The Cruel Jokes of Hatefull Gods

I have searched my memory many times, and have yet to discover what tragic miscommunication lead to the events which I here relate... it is likely that in attempt to save itself from madness, my mind has replaced the information I require with a dark blotch, and I shall never truly know what happened. I can only hope that the details I can recall will serve as a warning to all who seek a quick, cheap meal.

It was Friday; one of those blessed spring afternoons when Helios bathes young lovers in light and joy as he describes his arc across a clear sky, and a perfect counterpoint to the mockery a mortal must suffer at the hands of those blind hags and their spinning wheel. My colleague and I were on our way to do some much needed grocery shopping, and decided to grab something quick to eat, as we both felt it a bad idea to procure food as hungry as we were. The most convenient way to do this was to drive-thru the local "Taco Bell," which we have done so many times without incident... given, it isn't the greatest fair, but it will often suffice in a pinch. I ordered, as usual, two bean and cheese burritos, which I have always found acceptable, if only barely, and thought I had no reason to fear.

What I received could only be called a burrito in the fevered and tormented mind of the criminally insane (my hands tremble at the keyboard as I return to this beast in my mind, perhaps it's best I don't proceed, that I take this experience to my grave... but no! I will not allow another innocent to fall prey to this horror when I could have prevented it!). It was wrapped in a tortilla, to be sure, but what lay within seemed like the sort of thing an indigent might concoct in order to mask the dog food he must buy, since his government checks won't cover anything that meets FDA standards for human consumption. There was a twisted attempt at rice, seasoned with what could be best described as dryer lint, a strange detritus that oft congealed into a sick imitation of a chunk of tomato. Mixed in with the fun-house mirror version of Mexican rice were some refried beans, which were bathed in a healthy dose of the sort of nacho-cheese which is found in gas stations by the tub. It must have been shoveled out of Hades sewers by the over-sized, un-gloved paws of some diseased plague-devil, due to its amount, and stench, a stench that clings to the soft pallet like vomit. I doubt there are words in this language, or any, that could convey the taste, suffice it to say: self destructive as I am, I could not bring myself to punish my stomach with the second nightmare which lay seeping its foul contents into the bottom of the plastic bag sitting in my lap. How I managed to choke down the first is a mystery, one whose secrets are best left to fetishists who consume feces, or human flesh, as I now feel more akin to these monsters than those of you who can never know what it is to be truly damned.

If I am lucky, my digestive process will strip some of the more heinous elements from the daemon as it runs its course towards all foods' inevitable end. Otherwise, the corrosive abilities of this unholy marriage of chemistry and black magic will affect indescribable damage upon my apartment... what with the terror already wrought upon my insides it is unlikely I will be able to reach the john when that fateful moment comes. My knees will simply buckle, I will fall to the ground, quivering, blinded, not by the sweat pouring down my fetid brow, but by the agony which will no doubt be tearing me stem to stern; and there, muttering pitiful entreats to whatever angels may be listening, that they may spirit my soul away, like Christ upon Calvary, before the true suffering begins, I will void my bowels.

I do not envy the officer who will be first to respond to the 911 calls of my neighbors, who are doing what they know to be their civic duty in response to the tormented screams that will echo off these walls for ages, haunting those who are touched with the second sight long after I, or anyone who knew me is gone. I shudder to think what images will infect said auxiliary... sitting at home with his family, his eyes will glaze over in that manner which his wife has learned so well, and though she can sense the depth of his suffering, she knows not to ask... but his voice will be added to mine, and, perhaps, together, we can spread our message:

Be very careful when you place an order at "Taco Bell."