Turns out, even tacos have The Man looking out for them and stifling culinary creativity! Here's how they have stomped on my attempts at rescuing the taco from gustatory conventionality.
1) 3-4 ounces of despair, fresh-picked from my Garden of Dreams I Am Now Too Old To Accomplish - like ever running a sub-5 minute mile again.
2) A squirt of luscious droopiness, for my eyelids.
3) One piece of genetic therapy, just in case regular therapy doesn't work, and I want to go all biological and stuff.
4) At least 7 songs by Yo La Tengo... I shall start with "Blue Line Swinger", "Barnaby, Hardly Working", and "Autumn Sweater" and from there it's a stage dive into so much other awesomeness that it probably doesn't matter. Someone will have to hold my taco while I stage dive, though.
5) A secondary taco - not a taco layered inside of the first taco, but an entirely self-contained, autonomous second taco unit that will step in for the first taco in the unlikely and unfortunate event that the first taco is unable to perform its taco duties.
6) Tits. I'm a healthy, heterosexual American male. I feel my taco should have breasts. Is that so wrong?
7) A spicy, but understanding, salsa which will make even my post-taco burps diplomatic and caring.
8) The internet. I feel it shouldn't take much to make my tacos wireless. I don't know why they should be; they just ... Should. Okay?
9) Half a slice of Ambiguity. Which half a slice? Hard to say, but that's the beauty of this ingredient. In the end, will you even know if you have eaten the taco? No, you won't, and the question might haunt you for weeks, making it the most satisfying taco ever. Much more so than those simple declarative tacos that leave no doubt and insult your intelligence / stomach.
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