The Depressing Reality Of 2 Pound Burritos
I used to be able to eat a two pound burrito.
Those were the days, when I would go out and drink until I could not see my hands in front of my face. When at two in the morning, I would jaunt on down to the local taco shop and order their huge two pound burrito, filled with ground beef and cheese and sour cream and guac and all the fixins and sit down in the middle of my dorm room and eat two pounds of food in ten minutes flat.
And all was good.
There was nothing like going to bed with a smear of salsa on your upper lip, stomach filled to the brim, and falling into a deep sleep that would take me through to Noon the next day. I could do it, I did do it, and if I could still do it today, I would.
But I can’t.
I’ve started to feel a little depressed lately about the fact that I can no longer do some of the destructive things (to my body) that I used to be able to do. Some of those exciting body-defacing activities included (but were not limited to):
Drinking the equivalent of 15 beers in one evening Eating until my belly was distended and feeling great Play with open flames and never get burned Drive head-on into oncoming traffic Climb roofs and scaffolding with reckless abandon Rollerblade drunk into oncoming pedestrians Lift heavy barbells, ripping my tendons from my skeleton Eat blowfish and live to tell the story
Mind you, the reason I can no longer do these things has nothing to do with the fact that I am getting older or the fact that I am getting wiser or the fact that I am no longer insured to the level I used to be in regards to reckless bodily harm. It’s a psychological effect of no longer being able to eat 2 pound burritos.
See, if I was able to eat 2 pound burritos in one sitting, I would then stand tall with confidence in the face of oncoming traffic and a river of beer and scaffolding and what not. It is the 2 pound burrito that is keeping me from psychologically living the dangerous lifestyle that I once was accustomed to. If I could digest a 2 pound burrito and smile with a lack of stomach issues, if I could swallow it all with a confidence from days gone by, my daredevil lifestyle would still be intact.
But alas, the 2 pound burrito has erected a wall of defeat between me and danger. Danger is a stranger to my tiny 1/2 pound burrito self of today. Those mini soft-tacos are all I can stomach and it has sucked the energy and love of excitement completely out of me.
Damn you, Del Taco. Damn you.