I'm Sick Wit Dis, Straight Gangsta Mack

You know you have food poisoning when you have dreams about needing to vomit. You never want your normal David Lynch-esque dream narrative to be interrupted by you, the protagonist, doubling over in pain and screaming at night shift from Taco Bell, who are inexplicably standing in your living room, “WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!” That’s some bad news.

So nuts to Taco Bell. I knew something was up last night, and I should have just called bullshit on the whole deal. Instead I went to the drive through, ordered my stuff, and went home. Once I got home, I discovered that I had someone else’s order (a crispy taco and some Chalupas). So I go back and get in line behind a couple of cars who drive off before they get their order. Rats from a sinking, ship, kids. I pull up to the window, and start to hand the bag of crap back to them.

“You can keep that,” the woman inside tells me.

“I don’t want it,” I reply.

“We can’t take it back,” another woman informs me.

“You have to keep it,” the first pipes up.

“He doesn’t have to keep it, he could throw it away,” the other one retorts. Good fucking idea, it turns out.

“Okay,” I reply.

Another guy pushes between them and hands me a big plastic bag, not a Taco Bell bag, but the generic kind that says “THANK YOU” in red and white.

“We went ahead and gave you a bunch,” he informs me.

A bunch of what? Well, I find out soon enough. I get home, and I’m guessing that the people who drove off had ordered the new octagonal grilled thing and some type of grilled burrito, because they’ve ended up in the same bag as my order. Both are real appetizing if you’re not a vegan. Or particular at all about what you put into your mouth. I throw them, the taco and the Chalupas into the trash and eat my 7-2=5 Layer Burrito and drink my Dr. Pepper. I watch some Futurama and I go to bed. Two hours later I am puking up rice and beans.

Damn you, Taco Bell. Damn you to hell. You done me wrong for the last time.

Yeah, waking up in the middle of the night for the grossest kind of Mass (sit, kneel, sit, kneel, you get the idea...) is not a recipe (pun!) for Forgive and Forget. I still feel sick, and it pisses me off. I had shit (pun!) to do today, and now I’m afraid to get more than ten paces away from a toilet.

Damn you, Taco Bell. Damn you to hell.