Taco Bell

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like late night Taco Bell.

In other words, this place is a cruel mistress and I loath it. It also hates me and lets me know it by how I always feel the next morning. So, why can't I stay away? I'm a glutton for punishment is the shortest and best explanation. Everytime my friend Nate and I go on a drinking binge, all roads lead to TB.

I can't count the times I've woken up to what looked like a Taco Bell graveyard in my living room (or in this case, hotel room). Even worse, on this trip we went here back-to-back nights. So it was: Drink. Eat. Regret. Repeat. Don't look at me. I know. I'm pathetic. ...And I'm Mexican, so it's even more terrible that patron this place.

There must be a 12-step program out there. Maybe next time I'll check the back of the wrapper for a number to an anonymous help hot-line. TB has one, right? They should.

I don't remember the last time I ate here sober (maybe H.S?), but wow. On the weekends, the revenue they generation between 11pm and 3am must easily outdo the total for the entire rest of their operating hours. It's hard to beat the speed of service, the low prices, and availability during the time customers seek it out the most (late night).

What can I say? Taco Bell has charms to soothe a savage breast. You can judge me all you want, but if you're being honest with yourself you've probably given in to temptation, too... or have your own equivalent guilty pleasure.