. She had no effect. I am going to eat a steak off the ass of a stripper and be PROUD of the X-rated evening. It's not her choice. It's not her say. She can't control me anymore. She can't hold me anymore. No matter how tight. No matter how caring. No matter how often she told me it would all be all right, that she was there for me, that I wasn't crazy, that she believed in me...no matter that...she was gone.
Good riddance, right?
***************
NOTE: The above isn't an actual event. I just felt the need to write some crazy ass stuff here, so I did. That wasn't me. Stacey isn't real. This is all off the top of my head, so it's unrefined and primitive, but I do believe it serves the needs.
So no bitchin' because it sucks. I knows this. It's hopefully at least interesting.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
Seriously though, that's like telling geeks not to argue about why Serenity was a box-office disappointment. It's so contrary to their natures, it'll never happen. Meanwhile all the normal people are politely edging away and looking for the fire escapes.