Showing posts with label Burrito Buggy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Burrito Buggy. Show all posts

Taco Bell and White Castle Burrito

A few hours ago, Fake Dispatch was extremely hungry and posted the following:

When I got home, I decided, "Why the hell not?" I loaded Greg and Ann into the van and we headed to White Castle.

Thanks to my Reddit Secret Santa, I had a White Castle gift card.
$5.88 and a sack of 8 Sliders later, I ended up at Taco Bell. There I purchased a bean burrito, and chili cheese burrito (I'm sad they don't call it chilito anymore) and a beefy melt burrito.

At home we unloaded the bags.

And unloaded the contents.

I bought two extra White Castles for the kids to eat. Ann was not impressed by the smell.

Greg was in heaven!

I knew that I was going to need to stuff these Castles in the tortilla shells and I didn't know how well they would take the pressure. Instead I took some waxed paper and rolled the Castles up nice and tight.

I took the beefy melt burrito and revealed the OH MY FUCKING GOD IT'S HIDEOUS!

Pro Tip: Don't ever open your Taco Bell.

I inserted the White Castles...

and folded it back up.

I cut it open to reveal the unnatural bond of burger and burrito.

And then I took a bite.

I'm not going to lie to you. It was delicious. It was DELICIOUS! The red sauce and the rice with the soft bread and oniony, steamy burger... it was really tasty.

Greg liked it, too.

Next was the chili cheese burrito.

Ann tried this one.

While she didn't like it, it, too, was really good!

Finally we tried the bean burrito.

Sadly, the bean burrito was not at all good. The fresh onions did not mix well with the steamed onions and there was an onion gang war in my belly.

Overall, White Castle and Taco Bell make an awesome combination. If you have some wax paper and a wife that only threatens to kick you out of the house for stinking up the place (wait until 3:00am) then I suggest you try it!


Kit, John and I went to Ohio University to see Margot and the Nuclear So and So's concert. There are two parts to this story which I will call Part One and Part Two. Part One is titled, “How to Spend Nine Hours with Two Men” and Part Two is titled, “You Can’t Go Home Again, but You Can Drink a Beer There and Pay with a Credit Card.”

How to Spend Nine Hours with Two Men

About two months ago, I made a mark on my calendar at work on April 14th. The mark said, “OU.” Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s were playing a concert at Baker Center in Athens, OH and I was going no matter what. I wanted a friend to come along and of all my lame ass friends, Kit was the only one to step up with a commit. I don’t blame my other friends for not going. Their lives are filled with families and commitments without the luxury to purchase alcohol by the glass in a bar two hours away from Columbus and staying the night in a sex stained hotel room in a town filled with women whose average age is three years over the legal driving limit. Fags.

I reserved a hotel room and I marked the days off on the calendar.

On Thursday the 12th, John said he was enlisting for the trip. This changed everything. John does not drink and thus would drive us down and back again. This would save us from having to get a hotel room because Kit and I planned to get our drink on and would be in no condition to drive.

We left John’s condo at 6:00pm, a full hour after I promised we would. (I just decided I would switch to a copy cat, pseudo “24” version of story telling.)

We leave John’s condo a full hour after I promised we would leave. I was at Carl and Toni’s son’s 1st birthday party and just couldn’t find my way out the door.

We see this car. Someone failed Parking 102 or Driving 210.

We make awesome time and park Uptown.

Kit buys a round of aquariums at the Pub. John gets a glass of Hocking River’s finest.

We ask about food. The kitchen closed at 7:00pm. No Pub Burgers for us.

We take photos of ourselves getting absolutely crazy at OU. About this time, John makes the comment that “we really don’t look that old.” We drink more.

We try and head over to Baker Center to check on the place and make sure we know where we are going. After driving around South Green for seven minutes of not knowing where we were going, we stop and I jump out and ask a cop directions. I try to talk out the side of my mouth so that my stinky beer breath. His directions are good and we find the place.

Inside Baker Center we hear music coming out of the coffee house and head in. Two girls are playing music for a crowd of about 20 people. We head out to get something to eat.

We trudge through the rain and order food at what used to be the largest Taco Bell in the world. The upstairs had been a seating area, but someone got wise and turned it into apartments. We ordered and ate.

We trudge again and head back into Baker Center. Another band is finishing up. Margot is scheduled to start at 10:30pm. There is now a crowd of six people and three of them are us. (One of them was a chick with this tattoo.)

This is very disappointing. I apologized to Kit and John. I knew Margot had a bigger following than this.

The next band is setting up and they look nothing like Margot. I ask the sound guy when Margot is coming on. He says that Margot is actually playing the Baker Theatre two floors down.

We make haste.

We get into the theatre, just as Margot is stating to play. Read about that HERE.

Awesome show.

(I’ll speed this up.)

12:00pm – 1:15am)
Trudge and head to the CI. Line to get in so go to the Junction. Drink two drinks and go back to CI. See fire trucks. Drink two more drinks. Head home.

Wake up in John’s car at John’s condo. Drive home. Sleep.

Wake up not in a hotel room and get back to those pesky and beloved commitments.

You Can’t Go Home Again, but You Can Drink a Beer There and Pay with a Credit Card

I should have thought about it ahead of time, but I was so excited to go back to Ohio University that I didn’t remember that I would now be an outsider. It was very surreal because the bars were structurally the same. Same neon signs. Same posters with chicks. Same looking bartenders and guys checking IDs. It should have been obvious.

The four big differences were: smoke, cell phones, credit cards, and I’m old.

Smoke- It is now illegal in Ohio to smoke in public places, bars included. This means that the overwhelming stench of old beer and vomit in the bars is no longer masked by the heavy cloud of cigarette smoke. I think there were still peanut shells on the poster frames in the CI that I stuck there 15 years ago. They should hose those places out in the morning. And at around 10:00pm.

Cell Phones- It was very odd to see people talking on cell phones in Athens’ bars. I got over it quickly, but it was still out of place.

Credit Cards- Yes, there were credit cards when I went to OU, but not many bars accepted them. That night, people were running tabs and buying rounds and rounds of shots and drinks. At the Pub, Kit did not have to leave his ID at the bar when he bought the aquariums because he was running a tab with his credit card.

I’m Old – “Zombie” by the Cranberries came on the jukebox at the Junction and everyone, except us, sang it. They sang it like we sang “Cecelia” when we were in college. I didn’t get it and then I realized that I was out of place. I did not belong there anymore.

Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to go back to OU with a group of friends from college and get drunk and reminisce. But we could do that anywhere. I can go to a shitty OSU bar here in Columbus and have beer spilled on me by a 19 year old chick with HUGE CLEAVAGE. (That’s another bit that has changed. In 1992, chicks were wearing flannel shirts or turtle necks. Now a days… holy shit! Boobs!)

In the end, it was a fun trip. It was nice to see the OU campus. It was fun to sit on the ledge at the CI and people watch. Kit and John took a piss in the alley that, 14 years ago, I stripped down in to go streaking. But all in all it was fun because of the company, not the location.

And damnit. We didn’t get a burrito from the Burrito Buggy. Guess we’ll have to can’t go home again, home again.

Cecilia - Simon and Garfunkel

Celia, you’re breaking my heart
You’re shaking my confidence daily
Oh, Cecilia, I’m down on my knees
I’m begging you please to come home

Celia, you’re breaking my heart
You’re shaking my confidence daily
Oh, Cecilia, I’m down on my knees
I’m begging you please to come home
Come on home

Making love in the afternoon with Cecilia
Up in my bedroom (making love)
I got up to wash my face
When I come back to bed
Someone’s taken my place

Celia, you’re breaking my heart
You’re shaking my confidence daily
Oh, Cecilia, I’m down on my knees
I’m begging you please to come home
Come on home

Jubilation, she loves me again,
I fall on the floor and I laughing,
Jubilation, she loves me again,
I fall on the floor and I laughing

Roll out the Knitter

As with many of my writings, I try to protect the innocent with nicknames and plumes of nomness. It’s not their fault that I remember and record. Why should they suffer the burden of my writings and their friends’ internet searches on Google? With this tale I must reveal the name of the main character as it is an integral part of the story. This story involves my friend Knitter. (Pronounced like you would pronounce someone who knits stuff. A Knitter.) Here is a photo of him kissing a 40oz of Magnum at Chris and Karen’s wedding.

No, the story is not about how we snuck 32 bottles of different varieties of malt liquor into Chris and Karen’s wedding (to their dismay,) though it does involve another wedding and the consumption of malt liquors.

Let’s go back about X years to Ohio University and a crisp Spring Quarter Saturday night. Earlier that evening, we had a two 40oz party. The night would start with a trip to the Quik-e-mart and the purchase of two 40oz bottles of malt liquor. There was a time in my life where I could list off 12 – 18 varieties of malt liquor. Oh a whim, let’s see what I can pull out of my ass right now:

Colt 45
Cool Colt*
Red Bull
Crazy Horse
St. Ides

Crap. That’s it. Well, I am from Lancaster and not Lorain.

(*Cool Colt was Colt 45 with spearmint flavoring added. I totally forgot about it until recently at a keg party when I didn’t have a cup and used an empty Rumple Minze bottle to drink from. Nothing like a drunk asshole with fresh breath.)

Back at the Quik-e-mart, you would pony up $3.87 of change and leave with two, mostly cold bottles of, hopefully not skunked, malt liquor. At 23 Palmer Street, we’d sit in the living room and drink down our two bottles of skunked malt liquor and watch public access television. Normally, you could drink one 40ozer and kick in a solid buzz that would last for a few hours and save you $10 up at the bars. Two 40ozers and you would stagger Uptown and try to hold down your cookies after eating $10 worth of beans and meat at the Burrito Buggy.

This night, Knitter continued to drink once we walked uptown and got himself good and solid hammered. And as we walked uphill/downhill home (we are talking about Athens, Ohio) Knitter decided to trip and fall down on the top of a hill. As he lay prone on the brick street, I realized that it would only take a little effort to get him rolling down the hill. I gave him a generous shove with both hands and he began to roll. Any normal person would have airplaned their arms out and stopped the momentum. Knitter tucked his arms in to minimize friction and continued to roll. As we chased/stumbled after Knitter, a song erupted from my mouth that went a little like this:

(To the tune of "Roll Out the Barrel.")
“Roll out the Knitter, we’ve got a Knitter of fun!
Boom, gah, kablitter, we’ve got the Knitter on the run.”

Everyone joined in on the song, (at least the first verse,) and we took turns rolling him down Mill Street. We got Knitter to the bottom of the hill and he shot upright and was able to walk a straight line back to Palmer Street. I think he slept for 38 hours after that.

Fast forward X – 3 years. We are all at a good friend’s wedding reception on Lake Erie. In a show of respect to the happily married couple, we drank our 40ozers out of plastic cups. I was very good friends with the groom, but did not know the bride or her family that well. I met her family at the wedding, but did not interact with them at the reception.

As it turned out, this patch of Lake Erie waterfront had a slope that was perfect for rolling drunk Polish guys down it. Knitter complied and once again we rolled him down the hill singing our now trademarked song:

“Roll out the Knitter, we’ve got a Knitter of fun!
Boom, gah, kablitter, we’ve got the Knitter on the run.”

You may not realize this, but drunk guys singing “Roll out the Knitter” may be misheard at a distance. It could have been the crashing of the 2” waves on the shore or the shitty sound system, but the brother of the bride thought he heard us singing something else that night. Here’s what he heard:

“Roll out the n*gger, we’ve got a n*gger of fun!”

And it turns out, that does not go over well at wedding receptions.

The in-law only shared this with a few of his family (not the bride) and kept it bottled in for several months. It came out months later at some family event as the brother of the bride finally released his discontent. Upon this revelation, it was quickly cleared up as to what was actually being said and the in-law felt a bit silly if not a lot silly.

It’s been a long while since I have had the opportunity to tread up/down the hills of Ohio University and longer since I have used leverage and gravity to propel my friend, laughing and grunting down a brick laden street. I haven’t had a 40ozer in years. But I still can sing the song:

“Roll out the Knitter, we’ve got a Knitter of fun!
Boom, gah, kablitter, we’ve got the Knitter on the run.”