Writer. Warning: opinions. My lawyer advised a disclaimer, but didn't include any jokes to go with. Damned if I can think of any either.

That annoying taco

On Friday night I went with my friends Mike and Chesley and some other folks to Twisted Taco, a midtown bar where my friend Lis is the marketing person. They were having something of a Christmas party, complete with holiday decorations. Most of the decorations, however, turned out to be hung around the body of a diminutive gentleman with a rather sour disposition. He was swaddled in what appeared to be a taco costume and a long Santa’s elf hat.

Lis's annoying taco

Lis and her annoying taco

Now, far be it from me to dislike any food item, but that taco just rubbed me the wrong way from the get-go. I was immediately accosted by him on the way in.

“What the fuck do you want for Christmas?!” he shouted, peering through spectacles.

I instantly knew I didn’t want to play whatever game we were starting but I couldn’t think of a good way out of it. I didn’t say much more than “Uh,”.

After a while, he gave up on me for an imbecile.

“You need a fuckin’ BRAIN for Christmas!” he declared, thrusting a piece of paper into my hand. I looked at it.

Lis said “That’s not anything, by the way”. How dare that taco insult me and then give me an item of no consequence? I fumed.

I squinted at the taco, who was now accosting my friends, intending for him to be seared by the sheer heat of my displeasure. His taco costume must have been displeasure resistant because he appeared unaffected.

I put all these matters aside and just enjoyed the company of my friends for a while, confiding in Mike that the taco was on my list to be thrown to the weasels. Soon the taco returned, however, to get a picture of himself with my friend Chesley.

During the photo he drew her close and grabbed a big handful of her ass. First he insults my intellect (however correctly) and now he’s handling our women? Aw hell naw.

Now, let it be said that Chesley is my friend and wing-woman. I want nothing more than for her to meet someone she likes and pair up with them, but I think I know her well enough to know that he’s probably not going to be five four, shouting at everyone, and dressed as lunch. He’s also probably not going to be pawing at her in public, or at least not this early in the night. Most importantly though, if anyone is going to be inappropriate with my female friends it is me. I will endure no grabby foodstuffs.

“Easy, taco!” I yelled. The taco and I locked eyes. I let him know by means of a squint and some menacing body language (leaning on one elbow at the bar) that I meant business. He went about his corn tortilla business, seemingly behaving more like a gentleman, and I returned to mine.

A few short minutes later he was back, this time saying “Cheers!” to our new friend Laura, but pushing his glass against her breasts instead of her glass. Aw hell naw part deux!

“Too grabby, taco!” I said. He looked at me. “Yeah! Take it easy over there.”

Later I saw him conferring with Lis. Thanks to my batlike hearing, or possibly to my unflagging feeling of self-importance, I knew that their conversation was about me. I saw her mouth the word “Ironman” and a look of incredulousness crossed the taco’s face. Even so, he kept his distance and his hands to himself for the rest of the night.

I really thought I was going to have to kick that taco square in the tortilla.