Episode Notes
Who's hungry?! What could be less threatening than a taco? They're crunchy and delicious... and they certainly won't destroy your body and consume your soul or anything...
Taco Tuesday by Keith Tomlin
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Music by Ray Mattis http://raymattispresents.bandcamp.com
Produced by Daniel Wilder
This episode sponsored by HenFlix.com
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Transcript:
My god, what is happening to me?  I’m trapped in my own body.  I can feel myself moving, walking around but I am not in control.  Sometimes, if I concentrate hard enough, I can see out of my eyes but that is becoming harder and harder to do.  I occasionally hear bits and pieces of muffled conversation but, as time goes by, that too is fading away.
All I know is that I am slowly losing my mind.  I don’t think I’m going crazy but my memories are fading away, losing all of the details that make up my life.  I mean, I know my name is John Davidson and that I was born in Ohio but I can’t quite remember what city.  I know it started with an ’S’.  Sandusky?  Springfield?  I just can’t remember.  My childhood is gone along with most of my high school and college days.  I know that I currently live in Columbus, Ohio but the rest of my life is like looking into a foggy darkness.  The only memories that are clear are the events that happened the last few days.  I’m afraid that if I don’t keep at least that much fresh in my mind, there will be nothing left of me. 
I think it began a few days ago.  It was morning and I was standing in line at the coffee shop in the building in which I work.  I was still rubbing the sleep from my eyes when I heard a cheerful voice behind me.
“Do you know the best thing about Tuesday mornings?  It’s not Monday!”
I turned to see a man in this 30’s, dressed in a nice suit, grinning broadly.  I didn’t recognize him but I figured he must be new here.  It’s an unspoken rule that you never talk to others in line, especially this early in the morning.  Regulars to the coffee shop know this and everyone follows this tradition.
“Yeah, huh.  I know,”  I said.  Not my most eloquent statement but it was early and I was trying to walk that fine line between being polite and trying to discourage him from further conversation.
I turned and faced forward, hoping this would signal my unwillingness to converse but I wasn’t surprised when he continued talking.
“It should be a great day, super-duper!  It’s supposed to hit 75 degrees with no chance of rain,” said the jovial voice behind me.  
I rolled my eyes, not turning around to look at him but giving a noncommittal nod and a low grunt.
He continued, “I can’t believe that we’ll be stuck in an office on a day like this.”
I made sure not to move a muscle, I didn’t want to send any hint of encouragement.
“Say, pal,” he said, “you look like a man that enjoys a good taco.”
Ok, I admit, this piqued my interest.  It was an odd thing to say to a stranger during the morning coffee rush.  It wasn’t just the words he said, it was also how he said it.  His voice had taken on an authoritative air and I had turned to face him without realizing that I had done so.  His eyes locked with mine and I could not look away.
“Last night,” he stated, “I ate at this Mexican place that was out of this world.”  He sighed, a blissful look momentarily passing over his face before he continued.  “It’s a bit out of the way but, friend, it is worth the drive. Get the tacos.  Trust me, it will change.  Your.  Life.”  He pulled out a business card and handed it to me.  “Here’s the address, check it out.  You don’t want to live to regret it.”
I took the card like a man in a daze.  I mumbled something and turned to face forward and realized that no one was between me and the counter.  The barista was asking if I was ready to order and, from the tone of this voice, this wasn’t the first time he asked.  I hurried to the counter and placed my usual order.  While waiting on my coffee, I took a look behind me and found that the man was gone.  I began to doubt that he was ever there until I felt the outline of a business card in my shirt pocket.  
The rest of the morning blurred by as usual.  I had the same worthless meetings, the same meaningless tasks. I nodded when I was expected to nod and shook my head when I was expected to shake my head.  I had thought that working at an advertising agency would be glamorous, that I would come up with clever ad campaigns, pitch ideas to grateful clients, and sit in on photoshoots with beautiful models.  Instead, I’m the guy that makes the visual aids to use in other people’s presentations.  If the client likes it, it’s because the account executive had an amazing idea.  If the client hates it, it’s because I screwed up the layout.  Oh well, it’s not all bad, one time I got to pick out the font.  
It wasn’t until lunchtime that I thought about that strange man again.  I had only a few minutes to grab lunch and I ran down to a burger joint on the corner.  As I bit into my sandwich, I realized that it tasted like cardboard.  The fries tasted the same way.  All I could think of was tacos and the thought of anything else sickened me.  I ended up throwing the hamburger and fries in the garbage and walking back to work, stomach growing.  
The rest of the day, I could think of nothing except tacos; seasoned ground beef, topped with lettuce and cheese in a toasted shell.  My distraction showed and I was asked several times if I was ok, once by someone who actually seemed concerned.  I assured everyone I was fine and I somehow stumbled my way through the rest of the workday.  At 5:00 pm, I left work and immediately drove to my favorite Mexican restaurant.  As I parked the car, I realized that the thought of the tacos from this place turned my stomach.  I sat in my car confused, my stomach growled, demanding food, but the thought of eating here made me retch.  I finally remembered the business card in my pocket.  I grabbed it, ripping my shirt in the process, and looked at the address printed on the card.  I threw the car in gear and sped out of the parking lot.  
I drove out of town and, after a 35-minute drive, I pulled into a parking lot in front of the restaurant listed on the card.  This strange building looked out of place, a one story structure made out of heavy gauge steel sheets, glowing with neon light.  It looked a strange sight, this neon monstrosity sitting at the edge of an empty field in the middle of nowhere.  My stomach ached, huger pains shooting up into my chest.  I quickly shut the car off and scurried inside.  I don’t remember much about the inside of the place.  I recall there was a strange-looking man, small and lanky, who lead me to a seat at a rough wooden table.  He slipped away without saying a word.  I also seem to recall other people, some writhing on the floor, but I can’t be sure that was real, everything seemed like a dream.  After a minute, or maybe an hour, the small man returned, bearing a plate full of tacos.  He placed the plate in front of me, nodded, and disappeared again.  Well, to be honest, he could have been standing next to me the whole time, I only had eyes for the tacos.  I quickly grabbed a taco and brought it up to my nose, taking a deep breath.  For a second, I thought I smelled rancid meat, mildew, and rot but that was quickly replaced by the tantalizing scent of taco meat so fast that I doubted I even smelled it in the first place.  Hands shaking with anticipation, I took my first bite.  
Pure ecstasy.  My god, every nerve ending in my body seemed to explode with pleasure.  I was shivering so badly that I could barely hang onto the taco.  I could feel every inch of my body pulse with orgasmic delight.  I took a second bite and the feeling increased tenfold.  I could feel every hair follicle standing on end, each one so sensitive that any movement would send shivers of pleasure coursing throughout my entire body. I was so erect that I ached, my penis straining against my underwear so hard that I thought it would burst out of my pants.  Every breath I took stoked the fires of my pleasure; each movement sent waves of shivers down my spine.  I climaxed over and over and over again.  I slid down the chair, ending up on the floor.  I have no idea how long I laid there, twitching with the slightest breeze, sated and sore.  I eventually struggled to my feet and stumbled out of the restaurant but I have no recollection of driving home.  
Next thing I know, my alarm is going off.  5:45 am.  I am still spent, every inch of my body aching.  The thought of moving sickened me, but after trying three times, I finally make it out of bed.  It never crossed my mind to call in sick, I was operating solely on autopilot.  I brushed my teeth, showered, shaved, dressed, and drove off to the office, all done in a daze, each movement born of repeated gestures I did thousands of times before.
I didn’t snap out of it until I was standing in line at the ground floor coffee shop.  A coworker tapped me on the shoulder.
“Damn, John, you look like shit.  Late night?” the man said.  It took me a moment to come up with a name for that face…  Steve, no, Stevens, Chad Stevens, from Accounting. 
“Yeah, not feeling the best, Maybe food poisoning…” I mumbled.  As soon as I said poison, it was like flipping a switch.  My stomach started to rebel and my bowels turned to water.  
I ran out of the coffee shop and stormed into the men’s room.  I dove into a stall, barely making it before I painted the back wall with what little was left in my stomach.  I quickly pulled down my pants and emptied my bowels