by Brent Sophocles
Nov. 5, 2006
Seriously, it's alright to call it pork. It's a burrito with pork. Not "carnitas." I took Spanish in high school. The word for pork was "puerco." If you were actually trying to be a Mexican restaurant, you would call it a "puerco burrito." But you don't. You're a gay restaurant. So you call it "carnitas." And you want to make me sound really gay saying that. But I won't. Not anymore.
Let me tell you, I have half a mind not to come back in this place anymore, except for the fact that the food is delicious. So I'm going to have my cake and eat it, too. I'm going to come in and say "pork burrito" every time I order, then watch you flick that around your skull until you realize I mean "carnitas", which is your word, skippy.
It will be funny to watch you delay for a second when you can't push the button like a robot (whose password is "carnitas" by the way). I bet you don't even hear the word "pork" during the day because all the other stiffs go along with your scheme and say "carnitas." I bet you go home and you tell your mom "Thanks for the carnitas chops, mom, they're delicious" and then get weird looks from your family at the dinner table.
You know, there's nothing worse than feeling like a total gaywad when you're ordering something that's a regular food with a fruity, exotic sounding name. Your burrito bowls are spelled bol as if that makes it authentically Mexican. And I'm also not a fan of that girl who's way to cheery when she asks you if you want "SALSA?!"
God, are Dockers required when you enter one of these places? How about a college student navy blue wool coat? This place totally looks like somewhere you get dragged carrying your girlfriend's purse after stops at Lady Foot Locker and The Pottery Barn where you pretend you're having fun making a crappy mug when you're actually just smiling and saying "God I hope I get sex for this" in the back of your head.
At least that was my experience with this place. God, that was emasculating. And by emasculating, I mean gay. It's a good thing you make tasty burritos. They were a consolation prize for going out with that chick. Who takes a first date shopping, and tells the guy how her mom is pressuring her to get married the whole time? The psycho "hold my purse, hey isn't green pottery glaze neat, lets have boring sex the rest of our lives together with a daughter named Madison!" kind. Hey! Guess what got thrown off the balcony into the street after you left? A mug!!
And no. Don't tell me what the ingredients are in the burrito. It's meat, cheese, rice and some kind of salsa. If you tell me about it containing saffron or juniper berries or some gay shit like that, I am going to punch you in the face. Just give me a damn pork burrito and let me drown my sorrows eating it on a metallic stool that's too tall to be comfortable.