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.