I wish I knew how to quit you, Taco Bell. You had me at 89 cents taco Sundays. You have everything I could ever wish for in a taco, zesty sauce, savory beans, food poisoning and your classy grade F meat.
And if I find a nail gem in my taco from one of your fine, just out of parole, Mexican cashiers so be it. I’ll just consider the first time as your proposal to me. And I’ll say yes Taco Bell. I will always say yes.
I miss you.
My –no – our food baby misses you. He’s so big now. I wish you could see him.
McDonalds has been coming over lately. Sometimes he spends the night. I know you said he doesn’t love me the way you do. But he holds me when I need to be held, and he’ll emulate a golden shower with Fanta when I ask. You never did that, Taco Bell.
Our relationship had become toxic. Seriously, I farted after eating one of your steak quesadillas and killed someone.
I’ll always love you Taco Bell. I really will. The time we spent together will always bring me happiness and I hope you understand that. Remember that one time you bet me to eat 10 burritos in thirty minutes without vomiting? And I did? And I vomited. Oh how you laughed. That’s the day I fell in love with you.
This isn’t really goodbye, Taco Bell; it’s more like I’ll see you in the back alley corner tomorrow night. But for now I must walk away. You just seem to have too many ladies eating you nowadays, and I just can’t be “one of your girls.” I’m special, and I thought you knew that.
The only one who ever really loved you.