Unnecessary Nudity

Okay Taco Bell can we taco-bout (do you see… nevermind) this.
Of Course I’m excited.

Everybody is excited about this taco, I think I can speak for all of us when I say that the crispy chicken taco shell is exactly what civilization was created for.

When our proto cave folk ancestors wanted a fourthmeal they lacked sufficient caloric overflow to power dreams as grand as the crispy chicken taco shell. They fought and fucked and suffered and died so one day a stoned organic chemical scientist could hallucinate this foodbomination into existence.

And while their primitive brains couldn’t comprehend what it means to build such a food; the infrastructure that exists to provide the meat, the science of its construction, its shipment and preparation, the power to ship such a thing to every truckstop and privatized school cafeteria in America; were they to dig their rotten splintered foodmashers into it, their exuberance and increased energy levels after processing it would drive them to a sodium, satiety, and salsa based murderous hump rage that would illustrate their approval more clearly than their primitive metered grunts could ever hope to.

But is it too much to ask, that we dive a little deeper?

Why is it the _naked_ crispy chicken taco. Taco Bell, your speciality, the plinth upon which the bell tower is constructed, is the hazy grey meat like slurry that goes onto every single foodstuff you make that isn’t covered in the gritted putty amalgam you call beans, and several that are. In fact the only foodstuff you serve I can think of that doesn’t have one of those on it is the dessert balls and churro. It is what I crave when I crave Taco Bell. And all the cheese dust and flatbread or flattened chicken you try to hide it under, it is your heart. It is to the song of this slurry that I run, when I hear the Border calling.

So for those cave people. For their howling guts and the howling guts of untold battalions of centurions, score of soldiers, generations of subsistence farmers, the millions of stoned college students — and those of us who just realized they never had anything resembling dinner before drinking seven beers at karaoke…. I beg you. Whither the Crispy Chicken Tostada? Whither the Crispy Chicken Cheesy Gordita Wrap Supreme? Whither the dreams of dreams. Whither the courage that started this crazy project? Why did it not survive through to the end.