The Taco Incident

The headlights slash through the darkness ahead of us as we cruise down the highway. Skynyrd is pumping out of the speaker as we roll, the beat chugging through the big bass in the back:

“…be a simple….kind of maaannn…”

For some bizarre reason, Taco Bell has a promotion on tonight, for a charity or something. Tacos are on sale for .25 cents. So, being the social-minded guys we are, we did our part and chipped in our shekels for the cause.

“Hey, I hope you guys finally find the cure for AIDS!” I yelled at the kid at the takeout window.

“It’s for cancer,” said the kid.

The sacks on the bench seat between us are filled with dozens of tacos. Never mind that they’ll rot, forgotten, in the sack overnight. We have all we want now, and that’s all that matters. In the distance, a hitchhiker materializes out of the gloom, his thumb hanging out for a ride.

“Wait! Stop for him, I’ve got an idea,” Wino says. The window hums into the door, sucking the armpit stench of the tacos into the night. I ease the car up to the guy. He looks like a dumbass, standing there in his jean jacket and everything.

“Hey man,” Wino grins. “Are you hungry? We’ve got about a million tacos here, we can’t eat them all.” He holds up one of the bags to prove it.

The hitchhiker is suddenly alert, stepping away from the car as Wino hangs out the window. “Uh, no man…I just needed a ride.” He looks up the road…no other cars. Fuck - trapped.

Wino’s smile disappears in a flash. “Come on, man. They’ll go to waste. You don’t want that to happen now, do you? We’re trying to cure cancer here. Think of those fucking kids!”

“What the hell…? Cancer? Listen, thanks anyway guys,” the hitchhiker says. He begins to trot up the road.

“LET’S GET HIM!!” Wino screams. I slam the car into park and take after the kid, who is now running away at a full sprint. Still on the soft shoulder though, the idiot. I stay on the pavement, and shortly, I’m on him like a fat kid on a Smartie.

“HOOFF!!!” The kid grunts. We roll into the ditch, out of the glare of the headlights, and I pin him down. He’s weak, scratching away at me like a girl.

“That’s enough,” I say, slapping his face like a tyke who’s gonna get tickled. “You wreck my shirt and I’ll rip your ass off.”

Wino huffs up, carrying some taco sacks, looking over his shoulder at the highway. Still no cars out there. Country life. Man, you can’t beat it.

“You’re gonna EAT these tacos! ALL of ‘em, and you’re going to LOOOVE it!!” Wino howls. He begins to unwrap the tacos, mashing them into the face of the hitchhiker, smearing hot sauce on his cheeks, and stuffing his nostrils with beef by-products. They are splattering down, a rain of beef, lettuce, and sauce, soaking his jacket and filling his mouth.

“Meeeef! Morf! MEEEEEF!” squeals the hitchhiker. Wino cups his ear.

“What’s that? You want MORE?! Why, you greedy boy! Well, allow me, then!” Wino grabs two of the tacos. “Double your pleasure! Heeeerrre comes the airplane!” He rams them into the hitchhiker’s mouth:

“EEEEFFF! EEEEFFF!”

And I’ll tell you, I’m laughing so hard, I’m having trouble seeing his eyes bugging out at me, what with the tears and everything. Poor guy, all he wanted was a ride…finally, I get off him, and he scrabbles away, spitting up the tacos. He spasms suddenly, and a roar of puke sprays through his fingers, soaking his shirt with chunks of vomit. He had pizza for lunch, looks like. "Aww, gawd...," he moans.

“Oh my, you’re not going to cure cancer that way!” Wino raves. He dumps the rest of the bag on the guy’s head, and kicks his flabby behind.

“Enough,” I say. “Let’s go, I’m thirsty.” Buddy is still crawling around in the dirt. Geez, what a mess.

We get back into the car, and I drop it into Drive. “Hey, look at that - we even have some tacos left,” I say. On the soft shoulder, the hitchhiker staggers to his feet, shielding his eyes from my high beams.

“I know…perfect,” Wino says. He’s got a thick, dripping taco in his hand, and he’s reaching back for the fastball.

“Noooooo!!!….” screams the hitchhiker.