By Jack Keillor
As I’m sure any follower of my blog already knows, I’ve had a lot of fast food in my day, but truth be told before this past weekend I had never tried a Chipotle burrito. Lord knows I love a good burrito and I love fast food even more, so you’d think this would be right up my alley, and it would be, had my partner not been maimed in a Chipotle almost 30 years ago. Since that day I swore to him that I would never step into a Chipotle again as long as I lived and I kept my word. Kept it till last weekend, at least.
Thirty years ago I was a brash young cop only ten years out of the Academy. My partner Steve and I were flying by the seat of our pants. Sometimes we’d file 8, 9 reports a day with time to spare to go to the shooting range and watch the cops they still allowed to have guns just having a blast. Sometimes after work we’d go back to Steve’s place and watch Star Wars movies. Sometimes we would talk in these nerdy voices to each other, as if to make fun of what we were doing as a defense mechanism for really loving it, but it was actually because we thought nerds were fucking lame. One night we decided that instead of ordering pizza like we usually did, we’d go to a new Mexican fast food chain that opened up down the street called, “Chipotle.” It was my idea. He would never let me forget that.
Even Steve would tell you that when we got there everything was perfect. From the florescent lighting to the bathrooms only lightly covered in urine. This was a fast food connoisseur’s dream experience. We made our orders and stood patiently in silence, just looking around, taking it all in. It was just so minimalist and sleek, like a fast food chain of the future but it was today, it was now. Right in front of us. This was the fast food we’d been waiting for. The fast food we deserved. When both of our burritos were ready we started heading towards the door when a large bald gentleman with a swastika tattooed on his exposed testicles stabbed Steve in both of his eyes and then his penis.
While Steve was screaming and writhing around on the floor, trying to decide whether to grasp at his eyes or his penis (he went with passing out), I snapped into action. I took Steve’s blood-soaked burrito and threw it at the swastika man as hard as I could as I bolted for the back exit. Later I would tell the guys at the station that I thought Steve wanted to handle it on his own, but really I was just afraid of also getting stabbed. Have you ever been stabbed? Because I sure have. A bunch. Believe me, you never get used to it. In fact, the more I’ve been stabbed the more I go out of my way to not get stabbed again.
By the time I got home the burrito was cold, so I threw it out, took a shower, watched some TV and finally I remembered to call for some back-up after masturbating. By the time they got down there the entire staff was dead but Steve was still alive, though he was completely blind and most of his penis was either dead or missing as apparently some wild dogs had wondered in and started taking pieces of him. They said that, had I called in sooner he may have been okay, but hey, you can’t blame yourself for these things. Steve dug his own grave when he decided to get stabbed in the face and the dick. It’s just a shame that he never got to try that burrito, because let me tell you; it’s a heck of a thing.
Luckily he killed himself a couple weeks ago so I finally got to try one for myself.
Loaded with the ingredients of your choice, the Chipotle burrito really couldn’t be better. Do you like guac? Add it! Cheese? Oh they’ve got it! Lettuce? Sure, creep, whatever floats your boat! The only problem I can find is that if you’re one of those psychos that think cilantro tastes like soap then you’re going to pretend you don’t like this. Congratulations for being so interesting.
Five out of five stars.