Burrito Man

While working at the data slaughterhouse I kept a semi-regular notebook where I drew, wrote inane drivel and otherwise zoned out of meetings that could have been emails. Below is an excerpt from one such meeting with a particular consultant I held deep contempt for. Enjoy. 

The Burrito Man is here. Like cattle we move quicker than we do all day long to inhale his horrible treats. To us chubby, chain-smoking, alcoholic welfare whores; his burritos are our cocaine. Pull that salsa out of your Ziploc bag, Burrito Man. Your burritos are garbage and I won’t even eat them hungover. Which I am.

Continue Reading

An Open Letter To The Fat Mountain Biker In Spandex Suit

You like to ride your bike. I do too. It is a refreshing work out as the warm wind blows on your face while you work up a sweat as your legs pump like engine pistons. I notice you have a Starbucks there. In your hand. As you ride your bike. Sipping on a be-whipped Frappuccino while you ride leads me to believe you are not serious about exercise. I could have never know that from looking at you, however. You know why? You are wearing a triple-XL spandex racing suit like you are training for the fucking Tour de France. Seriously? That is what you decided to wear while riding your bike today? To Starbucks? Squeezed into spandex like some generic-wrapped sausage at the grocery store? Where does one even find a triple-XL spandex racing suit? Is there a Bicycle Village Big and Tall somewhere around here? At least pretend you are serious about losing weight by draining that Caramel Light (I will swear on my infant son it had to be a Caramel Light) before you get back on your bike. Thanks for the fat guy pressed ham shot post-Chipotle, too. Helps with digestion. And by “helps” I mean comes back up in chunks with stomach acid in my mouth. Dick.

Continue Reading

The Spoon Is The Truth

I am a burrito junkie. I used to make last call pilgrimages with my crew to the Original Chubby’s in Denver for some desayuno especial or a smothered beef and bean. Before the neighborhood gentrified, Chubby’s was not a good place for a lanky white guy with a shaved head and goatee to be at two in the morning. Chubby’s, you see, is a run-down burrito shack. Upon ordering you either took your meal home or you ate it off the hood of your car and watched the police arrest the perpetrators of a gang fight in the nearby 7-Eleven parking lot or bought a pack of Newports for a dollar from a guy that shoplifted them from the nearby 7-Eleven or ignored the pleas of female drinking companions from the back seat urging me to take them home. I was thrilled when Chipotles started popping up all over the Denver metro area. The burritos are big, tasty and inexpensive. But something was missing from these burritos. Something I could not put my finger on it until I started frequenting Illegal Pete’s. At the end of burrito-making process at Pete’s, they take a spoon and mix the ingredients of your burrito before wrapping it. This ensures an even distribution of flavor with every mouthful as opposed to a bite of just rice/sour cream/chicken/cheese. Illegal Pete’s is a fifteen minute walk from my office (ten if I take the mall shuttle) and I stroll by three Chipotles (including one directly across the street) just to get there. Shall I cross the Rubicon at Chipotle and ask them to start mixing my ingredients with a spoon upon wrapping my burrito? I should probably learn how to say, “Please mix it with a spoon” in Spanish just to cover all my bases.

Continue Reading

Run For The Border

There was much ado about May Day this year as millions paraded in the streets (including one Latina chick with a nice rack) and celebrated the strides of organized labor and the newly christened Day Without An Immigrant. The immigration issue is a complex one. Reform is needed. Greedy bastards that knowingly hire illegals for pennies on the dollar to cut costs should face the same consequences as those exploiting inadequate border patrols. Is kicking illegal immigrants out of the United States and sealing off the southern border the answer? No. Is opening the border and instituting a guest worker policy the answer? No. The solution lies somewhere between the two extremes. All I know for certain is this: A world without burritos is not one I care to live in.

Continue Reading

There Are People In The Burritos!

At the zenith of my barhopping years, I made some bad decisions. Decisions like exchanging phone numbers with seemingly attractive females before the harsh lighting of last call came on to reveal that they had eye patches and an Adam’s apple. I think the worst decisions I made were purchasing and eating the $2 burritos from the vendors on the street corners of LoDo. The end result was always me passing those intestinal claymores through my whiskey soaked GI tract hours later in a sweaty, hungover heap atop the toilet, questioning the ingredients of said burritos and praying to every deity I could remember from my religious studies class during my sophomore year of college. I never would have guessed those gut bombs had people in them.

On a related burrito note: Taco Bell has just introduced its new shrapnel burrito.

Continue Reading

I Have An Important Announcement To Make…

I just finished sifting through my post-Thanksgiving emails (I had 77 waiting for me when I strolled in). I have a legitimate use for only three of these emails. Now, I understand that bullshit office emails are a necessary function of corporate America. Any emails regarding the status of copy and fax machines, free muffins in the break room and the arrival of Burrito Guy I tolerate because they are necessary (the Burrito Guy is the unofficial company breakfast burrito peddler. His burritos rank somewhere between wet concrete and fresh elephant feces in terms of taste and edibility). What I cannot handle, however, are blast office emails regarding an individual’s availability status; and nine times out of ten, it is usually someone in sales. The emails go something like this:

I will be out of the office for (insert time frame here). If anyone needs to contact me, please transfer to my voice mail or have them email me.

This is directed to anyone who has ever sent an email out like the one above:

First, if someone wants to contact you, chances are they already have your direct line, cell number or email. People in the business world understand that by using one or all of these methods of communication, their goal of getting in touch with you will be accomplished. The entire office does not need detailed instructions on what to do if someone calls or comes looking for you.

Second, nobody gives a shit where you are or will be at any given time. More than likely, people know what to do in your absence and/or possess the basic problem solving skills to figure out an alternative solution if you are not available. Contrary to the inflated ego inherent in cocksuckers like you, business continues operating when you are gone. This may come as a shock to your self-important ass, but you are just as expendable as the rest of us. It is called capitalism. You might have heard of it.

Finally, if you are not going to be in the office, use the Out of Office assistant or record an informative statement on your voice mail regarding your availability. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT email the entire fucking company.

I am tempted to start sending out company-wide emails informing the office of when I am going in to take a shit.

Continue Reading