Points in Case > For Whom the Bell Tolls

For Whom the Bell Tolls

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For Whom the Bell Tolls
 >>> Casual
Misanthropy


 By staff writer JD Rebello



July 4, 2004


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You know, considering that I top off at 140 lbs when I'm wet, I love to eat. What can I say, my metabolism moves faster than George Michael through the Playboy mansion
(thank you, 1987 Joke Book!). And I love fast food. I wrote a few eons back about how disappointed I am with the way fast food companies are bending over for these lo-carb cult assholes.
McDonalds got rid of super-sizing, and Burger King introduced the inexplicable Lo-Carb Whopper, which sounds as weird as Pauly Shore Oscar Winner (thank you, 1995 Joke
Book!). But one company has stood tall and proud against the Atkins' armies. One company said "No, screw your health, fast food is for real badasses, not dieting wimps!"
One company defied the odds, slayed the Soviet Union, and took home the 1980 Gold! Oh, wait, that was the US hockey team. My bad. I'm talking about Taco
Bell.

Ignore everything you've heard about cockroach eggs, poop in the beans, and Montezuma's revenge in the sauce—Taco Bell shatters every
other fast food organization into refried oblivion. It's not just the tasty tasty food, but let's talk about that for a sec.



Taco Bell's menu is an absolute engineering marvel. MIT offers entire classes detailing the intricate workings of the Double Decker (oh, like you would have thought to use
refried beans as an adhesive, my ass!). Anyone can make a burger, but try putting together a Gordita or a Chalupa. Go ahead, put some Mexican labor into it. You can't. And
God help you if you really do try, it's like messing with nature. Do not do God's work. Life will find a way.



Then there's the prices. Recently Taco Bell introduced a new value menu, and I don't really think they needed to. The prices are between 99 cents and $1.29, which means
you can get stuffed on delicious delicious food for less than three bucks. And don't try to sell me on Wendy's 99 cent menu, because Taco Bell takes Wendy's to the
Neverland Ranch and never looks back. I want something with beef, damnit, not a little bitch potato for my buck. And if you must break the bank and bust out a Lincoln,
fear not, for Taco Bell fills you up like a, uhh, something that gets filled frequently (technical difficulties, metaphor well ran dry). My preference is the Mexican pizza
and Chicken Quesadilla. That dinner combo is so sexy, it might as well grow pubic hair.



Then there's the people working there. Some people criticize the authenticity of Taco Bell as a legit Mexican restaurant and I say, "Loco", for Taco Bell has every bit
captured the experience of dealing with stinky Mexicans by hiring the most inbred, backwards folks they can find. Let's face it, if you're hired by Taco Bell, deodorant
isn't exactly tops on your shopping list.

Then there's the lateness. I don't know about you, but the Taco Bell near me damn near NEVER closes, flawlessly integrating a marketing
campaign toward that lovely demographic that gets a sudden hunger urge at 3 in the morning. Zoinks! Still, the idea that I could wake up with the shits halfway through my
sleep period, go get some Taco Bell, and have all the irony lost on me
is something really special.



In an age where we make excuses for fat people instead of just pointing them out and exposing them for the grotesque beings they've become, one company dares to be
old-fashioned and fly in the face of all the new-age poonbag propoaganda. Taco Bell has the only balls left in the suddenly very vaginal fast food industry. Atkins? Take
THATkins!

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