There's a burrito place on campus that I frequent (contrary to popular belief, I am a big fan of burritos in general, and spicy burritos in particular), and today it struck me: how awesome would it be to sell a burrito to myself?!?! I suspect the conversation would go something like this.
BURR= BURRITO-PLACE EMPLOYEE VERSION OF ME
HUNGR= HUNGRY BURRITO-CONSUMER VERSION OF ME
BURR: Next?
HUNGR: Yeah, can I get a chicken burrito?
BURR: HELL YES you can.
HUNGR: Well that's just fantastic!
BURR: Sauce?
HUNGR: Uhhhhhhhhqueso.
BURR: Queso...alriight...vegetables?
HUNGR: Lettuce, jalapenos, and hot salsa.
BURR: Oookay, lettuce...salsaaaa...HEY! get over here, ya jalapenos.
HUNGR: Little bastards.
BURR: Damn right. Have a burrito.
HUNGR: Sweet.
BURR: Hey, you look a lot like me.
To make this fantasy come true, I am prepared to a) work at a burrito place the rest of my life and b) clone myself. Ethics be damned! This is just TOO AWESOME to NOT happen (ZOMG split infinitive).
(Speaking of morals and clones and stuff, I want to talk about genetic engineering one of these times. I won't now, because I don't want to harsh my burrito-induced buzz. One of these days...PREPARE YOURSELVES!)
Part 2 of the burrito ordeal:
I want to reach a state of semi-fame one day, for a very specific reason. I figure this will be easiest if I am a) an actor or b) a sports player, so I plan on dropping my physics major and pursuing something I a) don't enjoy doing or b) suck at. It's all worth it, and you'll know why.
One day, when I am semi-famous, I will be walking around in some city, and I will buy a burrito. I will take this burrito out on the street with me, and find someone waiting at a crosswalk (note: he does not recognize me, since I'm only semi-famous. Otherwise, this would not work). I will stand there nicely for a few seconds, before taking a big ol' bite of the burrito, and turning to my pedestrian companion.
"MMMMMM" I will say, to his great alarm. "This is one TASTY burrito."
In my imagination, he gives the slight smile you normally reserve for crazy bearded men handing out bibles, and turn away, hoping the light will change. It could, but it doesn't, and it shouldn't. He is trapped there with me, so I continue.
"Seriously, this burrito is grade-A delectable. Someone went out of his way to make this treat extra-tasty, just for me. In all honesty I can safely say I have never encountered such a delicious Mexican meal in all my years of eating burritos, and contrary to popular belief, I am a big fan of burritos in general, and spicy burritos in particular. Would you like a bite?"
I shove the half-eaten burrito toward his face, and he turns in alarm to see my face RIGHT THERE, the eyes burning with madness. It is a fearsome visage that will haunt his dreams forever more.
He blabbers out some refusal of my offer, the little white crosswalk-guy turns on and he hurries across the street before I can lunge at him again.
A week later, he sees a movie with me in it. His eyes bulge with incredulity; unable to contain himself, he gets to his feet, points to the screen and shouts "that's him! That's the burrito guy!". In the back of the theater, I laugh softly to myself: now I can die happy.
Too bad physicists never achieve states of semi-fame; the only guy anyone can identify by looks is Stephen Hawking, and I think it'd have a different effect coming from him.
But you know what? I bet Bill Nye could pull it off.
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