I Feel So Cold And Naked Without My Dressing

I just returned from a rainy, wet, miserable walk to and from (it takes me an hour both ways) the free food kitchen here in town to eat me some fucking FREE TURKaaaaaYY!!. Hell yeah! And no, I didn't go there to get a "warm fuzzy" in my heart from volunteering to help feed the poor and hungry, do their dishes, help cook, serve, etc.-- I went there to fucking EAT! Hahahaha! I went to get a "warm fuzzy" in my beatific BELLY, if you know what I mean. I don't know, it just felt like the right thing to do. A good way to feel the real Thanksgiving spirit is not by helping your neighbors or by helping to feed the hungry. It's by being one of the hungry and taking what they give you! There's nothing better than a cold, miserable wet walk across town in the dark, chilly November air, along deserted sidewalks and roads, across abandoned intersections, until you arrive at the food kitchen soaking wet. You stumble to where they are serving the food and just say, "I'll take a little bit of EvErYtHinG!" They had turkey, sweet potatoes, dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, and all kinds of luscious desserts. They even let me take home a free sack of potatoes! It kinda sucked having to carry them home, though.

To be honest, though today kind of sucked, I had a fairly normal, decent Thanksgiving with my family this past weekend. Due to some issues having to do with half my nieces and nephews staying with their biological father every other year on the actual Thanksgiving Day, we celebrated a few days early so the whole family could be there. It was actually the first time I'd been with my family for Thanksgiving in at least 10 years. It was a nice time, I guess. My family is pretty conservative so I got to hear my Mom talk quite a bit about Jesus and the End of The World. She has always been one to go to church here and there, but the past few years her religious fervor (or as she likes to call it, her "Faith") has really seemed to escalate. She says it is from simply reading the Bible; for the past year she has been reading it from front to back and is now nearly finished. I've always been interested in religious and apocalyptical stuff so, even though I don't really share her views on alot of things, it was fun to see her so passionate about something.

Jesus seems to have blessed my Mom and Dad with alot of new stuff since I was last home. They have this fucking HUUUUUGE high-definiton, flat screen TV, a new computer, and two other new TVs in two other rooms. They already had one of those older-model big-screen TVs the last time I was down in December. I admittedly was enamored with the big flat-screen upstairs, just sat there staaaaaring at the picture wide-eyed. On Sunday morning I sat there talking to my mother and watching her favorite preachers on the TV while she cooked the Thanksgiving Feast. Later on in the day, though, at the risk of seeming anti-social, I scurried rather rat-like down stairs to watch football on the old TV downstairs. Despite my family's conservative nature, their unabashed patriotism (there are more than a few American flags decorating their home's interior), it seemed like I was the only REAL AMeRiCaN there who actually wanted to watch football!

It seems my family has trained the little conservative minions well. At one point we were all sitting around the kitchen table. My Mom or Dad was talking about how much they hate the government and dislike Obama, when all the sudden three or four of my little nieces and nephews overheard us while they were playing and said, "Yeah Obama sucks!" LOL! And these kids are no older than 10! I guess they were just parroting what they hear the adults around them saying all the time. What is funny is how my family, ALL of THEM, my two sisters and their families included, all seem to be doing quite well. I mean, it just seems kind of funny to me to be sitting in this kitchen. The table is COVERED with food. In the room next door is this new $1,500 TV hanging from the wall. There are seven kids running all over, all wearing nice clothes; a couple have nice cell phones; they've got the latest video games, etc.; Mom and Dad's driveway was filled with their and my sisters' families' nice, big trucks and SUVs, and my family is obsessed with how evil the government is and how the End of the World is Near! LOL!

Lipstick-Stained Butts Aren't Worth Fighting For

So for various reasons, the past couple years I've been living in pretty much ABjEcT poverty. I've been surviving on working just a part-time job as a porn-store janitor and supplementing it with the (very) occasional temporary job (selling glowsticks at carnivals, front desk clerk at Motel 6) and occasional sales of my "Obama Taco Underwear" paintings. I'm a semi-regular presence at local community kitchens where I get free food. I have next to zero disposable income and doing things like eating out, shopping, doing anything social that requires money, etc., are pretty much out of the question. I have the mindset where this doesn't bother me as much as it would alot of people, but man, the worst thing about being broke all the time is trying to support my insatiable CIgArEttE HaBiT! I simply can't afford them, but yet I simply can't quit either.

One of the things I've come up with to solve the problem is smoking what I call "Billy's Blend." My first name is actually William; people call me "Bill" (but you can call me "Taco," lol). And "Billy's Blend" is made up of a mixture of the tobacco wrought from all the cigarette butts I pick up in public ashtrays and on the street. Yes, I do this; it's disgusting, I know. In most instances, when I pick up a cigarette butt from the ground, I tear the tobacco from the filter and, once I've found enough butts to make a whole cigarette doing this, I roll the tobacco salvaged from the various types and brands of cigarettes into a paper and smoke it. So I'm not smoking it straight from the filter of some stranger. That is UNLESS I find a cigarette butt that is at least 3/4 the size of the original cigarette-- in these cases I often just say fuck it and start smoking it straight from the filter, germs be damned. I especially like smoking from butts that have LIPSTICK on them so I can imagine I'm sort of somehow indirectly touching lips with some hot chick, sucking on her lipstick-stained cigarette butt the way I'd like for her to suck on my . . . . . BURRITO? LOL!!!

Hey, baby, I got your little butt in my mouth but what about your other butt, the BIG JUICY one? Hahahaha

So yeah, it's fucking sad and pathetic. And these "Billy's Blend" cigarettes are sometimes so awful tasting that when I smoke them I feel like crying or putting a gun to my head. I don't even care who sees me picking these butts off the street anymore. I've gone up to public ashtrays in front of convenience stores, the library, hotels, etc. and there will be people standing right next to them. I just say, "Hey, what's up?" if anything at all as they watch me picking through all the butts, occasionally saying things like, "Oh that's a good one there!" like a jeweler would hold a prized diamond up to the light. Sometimes someone will throw a butt down on the sidewalk right as I'm approaching and they'll see me pick it up.

I've also thought about this marketing idea. I could go to all these different cities nearby, picking up cigarette butts and blending all the tobacco into these plastic sandwich bags, have the butts organized by the cities I get them from. Sell them to people on the street who are as desperate as me for tobacco. I could have "Chicago Blend," "Indianapolis Blend," Cincinnati Blend," etc.

No one said anything or seemed to care or be offended by my picking their nasty used butts up off the ground and smoking them until TODAY when I almost got into a fight with some customer at work. I went outside to rake leaves at work this morning and I saw a cigarette butt lying on the ground. It was about 3/4 of a cigarette so I was like, hey my lucky day! I automatically popped it into my mouth and lit it, started smoking away. After taking about two puffs off of it some guy comes out of the store. He looks down on the ground where I'd picked up the butt, appearing bewildered, like he was looking for something. He then kind of shakes his head, looks at me and asks me for a cigarette. I look at him and say, "Nah, I don't have any, man, this is my last one," referring to the one in my hand. He looks at it and says, "Hey, that's my cigarette! I left it out here a few minutes ago before I walked into the store!" And this dude was some scumbag. He was getting all angry and I could tell he was willing to physically fight me over this fucking cigarette butt.

I just act dumb and say, "Nah, man, this ain't your cigarette," but I knew that it was. I could just tell, but I was dumbfounded and shocked that this guy was actually wanting the cigarette back that he had thrown on the ground 10 minutes before!

"It's a fucking Winston 100 Ultra Light," the guy said, "right there there in your hand. That's my cigarette, I left it on the ground planning to get it when I came back out!"

I was pretty agitated. Not only was I being called out on picking this dude's cigarette butt from the ground, I was being put in a position where I had to GIVE IT BACK TO HIM OR FIGHT HIM OVER IT! I decided this shit just wasn't worth fighting over or getting in a physical altercation with a customer and potentially in trouble at work over, so I just handed the guy his dumb fucking cigarette butt and said, "Here, take it then." I don't know, the whole experience just made me want to quit smoking more than ever. Luckily after having to give the guy his butt back, I looked over a few feet away by the dumpster and found another butt that was just as big. I managed to smoke it all the way down this time without some fucker coming up to me and CLAIMING IT.

Tacos, Not War: Veterans Day Musings

My mom called me yesterday after listening to the radio where they urged all their listeners to call a veteran and thank them for their services. LOL. I thought it was touching and sweet of her and told her I appreciated it, even though there are and were a lot of veterans who sacrificed more than I ever did. I was in the U.S. Navy from 1988-1992. I did spend 6 months of that time in the Persian Gulf, home-ported in Bahrain on the USS Lasalle, during Desert Storm, and I do technically qualify as a "war veteran," but man, I was never in fear of my life once. I just sat on a ship in front of this computer watching radar blips on the screen. And I served as the secretary for some crusty, gruff old commander, typing out messages for him all the time. I smoked alot of cigarettes, drank coffee and beer; masturbated in my bunk at night; cleaned bathrooms and watched Phillipino bands sing bad American pop songs in hotel lounges. It was boring most the time and, with the exception of the handful of times I got to have sex with prostitutes at my ships' various port calls, I fucking hated my time in the military.

I was a troubled 17-year old kid who did too many drugs in high school. I did barely graduate high school but my parents didn't have a whole lot of money and felt it was a bad investment at the time to pay for my college, and they were right--I wouldn't have lasted a semester. So I didn't really have much choice but to join the Navy or some other branch of the military, like a lot of guys in my family did.

I barely even had to handle a gun. I didn't even come close to doing what a lot of the ground troops go through in the Army and Marines in places like Iraq and Afghanistan. That stuff is terrifying and intense and, though I find the motivation behind America's wars questionable in that they are painfully obvious campaigns to benefit banks, corporations and war profiteers, I do respect anyone who goes through that type of human experience. I'm proud of the fact that, though it was four of the most miserable years of my life, I did make it through my entire 4-year contract. I lived up to my word and got an honorable discharge. But I am not even close to being in the category of those who engaged in actual combat, and it's important for me to make that distinction. Though I do appreciate the fact that I can justifiably say, "I served and you didn't you fucking hippy!" there are so many jerk-offs out there who lie, embellish or exaggerate their military service to garner some sort of respect or benefits that they don't deserve. I spent my GI Bill benefits long ago and don't feel anyone owes me a damn thing anymore.

Thanks, Mom. I do love you and it was genuinely sweet of you, but thanks are best served for the guy in the wheel-chair, the guy sitting in a hospital bed with his legs blown off or the thousands of poor soldiers rotting in the ground because of the greed of oil companies and other corporate avarice.

Your Couch Is Not My Couch!

I was standing outside my apartment complex Saturday night and one of my neighbors comes out. I didn't even really know the guy, didn't even know his name at the time, and he asks me if I'll help him move his couch from his apartment to another one right next door that he is moving into. I'm like, sure, and we plan on moving the couch Sunday morning. I told him I'd be around between 8am-10am so just let me know. He said he was going to start moving all his other stuff into the new apartment early in the morning and so he'd see me out in the hall at some point.

The next day I'm walking down the hall about 9am and he isn't anywhere around. I figured I'd see him out in the hall because that's when he SAID he was going to start moving all his other stuff, EARLY in the morning, but I don't see the guy until probably around 11am. He says he got up late and now he has to go somewhere, that he'd be back around 1pm and he'd be ready to move the couch. I'm like, this is starting to become a pain because I just wanted to get up and get it OVER WITH; now I've got to hang around a bit more waiting to move this couch of some dude I don't even know in some effort, I guess, to be "neighborly"?

So I see the guy again out in the hall around 1pm and he's telling me that he's a big football fan. He's a big football fan who likes to watch the games on Sunday and it just dawned on him that if we move the couch at 1PM that that's when the FooTbALL GaMeS start and he wouldn't have a couch to sit on in his old apartment (where the TV cable connection is) while he watches the games! So he asks me if I can come back around 7pm, after the afternoon football games. I'm like, yeah, I guess, whatever. I like to watch football, too, and I wanted to watch the night game at 8:20pm, so I hoped to get the damn couch moved before that one started.

I see him again at 7pm and he tells me it's a REAL BIG COUCH and that he called his friend to come over and help us, that his friend would be over around 8pm. I tell him, "Well, we'll need to hurry because I want to watch the night game between the Steelers and Saints which starts at 8:20pm." Then he's like, "Oh, that's right, that's gonna be a good game! Maybe we should just wait until morning to move the couch so me and Harold (his friend) can have some place to sit while we watch it, too!"

Reluctantly I set a time with him to move his damn couch on Monday morning at 7am right before I go to work. I get up, go down the hall and, of course, he isn't anywhere around. I start to knock on his door to wake him up so I can get this idea of moving a stranger's couch out of my head, just get this thing off my back so it will stop HAUNTING ME, and just before I start to knock I stop, stare at his door and point at it, say softly but firmly to the door, "YOUR COUCH IS NOT MY COUCH!" and just head off to work without talking to the guy.

Of course, as soon as I get back from work a few hours later I'm walking down the hall, heading to my apartment; I walk past his place and he has the door open. He is standing there with his friend and I look and see the couch. I just KNEW that if we didn't FINALLY move the couch that instant that it was going to continue haunt me, so I said, "Let's go ahead and get that couch moved!" So we do move it, finally, and it was a real bitch to do. It took about 20 minutes to move it out of his old apartment and into the new one, the two of us grunting and groaning and sweating while his friend--who actually KNEW HIM and seemed in perfectly fine physical shape to me-- stood there watching and texting people! When we were finished the guy gave me a bag of instant oatmeal, a half box of instant potatoes and a full pack of Camel Turkish Royal cigarettes for my troubles so I guess it was worth it, but boy was I ever glad to get that couch moved and off my mind!

Use Air Fresheners On Election Night

It's Election Day in this great land of ours, and even though this election isn't nearly as exciting as the one in 2008 (it's possible we will never have one that exciting again), I'll still enjoy watching the results on TV later. I even cleaned my apartment up a tad for the occasion in addition to buying one of those sweet-smelling Renuzit air-freshener thingies that only cost $1! Those things make my wolf's den smell pretty good but the bad thing is they only last 5-6 days (you get what you pay more or, in my case, what you can afford!) and it won't be long before the fresh air clears and my apartment will smell like my own hairy butt again. Hahahahaha. That is, on the days when it doesn't smell like tasty, tantalizing TACOOOOOS!! Actually, the tragedy of being a Taco Hombre Lobo for me right now is that I rarely can AFFORD to eat tacos. Sad and pathetic, I know!

So the general perception is that the Republicans, inspired by the "grass roots" Tea Party movement, are going to win over a bunch of seats tonight. I like football analogies and one thing I've noticed in following teams is that whenever a team CONTINUOUSLY decides to fire a coach after one bad season and gets a new one nearly every year or so(take the Washington Redskins and Oakland Raiders, for example), the team almost NEVER GETS ANY GOOD. You have to give the new coach a chance. You have to give him awhile to get the right players, create the right system and environment for his players to thrive in; and if you keep firing the coach after one or two bad seasons you will NEVER HAVE ANY CONSISTENCY OR PROGRESS. It just frustrates me how, only two years after "Independent voters" were so fed up with Republicans and wanted change they are--yes, it is ridiculously true--voting THEM BACK IN before the current Democratic administration even gets a chance to do anything. All Democrats have had time to do so far is gradually try to climb out of the hole Republicans put us into in the first place! It's just this wishy-washy, vote-with-the-wind mentality of the Independent voter that frustrates me to no end sometimes. I've never voted anything but Democrat and I doubt that will ever change.

Democrats haven't done anything that no one saw coming when they elected them in, and the Republicans would have done pretty much the same thing in regard to TARP (actually the initial TARP was under Bush), the Stimulus, etc. All the surprise, shock and anger in regard to these things makes no sense to me unless you hated the Democrats to begin with and never voted for them in the first place. I can see liberals being upset because they feel Democrats "aren't doing enough" or conservatives being upset because they are "doing too much" (which is really a joke), but to be an Independent voter who voted for Democrats in '08 and to now be "disappointed" in them--and so are now voting Republican--just seems naive and silly. Pick a side, already!

Oh, and what's with everyone who votes going around showing off their little stickers that say "I voted" or people mentioning it in their social-networking profiles. Is performing your civic duty really something you need to be BRAGGING about? Just put on a clean pair of underwear, go vote, stuff a taco in your mouth, hope for the best and be quiet!

A Day Of Tricks And The Unexpected Treat

Well, it's Halloween and here's to hoping that everyone has a devilishly delightful day. I hope that all your tacos are tasty and yet somehow still TerriBLE and Terrifying; that your enchiladas inspire ecstasy yet are somehow still EeRiE and ELDRiTcH and that your beautiful burritos, while tantalizing your tongue with a tinge of terrific taste at some point sit in your belly and BLIND you with their BADNESS as they shout out "Boo!" to you from the depths of your bowels before you go hooooowling into the BatHROOM! Hahahahahaha!

I'm just enjoying a weekend of finally having a little MONEY and eating REAL food, smoking decent cigarettes--my beloved Marlboro Reds(after a week of smoking cigarettes rolled up from butts I find on the street)--and watching a little football. I saw that our hometown perennial LOSERS, the Indiana Hoosiers, finally vanquished the hopes of any fans who were foolish enough (and I, admittedly, was one of them) to think that we could actually get to a bowl game this year, by losing to Northwestern here at home 20-17.

Today my beloved Minnesota Vikings play the New England Patriots. I was sooooo excited a few weeks ago when the prodigal son--and my favorite NFL player of all time--Randy Moss returned home to the Vikings, but those feelings are now mixed and I'm admittedly confused and tormented because Moss has now played in three games for them and the Vikings still SUCK!! It looks like Favre is still going to play today with the fractured ankle. Let's see how it goes. Stop throwing touchdown to the other team, Brett! That might help! LOL!

I was so broke last week that I didn't have any coffee. I was at work, at the bookstore, and I walked out into the parking lot around 8:00am. I was really jonesing for some CoFFAAAYY and lo and behold!-- I actually spied a cup of coffee out in the parking lot just a few feet away and the cup was standing UPRIGHT! "Could it be?" I thought to myself as I eagerly walked up to it, HOPING BEYOND HELL that it actually had some coffeee still in it and I can't express my delight when I found that it was still nearly FULL! Of course, I just started drinking it, paying no mind to whose cup it might have been or how many or what sort of germs I might get. I think my boss was a bit grossed out by it, but hey, the way I saw it it was just a free cup of coffee and an UNEXPECTED TREAT! The odds were in my favor that it was just a customer who had gotten the cup at nearby McDonald's, came to the bookstore, and took a few sips before coming into our store. I'm guessing it had only been in the parking lot a couple hours, tops.

Isn't it wonderful when we experience unexpected treats like that in life?

Obama And Michael Jackson Star In "Noseless"!

Michael Jackson's nose fell off on his way up to Heaven! Feeling guilty about not making a public address regarding Jackson's death in June 2009, President Obama agrees to let Michael borrow a few of his supporters' noses so that the King of Pop can smell the tacos down on earth while sitting on his cloud in Heaven! Obama even volunteers to let Michael borrow his OWN nose on occasion! Read more about it HERE or just check out this latest installment of my "Obama Taco Underwear" Painting Series below:

The Eyes In The Underwear Speak Of Unity

The "Obama Taco Underwear Painting Series" adventure continues with my latest installment, "The Road To The White House Goes Through The Dog House (The Eyes In The Underwear Speak Of Unity)". This is a commissioned painting I made for a friend. He just got a new dog, an English sheep dog, and he wanted a painting that involved him, the dog and Obama. I just mailed it out to him today so I haven't heard back from him yet on what he thinks of it. I hope he doesn't mind that I have him and Obama on all fours eating dog food. LOL. Eh, I think he'll be cool with it. It's all in fun!

My Cincinnati Baseball Adventure

Here is a picture of me posing in one of my werewolf masks in front of the "Great American Ball Park" in Cincinnati. Though I'm not really a baseball fan (I'm a football guy!), I have a friend who is a huge Cincinnati Reds fan and he needed someone to go to a couple games with him. He offered to pay for everything, including my TACOS and I was like, dude, I'll only go if I can wear my WeReWOlF MaSK part of the time!

We got a hotel across the Ohio River from downtown Cincy, in Newport, Kentucky. There is a big bridge with a walkway alongside it that goes across the river to the ball park. I originally thought it would be CooL to walk across this narrow walkway across the water into town. It was cool when I first started walking across it, but as I neared halfway down it (the walkway was about a quarter mile long) I started getting VerTiGO reaaaaaal bad and started walking faster and faster, nearly freaking the hell out as I gazed down the side of the walkway into the water. I don't know exactly how high above the water it was, maybe 100 feet or so, but it ignited something in my brain that made me not really want to walk across this walkway again! I didn't want to seem like a baby, though, so I wasn't going to say anything to my friend who lagged behind me a few feet. Thankfully, when we finally got across the river and off the walkway and he caught up with me, he said he felt the same thing, that it scared the hell out of him looking down, and that he was going to pay for us to take a cab across the bridge for the rest of our stay. Boy, was I relieved! Hee!

The baseball games, themselves, were actually kind of miserable for me. The first night we were in the "cheap seats" behind center field and it was HoTTeR ThaN FucKKKK, the sun beating down on my newly shaved bald head as sweat dripped down my face and this dude next to me's exposed ARmPit about made me gag during the whole game. The second night we had better seats, "scout seats" right behind home plate. We were in a shaded area and it was a little cooler. I got excited because halfway through the 1st inning the seat right next to me was vacant and I was like, cool, no smelly armpits tonight and I can relax and stretch out a little. But it wasn't long before I started hearing this rumbling sound of someone walking my way. Before I knew it this HUGE lady was squeezing herself against people's knees in my aisle, coming my way, and she soon PlaNteD her plentiful, gigantical RumP RoaSt right next to me and yelled at me, "You a Reds fan?! You better be!" The Reds were playing the St. Louis Cardinals so alot of their fans had actually made the trip to the game. I just despairingly said, "Yeah, I'm a Reds fan," to keep this woman from eating me the way she ate bratwursts. Around the fifth inning she ordered four or five bratwursts covered in sauerkraut, shreds of which flew out of her hands and mouth and SplaTTered on my arm and shirt as she ate them.

Oh and to top it all off the Reds LOST both of the games we saw. The whole trip, though I can't say I had FUN just became this interesting test of endurance. It got me out of town for a couple days, at least!

Cheeseburgers Make Me "Hungry Like the Werewolf"!

Here is a picture of me with my cheeseburgers from the other day. It features me in both human and wolf form, so please do not be afraid. It is often the case that when I make cheeseburgers or any other delightful dish, I often get so hungry that I turn into a werewolf! LOL! Please excuse my wardrobe. I was actually naked when I decided to take this picture and just threw on something real quick from out of the depths of my closet. I think I'm wearing some kind of girl's softball uniform top or something. Hell if I know!

My First Can

Here's a pic of me and a few of my fellow werewolf buddies outside (and inside) one of the dumpsters in town. I've got a 50-year old friend who lives with his mom and doesn't have a real job so he goes around collecting scrap metal, mostly aluminum cans, for a living. Since times are tough and I haven't been able to find any extra work other than the 20 hours a week I work as a janitor, I decided to go out gathering cans with him the other day for some extra cash, bringing my wolfen pals along with me. In the picture you can see that I am holding my FIRST CAN! Yay! It's a Diet Pepsi can and you can tell by the self-satisfied look on my face that I'm pretty proud of it.

I hadn't shaved in a few days when this picture was taken, so you can see why amongst the can-collecting crowd I'm known as the "Silver Wolf" because of the abundance of gray hairs you can see in my scruffy, half-assed beard. I've been at this can-collecting thing for a couple weeks now and I've almost filled a whole trash bag full! Hopefully in a few more days I'll have a whole bag and when I take it to the junkyard I expect to get around, I dunno, 10 bucks for it. Hey, don't laugh. That's a pack of smokes and a bag of frozen burritos and I will have EARNED it, man, not having had it given it to me as some fucking hand-out by the government.

Speaking of "hand-outs," I've been eating free lunch at this local church downtown. The food isn't too bad but the place is always jammed packed with hungry, stinky people, people like me (yeah, maybe I stink every once in awhile, so what?) who are just trying to make ends meet. I come to get free food to save money so I can pay my Internet bill and not have it disconnected unlike alot of lazy, unemployed people who come there just because they feel they are entitled, like having food in their bellies is some God-given right. Then they eat and go a block away to use free Internet at the public library's computers when I PAY for my damn Internet. But anyway, I was at this church trying to eat the other day and this big fat, greasy dude had his chair pulled out from under him by some mischievous little weasel. The big guy's plate of free food--a pork fritter, some corn and a couple cheese sticks-- went flying everywhere. The big guy got mad, got up and started grabbing the smaller dude, the two of them slipping and sliding in a puddle of Kool-Aid on the floor, and it was funny as hell. There wasn't room to sit down and eat so I just stood in a corner by the free coffee pot, stuffing this big piece of free cake into my mouth as I watched the whole sad, hilarious scene.

After I finished eating, I walked down to this garage that my can-collecting friend uses to sort out his scrap metal every week. He's alot better at collecting this stuff than I am and he spends nearly every waking hour out gathering metal up all over town, so every week he has a huge pile of it needing sorted out before it goes to the junkyard. You have to sort out the aluminum from the tin from the steel from the foil from the copper wire, etc., and he hired me on to help him do it once a week. It's an intense, fast-paced, gross job that takes about 4 hours and he pays me $25. The funny thing is that the garage we are using is just some garage for an apartment complex. Neither one of us live there, my friend just noticed it wasn't used by any tenants and took over the place. LOL. The metal-sorting isn't so bad until you run into some big foil pan full of week-old lasagna. YUCK. Then towards the end of the job all you have left is this big pile of tiny tin lids, caps, tiny bits of tin foil, etc., and I have to get on my hands and knees to sort this shit out with my hands stained and greasy with lasagna. And the other day I noticed a dog turd about an inch away from my hand. I was wearing gloves at first but it made me go too slow in picking stuff up, so I went bare-handed and when I came close to putting my hand right in that piece of dogshit I damn near regretted it. There was one point when my friend fucking yelled at me for putting an aluminum cat food can in the bag where tin is supposed to go. I got pissed and started kicking shit. He says he's going to give me a magnet next time we do it, so I can tell the difference between tin and aluminum. Tin sticks to the magnet, aluminum doesn't.

But when the work is done I take my $25, go home and have a real party because that's what life's about, making the most of what you got or what other people are willing to give to you. I do a little bit on my own, I let people do a little bit for me. Now will someone please come change my diaper for me and make me a taco? LOL.

An Initial Exploration Of Cheese, Lettuce, Tomato

**NOTE** Please ignore the presence of sour cream in the image below. Sour cream is not addressed in this essay.

It is important for me to maintain in my work as a hairy food fetishist, and in my life as a werewolf, to do my best to promote a positive, healthy lifestyle. Though I do respect past werewolf traditions I feel that I need to move beyond many of the perceptions of a werewolf being a violent, murderous beast. It is not always easy to be positive in this world, and as an artist the symbols I use in my work are very important, for it is through these symbols that my vision is cultivated and it is through the lens of these symbols that my outlook is forged. That is one of the reasons why I choose the TACO as my primary symbol of positive meditation. There are many things I have said and will say about the taco as a whole, but in this particular essay I want to quickly address three of the taco's primary ingredients: Cheese, Lettuce, and Tomatoes.

"Cheese, Lettuce, Tomato" has become like a mantra to me, a chant I say over and over again to myself during times when life is not going as I had planned. Whenever I become angry or distressed, depressed or disappointed in life I think of these three main taco ingredients. If possible, I eat them soon after I am upset about something. Ideally, I eat them as part of a taco, but in an emergency I can also eat them plain one after the other; or in a salad grouped together; or as toppings for a hamburger.

The cheese, it soothes me. The rich, creamy taste and the orange hue of sharp cheddar cheese reminds me of the sun on a warm, summer day. I bite into the flakes of the shredded cheese upon my taco, slightly melted from the heat of the meat upon which it rests inside the shell. This slight melting is important to me because it serves as a metaphor for what I am currently going through in life. It is the rich, good taste of life-- but slightly melted, slightly bent of shape. Someone has turned up the heat on and they are trying to make me angry! The melted parts of the cheese tell me life is not perfect but it is the preponderance of the cheese, the vast majority that is unharmed and golden as ever--which is still unscathed by the heavy, greasy meat-- that I know is the true reality, that is the cheese I truly know. This comforts me as I let the cheese rest upon my tongue and slide down my throat.

The lettuce, it delights me! It is so crisp and slightly cold, so soothing to feel inside my belly after I've been angry over something. Followed by, or mixed in with cheese within a taco, I think of it as being alot like love. "Lettuce is the love that binds us." I've said this many times when relating all the various colors and hues within a taco to the different-colored skin tones of all the people of the world. There is cheese, there is tomato, and then there is the LETTUCE. There is usually more lettuce than anything else because it is cheaper. This is especially true within a salad where lettuce serves as the main body, the overbearing symbol, because our natural tendency to want to eat something such as salad intuitively sees lettuce as love in the deepest sense, as the oceanic, turbulent body of oblivion from which we all came and from which we get just a little taste of in our relationships and in our eating of LETTUCE. Just sit somewhere by yourself sometime, preferably on a park bench on a nice sunny day. Bite into the lettuce and feel the water wet your tongue and that ever so slight but potent flavor smear your palate. It is bringing back a memory, see, an ever faint memory lettuce brings that reminds you of the time when were all one, when we were all together, and the lettuce inside a taco further pronounces the taco's ability, as a whole and more than the sum of all of its ingredients, to serve as a symbol of unity. You bite into a taco and hear that crunch. To the unenlightened, this is the louder crunch of the taco's shell, but if you train your ears, and when you open up your heart to the subtleties of taco mysticism, you can make it so you are only hearing the soft, sweet crunch of the LETTUCE, my friend, oh yes, and what a beautiful song this little lettuce bird sings!

Then there are tomatoes, the most beautiful part of this trinity of Cheese, Lettuce, Tomato. Is it any wonder that the tomato cannot truly be classified? Is it a fruit or is it a vegetable? Does it have a double meaning? The tomato to me is sacred because it represents the blood that goes through my veins. It is its symbolic function as the blood that gives me life that always presents me with an opportunity to go against more traditional ideas of the violent, murderous werewolf, especially the ones portrayed in werewolf movies where blood is splattered EVERYWHERE by virtue of the sharp claws and dripping red teeth. Why does blood in so many cases in our media have to represent death? Why, when in paintings, drawings or movies, when a person is covered in blood does this have to be deemed disgusting? The way I work around this, see, is by first giving blood a poetic transformation. Firstly, blood is the life; and tomatoes, to me, in my taco lexicon, are representative of blood; so with tomatoes-- being a primary ingredient of HOT SAUCE, a liquid similar in appearance to blood-- I can portray people covered in HOT SAUCE instead of blood, and it has the same magnetic effect upon a person when they look at it. So when a person is typically said to be transfixed with death if they have a fixation with gory imagery, see, the truth of the matter is that they are obsessed with LIFE, life that is ideologically saturated within the symbol of a tomato and further refined within the structure of more complex substance, hot sauce. And it is here, once again, that the mysterious occult tomato rears its awesome, majestic double-headed meaning. Is is a fruit or a vegetable? Is it life or death? And to take this observation even further, isn't it interesting that the tomato appears TWICE within the best-tasting tacos as a tomato and once again in HOT SAUCE? Think about that. The next time you bite into a taco and feel that delicious, spicy and sweetly luscious flavor of the tomatoes mixing with the hot sauce, ask yourself, "Am I perhaps eating just a little bit more than my LUNCH?

"Tummy Everything" Official Blog

So I decided I wanted to have an "official" blog and I've been messing around with setting it up the past few days. I want a blog to post some of my longer, more serious (LOL!) stuff, as well as a sort of centralized funnel through which to post and link to all my website updates because I've got all kinds of different stuff I want to get out there in the future. Plus, this new blog is set up entirely on my own hosting account, on my own domain, and that makes me happy. I actually just wanted to get it set up for now and don't plan on updating it on a regular basis for a few months. Anyway, this official blog is now ready and set up at Tummy Everything (NSFW! Adults Only!). Since I got it set up I went ahead and made a first, introductory blog entry for it called "Tummy Everything About That Taco I Bought You"(NSFW! Adults Only!)to try and explain the blog's strange title but, like I said, I don't plan on actually using this blog until probably this summer. I'm always thinking ahead and have to stay ahead of the game if I'm going to seriously make some waves in the "food in the stomach" fetish micro-niche. Hahahaha.

We got about 8 inches of snow here in Indiana last night and today. This is like the fourth major snowfall we've gotten this winter which is alot compared to the past few years. I'm actually kind of glad because it makes you appreciate the warm weather when it finally does arrive.

I Stand United With Myself In Good Taco Taste

I decided I wanted to spice up my Links Page up a tad so I made this little logo for it today. Honestly, it just bothered me to no end to have a simple "links page," it sounded so lame. I had to somehow juice it up and make it seem like something special and extraordinary, so it is now called "The Hairy Taco Lovers' Alliance". Hahahaaha. All of my websites now stand UNITED, dude. Me and all my hairy friends are now entangled in our mutual hairs and united in our good taco taste!

Yeah, well, the Colts LOST last night. The Saints were honestly just a better team, I hate to say. The Colts finally had to play a team with a good pass offense which exposed alot of the their weaknesses in defending the short passing game. Plus, the Saints were just alot more dynamic; their special teams made alot of big plays and their coaches made some excellent play-calling decisions, especially with the onside kick to open up the second half. Peyton Manning's legacy is definitely hurt by the loss, especially in light of the Pick Six he threw toward the end of the game that cemented the Saints' first Super Bowl win in their franchise history.

Anyway, I just made a big bowl of taco salad with DORITOS in it and mounds of sour cream and sharp cheddar cheese, splattered with spicy, exhilarating hot sauce; crisp, fresh lettuce; firm, juicy cherry tomatoes; tender clumps of seasoned ground beef and unified with a ton of FreNcH DreSSinG!! I've got a two-hour documentary on crop circles to watch, plus a couple documentaries on wolves. No, not WeReWolvEs, you sillys, these are about REAL wolves because I live in the REAL world. LOL!!

Fans Are Allowed In The Pro Football Hall Of Fame?

Here's a logo I just made to put on my Hairy News and Views Archive page, a simple little links page I had to make to replace my non-adult/mainstream blog at Hairy News and Views because Blogger is doing away with its FTP interface functions. I'm working on "official" Taco Werewolf blog that'll function entirely from my own hosting account and will integrate both my mainstream and more porny/extreme hairy taco stuff and I'll link to it when I get it set up. Blogger blows goats, anyway, I've been planning to stop using it for awhile now.

Today is Super Bowl Sunday and, of course, I am going to watch the game because I am an unabashed fan of the NFL. Being a life-long Indiana resident and living pretty close to Indianapolis I am, of course, rooting for the Colts. I watch nearly every single one of the Colts' games on TV and am pretty grateful we have a local team that, year after year, is pretty damn good and is always in the hunt for winning the Super Bowl. I'm not as excited about the Colts being in the Super Bowl this year as I was when they made it and won it '06, because that was their first time since being in Indy, but it's still pretty damn cool.

I'm disappointed that the Saints are even IN in the Super Bowl because to get there they had to beat my beloved Minnesota Vikings that I've been a fan of ever since my mom bought me some Vikings pajamas at K-Mart when I was 6 years old. It had some kind of subliminal effect on me as a child and I've loved the Vikings ever since. Their loss to the Saints two weeks ago was one of the most agonizing, heartbreaking games I've ever had to watch. I guess it was too much to ask for a Vikings/Colts Super Bowl. At least now I won't have to deal with torn loyalties and I can root for the Colts angst-free.

I also don't like the Saints being in the Super Bowl because they were one of five teams that have never been in the game, along with the Browns, Lions, Jaguars and Texans. I just think there needs to be teams that NEVER make it to the Super Bowl, it makes it seem more special and, just as in life, some things to some people should just be-- no matter how hard they wish or try--UNATTAINABLE, so here's to hoping that the Saints at least don't WIN.

I'm also upset because this guy is in the Pro Football Hall of Fame. It's some New Orleans Saints fan who calls himself "Da Pope." I read about him in the local newspaper this week and didn't believe they even allowed fans in the Hall of Fame. But after doing some research I learned that in 1999 the NFL did allow a fan from each of the then 31 teams to be inducted into the "Hall of Fans" a special display in the Hall of Fame, and yes, Lionel Alphonso, Sr., the guy in the pic, was inducted. I need to do some more research to see if they actually got their own bust or not, though.

My Orange Ski Mask Is Warm Light From Mexican Spaghetti

Aaaaah, yes, my bright orange ski mask feels so good on my face, especially when I wear it outside when it is cold. It makes my head feel like the burning, nurturing warm summer sun in the midst of such depressingly frigid winter temperatures. I stare at the bright white snow through the ski mask's eyes and it is like a piercing, hot laser shoots from my pupils as the snow all around melts when I approach it, leaving me a clear pathway from which to walk into this disheartening milieu of madness, this orange ski mask over my face and this rotting, sacred plate of spaghetti in my hand. Rays of sunlight shoot outward from the plate of spaghetti and I realize I must not only wear my heart on my sleeve-- I must also wear my clean, white underwear over my pants!

It takes courage to do what I do. I takes a lot of valor to walk about with one's underwear placed over their pants. The spaghetti on my plate is about two weeks old. I don't know, sometimes I just let it sit around awhile to keep me company. It is made with a mixture of angel hair spaghetti and mostaccioli. When I made it I didn't have any pasta sauce, per se, but I did have a packet of taco seasoning which I used to flavor the ground beef, so in a sense this is actually Mexican Spaghetti. LOL!! As you can see, whenever I fork a few of the mostaccioli they strangely have this magnetic pull toward my private parts instead of my mouth. To me, this further emphasizes the importance between the relationship of my need to fuck hairy tacos and my desire to eat. I have been doing both for so long that the wires have become entwined. This howling dualistic desire has now gone full circle as I bite my own wolfen tail, feeling a need to stuff food down my pants whenever I see a hairy vagina, or fondle my wolfen cock as I walk by McDonald's to see people coming out with those new "McSnack Wraps"; the very thought of them makes me roll my eyes and walk a few extra blocks to Taco Bell.

Hahaha, one of my neighbors, Daniel, recently died. He was some dude in his early/mid 40's. He always bummed cigarettes off of me whenever I went outside my apartment complex to smoke. It is funny because I was actually outside smoking when I saw the ambulance pull up. They rushed into the building and about an hour later the paramedics came out wheeling my dead neighbor on a stretcher. I guess he just had some sort of seizure or something. I was sort of sad and shocked. I didn't know the guy real well. He was okay, I guess. It was annoying having to give him cigarettes all the time but I guess I won't have to do that anymore, will I? I talked to another neighbor of mine a day or two later and he was mad that Daniel died because he'd let him borrow some movies that he'd rented from the library. The movies were now stuck in dead Daniel's apartment, accruing higher and higher late fees. My neighbor talked to the rental company about his problem and they told him to leave a note on the door for Daniel's family so, as they packed away their son's belongings, they could take the library movies down the hall to him. LOL! Yeah, leave a fucking note on the door saying, "Sorry your son is dead, but can I have those library movies I let him borrow?" Hahahahaaa. Anybody who lets someone borrow shit that they, in turn, have BoRRoWeD from the library is an idiot, anyway, and I refuse to let bum cigarettes from me, wear my orange ski mask, or invite them over for a Mexican spaghetti dinner.

My New Long Johns Are Sooo Excited About the New Year!

I got home yesterday from being at my family's various houses for the holidays since New Year's Eve. I hadn't been home for the holidays in nine years, so it was a pretty good experience for me. It felt good to see my mom and dad and my two sisters. It was especially fun to spend some time with my four nephews and two nieces, ages 6-12. They all welcomed me with open arms and were really sweet toward me despite the fact that I have barely seen them for most of their lives. In fact, before this past summer when I went home for my older sister's second wedding, I hadn't seen any of them at ALL except for the oldest one; I saw her briefly when she was four years old.

New Year's Eve was spent at mom and dad's watching movies with the kids, family-type stuff like Race to Witch Mountain, How to Eat Fried Worms and The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. At midnight my mom dressed all the kids up nice and warm and let them go outside to light firecrackers and bang on pots and pans. It was pretty funny. I went out with them in my shorts and just stood there laughing, smoking a cigarette and wishing I could be eight years old again.

Friday I went to my oldest sister's HUGE fucking house and that's where we all opened our belated Christmas presents. I got a pair of Long John underwears and Season #1 of True Blood from my mom and dad, both of which you can see in the pic above. I also got a coat and a comforter. HELL YEAH, IT's ALL ABOUT KEEPING WARM and watching vampires FUCK this winter. Or at least I heard that the vampires in True Blood fuck alot. I wonder if they fuck any werewolves? We also played alot of games. We played UNO FLASH, some fast-paced electronic version of that old "Uno" card game I used to play as a kid. We also played "The Sopranos" trivia game. My whole family are Sopranos freaks. I won the game because I had only recently seen the whole series from front to back, this past Fall. When I play these fucking games I want to WIN even if it's against my mom and a bunch of 6-8 year olds. Hahhaaa.

Saturday I went to my youngest sister's house and played Wii for the first time with her kids. I really liked the Wii bowling game, but I sort of sucked at "Guitar Hero." My sister has a bunch of chickens and I went out and helped my brother-in-law go out there and collect eggs from them. They laid twelve that day! I guess they were happy to see me?

Sunday morning I went to church with my mom and youngest sister and actually took communion for the first time in over 25 years. It's a Protestant church and they don't offer it very often, so I lucked out! I'm waiting for some miracles to start happening now. Before I drank the grape juice and nibbled on that little wafer, I said, "Jesus, please let the Vikings beat the Giants today and have the Cowboys beat the Eagles so the Vikings can get a first round bye in the playoffs and get the #2 seed!" All of that actually happened Sunday afternoon, so I might be taking communion more often from now on. Hahahhaa

Deer Rump Roast, Meet My Dear Butt

So one of my friends is a big deer hunter and the other day he gave me 30 pounds of deer meat for Christmas. I've got deer steaks, deer tenderloins and a couple deer rump roasts, one of which I decided to take a couple pictures of me holding right before I ate it last night, as you can see above. Oooooh, it felt sooo good to rub that wet, bloody freshly thawed deer rump roast against my lovely wolfen butt! I know some people don't like the idea of eating deer meat, or shooting deer, or whatever, but honestly, it doesn't bother me. I was raised around a family of hunters and I can honestly say that rabbit and squirrels are some damn good eatin'! The deer meat isn't as good as I remembered it tasting the last time I had it, about 20 years or so ago, but it'll save me some money on food this winter. I can't help but wonder, which is tastier and which is more beautiful? My RUMP or my ROAST? Hahahahaa

God, the deer meat is sooo fucking bloody, though! I had to wring this deer roast out in the sink with my hands for a while before I could even hold it to take any pics of it. And when I cut this shit up and fry it in the frying pan it honestly doesn't smell too good, so much blood boiling in hot butter, but it honestly doesn't taste so bad after I smother it in A1 sauce. Mmmmmm! Anyway, tomorrow I'm going home for the belated holidays. I'll spend the New Year's weekend with all my little nieces and nephews and eat some of my mom's home cooking which is a helluva lot better than mine. When I come back Sunday afternoon I'll be ready to start the New Year off with a bang, a howl, and perhaps I'll even make some deer meat tacos while I watch the final games of the NFL regular season.

TacObama Power and the Hula HOOps of HOpe!

Here is another commissioned painting I mailed out to someone the other day. There is a little write-up I made for it HERE. The customer sent me three pics of theirself to be included in the painting, and the rest of the painting's content was up to me. I wanted to do something that focused on the letter "O" (for "Obama," of course) and I started with Michelle Obama hula-hooping. All paintings must also contain tacos and underwear.



I have another customer wanting me to make a painting with them, their girlfriend, their dog, President Obama and Michelle-- along with tacos and underwear, of course. I've been racking my brain trying to figure out how to cram all of that in one image, but I think I can manage.

I'm Not The Creep, You Are!

I've been called "creepy" in my life plenty of times, or occasionally someone will just say I'm an outright creep which, of course, isn't true. And there's times when I encounter or meet someone and I think they are a creep, only to find out later, once I've gotten to know them, that they are pretty decent people. So in the spirit of Christmas I wanted to mention someone in my life that I've recently learned isn't as creepy as I thought, despite my initial impression of them.

It's this older lady neighbor of mine. This past summer she was always hanging out outside the apartment complex, sitting at one of our patio tables, with her cat in a baby stroller. When I passed her I'd say hello and she'd point to the sky and say things like, "Jesus is such a great artist, isn't he?", implying that Jesus painted the sky blue, or whatever. I'd just humor her and say yeah, he sure is. She is always wearing skirts so I think she goes to some Mennonite church here in town. I didn't really think much of her until it started getting cold and I started noticing her constantly walking the hallways of my apartment complex. She would hang out in the lobby, walking in circles and muttering to herself, her baby stroller with the cat in it nearby. She also quit talking to me when I passed by, just gave me this piercing mean stare. I'd leave my apartment and start walking down the hall and I would look over my shoulder to see her staring at me from the lobby, looking like she wanted to kill me or put a curse on me, her long, gray unkempt hair sticking up all over. I started to think she was pissed at me because she could smell my cigarette smoke and I started wondering if she was going to rat me out.

But last week I passed her on my way to get my mail. She didn't say a word, just gave me a mean look and I was like, fuck it, and I said to her, "Is there something wrong?" To this her face softened and she gave me a sad look. She started telling me about how she has some pain in her legs that makes it impossible for her to sit down for very long and that is why she walks the halls all day and night. Then she started talking about how she has no friends, no family, and how bored she gets. She started telling me about how no one wants to talk to her. Well, I stood there listening to her sob story for awhile and, before you know it, I ended up going back in my apartment. I dug out my fucking checker board from the bottom of a bunch of dirty underwear in my closet and spent a couple hours playing checkers with this old whiny bitch. About every ten minutes she had to get up from her seat and walk around. At one point she was at the other end of the lobby when I said, "King Me!" because, you know, one of my checkers made it to the last row of the board, and this chick was all like, "Wait, I'm in so much pain, I don't know if I can get there to do it!" I was like, fucking walk over here KING ME, bitch! Hahahahaaaha. Yeah, and of course she's trying to get me to go to her church. I actually might one of these nights if I get bored enough, who knows? But yeah, I found out this woman wasn't really a creep or all that creepy, she's just some miserable old lady in alot of pain. I kind of enjoyed playing checkers with her and might do it again sometime.

Taco's Breastaurant

I've been thinking alot about women's breasts lately. I think about them alot anyway, but I've been obsessing over them a little more than usual after recently being exposed to soooo many mothers nursing their children in public. Normally when I see women nursing their babies in public, they are sitting somewhere like on a bus, or in a dark, secluded corner at Taco Bell, or something, but lately they seem to be getting more brazen and bold about it, like they are trying to make some sort of feminist statement. I walked into the public library awhile back, and right there in the middle of the huge lobby was a pretty young woman standing there for all to see. She was cradling her sweet baby in her arms and with her rather large, floppy (gorgeous!)titty hanging out as her babeling sucked on it in front of an audience of hundreds of people!

This was honestly a bit startling at first, simply because I am not used to seeing it. But hey, I am a dude and I like boobs, so what the hell. At first I just walked on by the nursing woman as if I wasn't at all affected by her brazen display. But then I decided to walk back and study this shit a little bit more. I got a cup of coffee out of the machine and just sort of casually took a seat at a nearby table. I slowly, comfortably sipped my coffee and watched as I felt my werewolf cock rustle a tad inside my jeans. It got a little stiff and excited, I must admit, as I pretended I was the woman's loving husband and imagined myself sucking on the woman's other boob, nursing on her hot, wet Mary milk alongside my hungry baby son or daughter, a perfect image of family love and unity, and just in time for the holidays. It would be such a beautiful picture to put on Christmas cards!

At one point the woman smiled at me. I actually blushed and felt a bit guilty for my erection. I wanted to put my werewolf mask on which I had in my backpack, to clue her in on my true wolfen nature and to "test the waters," so to speak, as to whether she was into guys like me. But something inside me told me no, that this is not about me. This was bigger than me and my stupid obsession with werewolves and body hair and boobies. This was about love and family and making a statement about a woman's right to nurse her child in public and that a single, non-family-having, never-been-married loser like me had no business getting himself involved. So after I drank about half my cup of coffee, I left and went browsing through the DVD section, perfectly content to be finished with this infatuation with mothers and their milk-squirting mammaries.

But then last weekend it all came back to me at a Los Lobos concert. I've been a big fan of Los Lobos because their name translates into "The Wolves," of course, and ever since seeing the movie, La Bamba, about the tragic rise and sudden fall of Ritchie Valens, played in the movie by Lou Diamond Phillips, with whom I have long had a sort of man-crush on. Los Lobos did covers for the songs "Come On, Let's Go" and "La Bamba" in that movie, which are excellent songs to howl and eat tacos to! But my favorite song of theirs is the sweet and sad medley called "Will the Wolf Survive?" in which the band laments over the current crisis facing many lonely wolves today as an endangered species.

So I was standing amidst the crowd at this outdoor concert. The weather was great for it being mid-November. The sun was out and it was about 60 degrees or so, with a cool autumn breeze blowing against all the writhing, dancing bodies of screaming fans. There were many Latinos there, of course, but there were also people of all creeds and races present to soak in the eclectic, brilliant songs of this prolific, ground-breaking Latin-American band. After awhile I got impatient to hear my favorite song. I put on my werewolf mask and started howling, screaming out,"Play 'Will the Wolf Survive!" I did this for awhile while dancing about, and at some point I heard someone screaming at some woman, "Hey, take that fucking kid over there to the 'Breastaurant,' bitch! None of us here want to see you feeding your fucking kid with your goddam tits hanging out!"

I turned around to see this cute Mexican chick, Luisa, that I remembered from working at Motel 6! She had been a housekeeper there but I'd never had a chance to really talk to her much. She didn't speak English real well but I'd always been appreciative of how cute she was and how hard she seemed to work for her family. She was standing there in the crowd with BOTH her boobs hanging out, cradling her baby in one hand and with what looked like a margarita in the other. She was spilling the drink all over herself and her kid as her baby struggled to latch on to her nipple and get its fill of milk.

"I tried to find my way to the 'Breastaurant' but I got lost!" Luisa said in her broken English, trying to fend off the harassment she was receiving from this older white couple that seemed to be offended by her exposed breasts.

What the fuck was a goddam "Breastarant?" I thought as my heart immediately went out to Luisa who was struggling to hold on to her baby. She was indeed very drunk, was in no condition to be caring for her child. While her tits were very enticing, large and juicy-looking with large, brown nipples, I immediately realized what was important here was the welfare of her baby. I went up to Luisa, shouted a few obscenities to the people who were giving her a hard time. I wrapped my arm around her, took her drink from her hand, and said, "C'mon, Luisa, I'll help you find this 'Breastaurant' they are talking about!"

I pushed my way through the crowd, guiding Luisa through the maze of this glorious fiesta of salsa-soaked music, inquiring here and there as to where the Breastaurant was, until eventually we reached the outer periphery of the crowd, and right underneath this huge tree stood a small tent. There was a sign in front of it that read "Mom's Breastaurant" and inside the tent I saw four or five mothers sitting in chairs, their beautiful infant children cradled in their arms as they suckled from their moms' breasts in relative quiet and seclusion. What a gorgeous sight it was! So many sets of naked titties, so many gallons of luscious Mary Milk! Luisa got so excited at the sight of it that she began to run towards it, her bulbous boobs jiggling as she barely held on to her baby, that she tripped and fell. Luckily she landed on her back as she lied there laughing, drunk off her ass, her baby lying in between her exposed breasts wet with milk, and her face wet with sweet, sugary margarita.

It immediately dawned on me that if I signed her into the Breastaurant they would realize she was drunk and report her to the police, who would have her baby taken away. I hurriedly began to help Luisa off the ground. I took her baby in my own arms and urged her to button up her shirt. "C'mon, Luisa, I'm going to walk you home," I said. "If we go into that Breastaurant, you may never see your baby again." I put my arm around this poor, beautiful drunken mother and as we started to walk away from the festivities I began to hear my song! Los Lobos began to play "Will the Wolf Survive?" as I looked into the eyes of the baby I held in my arms and wondered if it would indeed survive being raised by a struggling mother such as Luisa. Then later, as I sat in Luisa's apartment after we had put the baby to bed and I watched her drink a couple shots of tequila, I began to wonder if she had a HaIrY TacO!! HAHAHAHAHA!! And it wasn't long after I started wondering that she got drunk enough to pull down her hot little panties in front of me to let me know, that yes, she sure as fuck DID!!

Do The Cigarette Police Use Silver Bullets?

The above picture expresses the attitude I had the other day after I received a NO SMOKING NOTICE underneath my door from my land lady. As soon as I read it I lit up and took this picture in a fit of rebellion. I had it in my mind to continue to smoke in my room, anyway, as I always have, that I wouldn't let anyone change how I lived my life-long love affair with the evil brown weed. But as I've been doing so the past couple days, I'm becoming increasingly paranoid. There are sooooo many of my non-smoking tattle-tail neighbors who might tell on me. Every time I hear someone walking past my door out in the hall, I listen to hear them sniffing, to see if they can smell my cigarette smoke, and if they are going to rat me out. The point of smoking cigarettes is to enjoy them and relax, but how can I relax if I'm constantly wondering if the CigaReTTe PoLiCe are nearby? I'm getting too old for this "Smoking in the Boy's Room" crap and I want to quit, anyway, so fuck it-- starting today I'm only going to smoke outside. I'm also making a long-term plan to smoke no more than 1 cigarette per hour for the rest of November and December. Then in January I'll smoke no more than 1 every three hours until JANUARY 31st when I shall quit entirely. I've only been out of bed a few hours and so far this is driving me crazy.

The worst part about having to smoke outside is that I have to constantly put on and take off my fucking clothes to do so. I am always naked in my apartment. I can't bear the feeling of wearing clothes in my sacred, sanctified wolf den. I am so used to fondling my dangling, dancing wolf cock as I prance about my apartment with a cigarette in my hand and my junk in the other, that I'm at a loss what to with my empty hand now. So far all I've come up with to do with it is use it to fondle myself, too. So I've been sitting in my recliner, swatting my cock back and forth with both hands, waiting for another hour to approach so I can get dressed again, go outside and fucking smoke! When will this torture end and how will I get through the day? I'm so used to smoking while I work on the computer, while I watch TV, while I masturbate, while I cook and in between the eating of tacos, that I feel like I must completely reprogram myself. One of the worst things is that, while I'm painting, every so often I like to step back and look at the painting, gauge its progress as I smoke a cigarette, and I can't even do fucking THAT now! Nor can I chain-smoke while I pace around and brood about how I'm going to solve all my problems while listening to my favorite songs. It's driving me batty not to have a cigarette in my hand right now as I type this. I miss the falling ashes upon my keyboard and being able to flick ashes into a plate of half-eaten food from the night before. I miss sitting in my recliner smoking as the lit cherry tip falls off and onto my bare belly, forcing me to squirm in pain and catch it before it burns my fine curly pubes. There are just so many things I'm going to miss about smoking in my apartment that I'm really starting to wonder if I can do this.

No Smoking In My Own Apartment Anymore?

So I received a note under my apartment door today (Don't you just hate notes under your door? They are never good!) from the property manager of my apartment complex. The note is reminding people that the building I live in is a NON-SMOKING property! Huh? I actually had no idea! I've been living in the same apartment for nearly nine years, and when I moved in it was okay to smoke in your room. But the building was sold about three years ago, and I guess the new managers changed the policy. I've signed a couple leases with the more recent owners, but honestly, I never read them, and I missed the part about not being allowed to smoke! No one told me about it so for the past three years I've been smoking away like a fiend in my room, like I always do. If you look at the pics of me on my various websites you can see that the walls are yellow and COVERED with smoke and nicotine stains. I guess they have been giving prospective tenants tours of the building recently, bragging to them about how it is a "smoke-free environment," only to see the prospects give them an "Oh, really?" dubious look when they smelled cigarette smoke in the halls. Hahahhaaa. The property managers are fed up with it so they slipped everybody this threatening note, saying you'll get fined $150.00 if you get caught smoking ANYWHERE on the property.

There's a good chance I can get away with smoking, anyway, but man, I'm just sick of the oppression I've been feeling as a smoker the past few years. I've been smoking over 20 years and I think I'm about ready to finally quit. I'm just sick of it more than I like it as this point. It costs me over $300 a month and makes me feel fatigued alot of the time, anymore. I've gotten to where I just smoke way too much, more than two packs a day, and now I can't even smoke in my own apartment without feeling I'm doing something that's against the rules.

"Black Taco Sun" Photoset

I'm finally getting around to posting some pics of myself in my Halloween costume as "The Lord of Hairy Black Tacos." Under a Black Taco Sun I went to Taco Bell a couple Saturdays ago to get some of their new black-shelled tacos, and what I thought would be a pleasurable dining experience turned out to be a LIVING HALLOWEEN HELL!! My love for tacos soon became challenged by some of the most intense feelings of HATRED I've felt in a looooong time!

Click here to see more pics of me in my Halloween costume! (Adults Only! NSFW!)

The "Keeper of the Underwear"

This is a commissioned piece I did for a friend who is a fan of my "Obama Taco Underwear" painting series, and an even bigger supporter of our amazing President. My friend is the handsome, immaculately dressed bald magician in the painting who, through the magic of tacos and underwear, is able to "pull a rabbit out of a hat" in the event of any problems he may encounter as long as he and the American people have HOPE. The rabbit ears on both his and President Obama's head represent our President's ability to hear what the majority of American people want, and to try his best to deliver it to them despite any adversity and opposition.

There is also a sort of "painting within a painting" in this piece. My magician friend is also the owner of the very first installment of the "Obama Taco Underwear" painting series, "A Change In Underwear We Can Believe In". "Underwear Change" has a very special sentimental value to me. It is the "flagship" painting of the series, and I feel the most inspired, as it perfectly captures the essence of what "Obama Taco Underwear" is all about. I wanted to refer to it in this commissioned piece, in an image that also portrays its owner. So as this painting is indeed a depiction of hope, change and transformation through the metaphorical power of underwear and tacos, it also has something to say about who is the owner of the series' first installment, the painting that started it all for me. You can see that there are six multi-colored figures in the painting, all of which also appear in the same poses in "A Change In Underwear We Can Believe In" which is meant to show that my magician friend, at least in my own mind, is now the "Keeper of the Underwear."

I Finally Get Recognized For Finally Changing My Underwear

Hahahaha, I just found an art history paper a college student wrote on the first installment of my "Obama Taco Underwear" Painting Series, "A Change In Underwear We Can Believe In". Here is a page from his website. This kid is awesome and I got a real kick out of reading the paper. I'm certain he will end up being a very successful person, whatever he chooses to do in life, because he's alot better at talking about my art than I am. Hahaha. I kind of miss writing college papers like that and getting to use all those big words.

The painting he's writing about got put on this site, Bad Paintings of Barack Obama months ago. The site went viral but none of the artists are given CREDIT for their work on it. So if you google "obama taco painting" you'll find 161515115151 blog entries where my painting is posted (again, without my being given credit) and talked about. I was just like, screw it, even though I wasn't given credit, enough people were able to find my site, anyway, and I sold that painting (not for much at all, grant you) and a few other pieces.

Here's the painting:

"A Change In Underwear We Can Believe In"

Does Tom Cruise Have A Peg Leg?

I think I'm going to watch Valkyrie tonight because I want to see Tom Cruise with that patch over his eye. A friend piqued my curiosity today because he said Tom Cruise also has some other wounds besides the eye in the movie. I hope he has a peg leg!

The Leaves On Masturbator Lane

I've been raking leaves at work at the porn store the past couple days. There is this little alleyway behind the store that is covered with leaves that we call "Masturbator Lane." Alot of the masturbators that come into the store like to come in from the back and walk down this alley so people won't see them coming in to jerk off. So I'm in the alley with my rake, getting rid of all these fucking leaves as masturbators and jerk-offs walk by me, saying lame shit like, "Good day to rake some leaves, huh?" I'm thinking, "Yeah, just like it is a good day to go into a dark movie booth and play with fucking PUD, right?"

I have to rake the leaves on Masturbator Lane every year around this time, but usually it doesn't bother me. Today, though, I guess I'm getting more sensitive because raking the leaves made me sort of sad. It's like all these leaves are brown and dead and crispy. They are going to get burnt or some of them are just going to lie there and rot and it is just so sad, isn't it? As I was raking them I said to them, "Well the party is over, boys." It was just a few months ago that these leaves were brand new. They were green and fresh, with water running through their veins as they bathed in the spring-time sun. Then they basked in the kisses of the summer sky, laughed with their other leaf buddies on the branch, having a party, and now they are fucking DEAD. Yes, the party is indeed over, just like it will be for all of us someday, I guess.

And before someone says something like, "Don't worry, the leaves will be back next year and they will be green again, because, NO, they won't. The particular, specific leaves I raked up today are DEAD FOREVER just you are going to be someday, you dead FUCK.

I've been fucking around on You Tube and I forgot how many killer songs Pat Benatar has.

Never again?
Isn't that what you said?

The Leaves On Masturbator Lane?

I've been raking leaves at work at the porn store the past couple days. There is this little alleyway behind the store that is covered with leaves that we call "Masturbator Lane." Alot of the masturbators that come into the store like to come in from the back and walk down this alley so people won't see them coming in to jerk off. So I'm in the alley with my rake, getting rid of all these fucking leaves as masturbators and jerk-offs walk by me, saying lame shit like, "Good day to rake some leaves, huh?" I'm thinking, "Yeah, just like it is a good day to go into a dark movie booth and play with fucking PUD, right?"

I have to rake the leaves on Masturbator Lane every year around this time, but usually it doesn't bother me. Today, though, I guess I'm getting more sensitive because raking the leaves made me sort of sad. It's like all these leaves are brown and dead and crispy. They are going to get burnt or some of them are just going to lie there and rot and it is just so sad, isn't it? As I was raking them I said to them, "Well the party is over, boys." It was just a few months ago that these leaves were brand new. They were green and fresh, with water running through their veins as they bathed in the spring-time sun. Then they basked in the kisses of the summer sky, laughed with their other leaf buddies on the branch, having a party, and now they are fucking DEAD. Yes, the party is indeed over, just like it will be for all of us someday, I guess.

And before someone says something like, "Don't worry, the leaves will be back next year and they will be green again, because, NO, they won't. The particular, specific leaves I raked up today are DEAD FOREVER just you are going to be someday, you dead FUCK.

I've been fucking around on You Tube and I forgot how many killer songs Pat Benatar has.

Never again?
Isn't that what you said?

"V" Is For Your Cold Lizard Vagina

Holy crap, is this babe hot! I watched V last night, mainly because I was sucked into it by seeing some hot, sexy ad for it featuring this chick while I was dicking around on You Tube yesterday morning. In the ad she says, "We come in peace, always!" Hahahha, yeah, I'd like to cum on your hot reptile ass in peace always, too! I like her short, hip, space-age hair-cut and elegantly iniquitous elfin features. I guess this chick's real name is Morena Baccarin, a Brazilian/Italian (whatta hella combination!) actress with deep, dark communion-inducing eyes. She plays "Anna," the leader of the visiting aliens to Earth in the new "re-imagining" of the popular 80's mini-series. I tried to find some naked pics of Baccarin, but no luck. She is beautiful, of course, and it's too bad they don't just have her walking around naked during the whole show like Mathilda May in Life Force. What makes her even hotter is knowing that underneath her soft, milk-white sexy skin she is a scale-ridden, green and slimy reptilian LIzArD BitCH with a tight, wet lizard CuNT that is colder than the dead but you know it feels sooooo good to put your pecker into!

I watched the original V mini-series on TV in the 80's, and though they had a female leader in that one, too, she wasn't near as hot as "Anna" and there wasn't near the focus on her and her seductive femme fatale beauty as there is in the new one. And in the original, the first-in-command was actually some dorky looking DUDE named "John," if I remember right. A couple years ago I watched the original again, actually, after reading a couple David Icke books. David Icke's hilarious, whirlwind conspiracy theories that ramble on and on about the anunnaki, a race of reptilian aliens that have ruled over earth and have lived secretly among us for thousands of years, renewed my interest in V, so I borrowed the 80's version from a friend.

Oh yeah, and I liked how in the new one last night, Anna says she wants to give earthlings "Universal Health Care," a spooky parallel to contemporary events, implying that Obama and the Democrats might be aliens?

For a night cap, I actually found They Live-- another movie about aliens living among us-- on free On Demand and watched it, too. To be honest, there does seem to be a lot of compelling evidence that this stuff could actually have some truth to it. You just need to look at the world through the right pair of sunglasses and it becomes perfectly clear. Personally, I'd just like to have a pair of sunglasses that would allow me to see "Anna" naked next week as I watch the second episode of V!!

The Werewolf Of Motel 6

So I left Taco Bell in mid-August after working there about a month and a half. The reason I quit is because Motel 6 called me and wanted me to be a front desk clerk there full time, 40 hours a week. I was only getting 20 hours a week at Taco Bell and that, combined with the 20 hours I still worked at the porn store a week, was helping me make progress on my bills but I just wasn't get caught up fast enough. I decided fuck it, I'd never worked front desk at a motel before so I took the job, though I was leery about how well I'd handle working a total of 60+ hours a week. I figured I'd tough it out for a couple months, get a couple months ahead on my rent, then tell Motel 6 to get fucked after I got my cable and Internet hooked back up.

Working 60 + hours a week is a bitch, but I was able to do it for two months, and what got me through it was thinking about hairy tacos while working my shifts at Motel 6. The job sucked, and the worst part about it were all the guests fucking BITCHING at me about their rooms. I swear, I'd never been so verbally abused in all my life! They'd complain about their sheets being dirty; that they didn't have towels, or not enough of them; that there was a sandwich underneath their bed; that their remote control didn't work; that the room was moldy; that their non-smoking room smelled like smoke, etc., and the list goes on and on about how these fuckers BITCHED at me. I'd actually never thought about it before I took the job. I figured it would be easy because of the low number of transactions and the fact that, since the lowest cost per transaction was $40.31 (one person for one night), most people would pay with credit cards so I wouldn't have to fuck with alot of cash. But actually, it was during the start of football season in a major college town ; the Motel 6 is by the football stadium and during game weekends I'd be checking people in from the start to finish of my shift. And the fucking PHONE would never stop ringing, MOTHER FUCK, how I hated that goddam phone, people calling to make reservations while I'm trying to check someone in; and while all this is going on some Mexican worker dude keeps bugging me, saying that housekeeping stole his goddam bag of SKITTLES! HAAHAHAHA!! Oh yeah, and the late night drunk fucks. God, I'm glad I quit drinking five years ago because all these drunk fuckers wanting rooms after the bars closed reminded me of how disgusting I used to be when I was drunk.

But thinking of hairy tacos got me through it. In my few idle moments I'd step outside to smoke a cigarette. I liked fantasizing about the girls I'd checked in during my shift. I figured if a girl gets a motel room by herself or with a female friend(s), especially in the evening, one of the first things she does is take off all her clothes. She has just finished working or has been traveling for a long time, and she wants to get nice and comfortable. I checked in sooooo many hot chicks and I always gave them a "courtesy call" 30 minutes after giving them their key to make sure their room was okay. I figured thirty minutes was just time enough for them to get naked, but not enough for them to already be in the shower, and I imagined they were naked when I called them. "Hello, this is the front desk, just making sure your room is okay," I would say to them, and I'd wonder if they had a hairy taco between their legs, whether they had a bush or were shaven. I know that a lot more girls shave their pussies these days than used to, but believe me, alot of them still don't and it drove me mad wondering which of the hot babes I checked in to the Motel 6 on any given night had a tasty HaiRY TaCO between her legs waiting for me to fuck!

After I'd worked there nearly two months, I knew I was about ready to quit, so I got this idea in my head to find out which of these babes had a mound of pubic hair between her legs one night. I went to Taco Bell before my shift and got about 5 tacos. I brought a bag of my own hair with me from when I'd shaved my head a few weeks earlier, and I put a handful of hair in each taco. I then got to Motel 6 a little early and I checked on the computer to find out which rooms were vacant. While the clerk I was about to relieve was in the bathroom, I made keys for five rooms. Then when the clerk got out of the bathroom I told her I was going to go out and smoke a cigarette, but what I REALLY did was go inside these five vacant rooms and placed a "HAIRY TACO" in the shower. That night, during my shift, I picked out the five hottest babes that wanted a room and I sent them to the rooms with the "hairy tacos." See, I'm smart because by putting the tacos in the shower I insured that, when they called me bitching about it, that they would be BUTT FUCKING NAKED. And any of them who didn't call to complain, well, there must be a reason why they don't mind a "hairy taco" being in their shower, right? Because they've got one between their fucking legs!

That night, as my shift wore one, I checked five different hot babes into the rooms with "hairy tacos" in the showers, and all five of them called me to complain anywhere from an hour to three hours after I checked them into their room. "Oh, I'm so sorry, ma'am," I said to them as they screamed at me on the phone, "There's a fucking taco with hairs in it in my shower!" Then I gleefully went to their rooms and took it out as they stood there scowling at me with their fresh, clean towels wrapped around their gorgeous naked bodies. There was only about an hour left of my shift when the FIFTH girl complained. I was severely disappointed when she called because she was the most beautiful of the bunch. She had long jet black hair, dark eyes. Her breasts were big and she wore a low-cut blouse while I checked her in, her cleavage oozing out of it and beckoning me to fondle it. She had gorgeous ethnic, Latina looks and I knew that if she had a hairy taco between her legs, that it must be tastier than anything Taco Bell could create, and especially better than the one I'd placed in her shower. But when she called and bitched me out about the "hairy taco," I assumed she didn't have one, herself, between her legs, so I gloomily went to her room to take the taco out, upset that ALL FIVE of these chicks were clean-shaven.

The woman answered the door with her bath towel wrapped around her. I said, "I'm here to take the "hairy taco" out of your shower, ma'am, sorry about that." That's when my werewolf cock became stiffer than a statue as I watched this gorgeous woman, this awe-inspiring Latina babe, let her towel drop as she said, "The only 'hairy taco' I know of in here is this one right between my fucking legs!" I then began to howl. I reached into my back pocket and grabbed my werewolf mask and put it on while looking at the beautiful mound of pitch-black pubes that covered this woman's vagina. It was a thick, soft, huge mound of pussy hair that glistened and beckoned me as I howled and forced myself into her room. I grabbed her and threw her on the bed, unable to control my wolfen desire as I began to fuck her hairy taco relentlessly, occasionally stopping to bury my face in it between rounds of deep penetrating thrusts of my meat into her pretty pink shell. After I finished fucking her I looked in the shower and the taco I'd put in it was not there. It wasn't in the trash, either. Perplexed, I said to the woman, "So where did that taco go?"

"I ate it," she said, "hair and all." We both laughed as I put my clothes back on and hurried back to the front desk to do change-over. It would be my last night on the job.

Hairy Porn DVD Cases On The Taco Bell Counter

Ever since I started being the Taco Werewolf, I've been amazed at all the synchronicity in my life regarding the merging of body hair and Mexican food. My mother always told me growing up that eating alot of burritos would grow hair on my chest, but I wasn't prepared for all the numerous coincidences and connections I would encounter once I consciously began to seek out creative inspiration regarding werewolf life-styles involving Mexican food. One of these inspirational moments occurred while I was working at Taco Bell this past summer, and it actually helped me fix a broken relationship with a dear friend.

Taco Bell called me and gave me a job back in July, rescuing me from having to work for that slimeball, Mitch, selling his goddam glowsticks. In March and April I'd applied to all the Mexican restaurants in town, figuring it would give me some good "street cred" to be Taco Werewolf and having worked in a Mexican restaurant at one point or another. It could only enhance my credentials, right? It didn't bother me to be a 39-year old man working in a fast food joint, making tacos and being ordered around by 16-year old punk kids. I did it for art's sake and for the sake of comedy, if not even to humble myself a little. These kids could tell me to grab a mop and squirt sour cream on a goddam gordita with all the rudeness and impudence their snot-nosed personalities could muster, but they couldn't touch my wolfen soul. They couldn't keep my body hair from growing, my pubes from sprouting, my heart from howling, or keep me from reading my werewolf books. The joke was on THEM in the end. People have no idea what I'm really thinking or what I'm really up to while I pretend to participate in their mundane world or work in their lousy restaurants. I've had a secret agenda since the day I was born.

People are always talking about how a even a monkey could work in a place like Taco Bell, but to tell you the truth, that shit was hard! There's alot of stuff to remember. You have to know which ingredients go in what item: how to make a Mexican pizza and how long to cook it; the subtle difference between a gordita and a chalupa; what orders require guacamole and which require sour cream. When to use tomatoes, how much lettuce to put in each taco, and the list goes on and on. To my credit, I bit my tongue and just smiled while this 18-year old kid who was training me chided me and snapped at me while I struggled to learn the menu. There was one time when a customer complained that the steak in his fajita wasn't fully cooked-- and that it had too much onions it-- when this kid training me told me if I didn't shape up, he was going to have me cleaning the toilet every night. I said fine, and left the kitchen area to head straight into the bathroom. About ten minutes later, the manager came into the bathroom to see me on my hands and knees, giddily scrubbing the toilet bowl. "You need to be behind the counter learning to make a steak fajita right, is what you need to be doing," he said. I just said okay, and I walked back into the kitchen to make fajitas, having not washed my hands. Hahahhaaa.

After a couple weeks, though, I settled in, learned the menu by heart, and became one of the stars of the crew. After about three weeks, I was put on the cash register and got to wear a set of headphones to work the drive-thru. The interesting part came when an ex-friend of mine, Chimp, came in to order some tacos. Chimp used to be a good friend of mine when I started making my Taco Werewolf websites a few years ago. He actually took a few of the photosets of me, most notably the one of me making a Taco Sacrifice (Adults Only! NSFW!) in a graveyard. He played a big part in Taco Werewolf getting off the ground. The problem arose when he borrowed a bunch of my hairy porn DVD cases to serve as background for a short horror film he was supposed to be making, part of which would take place in a porn store. He borrowed my hairy porn movie cases and promised me a small part in the movie in return. Funny thing is, that was two fucking YEARS ago and I hadn't heard a word from him since until he came into Taco Bell that day.

Needless to say, I refused to sell him any tacos until he returned my fucking porn cases. Chimp understood, and he actually seemed sorry for having screwed me over, for not responding to my emails or answering my phone calls all this time. Come to find out, he'd been avoiding me because he was embarrassed that he hadn't even made the damn movie, and that my fucking porn cases had just been sitting in his apartment all this time. It was a magical moment when Chimp came in to the Taco Bell a couple days later to return the cases, though. He brought them all into the restaurant in a black trash bag. I asked him to dump them all right on the counter so I could make sure they were all there. I looked at the pictures on all the cases and saw sweet, furry beavers, all these beautiful hirsute women getting fucked in their figurative tacos as the smell of actual, literal tacos lingered in the air! Chimp looked at me and smiled because he knew what I was thinking. I was thinking about hairy pussy! I was gleefully imagining my werewolf cock going deep inside a HaiRY TaCO, and that's when I shook Chimp's hand and our friendship was repaired. "Thanks for bringing back my porn cases, dude," I said. "Come back later on during my lunch break and you and I can eat our tacos together." Chimp agreed and even offered to pay for them to make up for his mistake. As we ate our tacos that day and talked about old times, we both marveled over how body hair and Mexican food seemed to be married to one another, at least in our own lives, and how they constantly seemed to intersect. It was especially hilarious when Chimp bit into one of the tacos and frowned, said, "Ew! What the fuck?" He then proceeded to pull a long hair out of his mouth that had been inside the taco as I laughed my ass off. It was one of my pubic hairs that I had intentionally stuck in there when I made it, to get him back! Hahahahahaa.