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To The La Bamba Tacos that Gave Me Diarrhea

Dear La Bamba,

What started as a normal day, turned really shitty (literally) after deciding to make a taco stop. You forever ruined the undeniable trust I always had with tacos. It was nearly three years ago, but those stomach turns still haunt me.

I remember it like it was yesterday: I woke up that morning and had my usual fucking fit at my alarm. I walked to class with my headphones in (of course no music was playing), and stared at the ground to do my best to avoid eye contact with those strange morning people that walk around the Quad smiling at everyone. I sat in class daydreaming about all the food I’d eat once I got home.

Anyway, let’s cut to the chase of how you ruined my life, and more importantly, my digestive system. Once class was finally over I decided to take a stroll to your ‘establishment’ for lunch. My mouth began to water as I stared at your menu, then at the point of no return I asked for three steak tacos. The worker smiled at me, which at the time I thought was a friendly gesture, and not a “You’re about to make you shit yourself” smile.

I took bite and it wasn’t the best taco I ever had, but it tasted like a full-course 5 star meal. I finished every bite and walked out of your restaurant feeling newly refreshed and satisfied. You told me to have a good day and nonetheless, I did. But only for the next five seconds. I was stopped in my tracks as soon as I stepped out the door with a growing storm rumbling around in my stomach. I immediately ran into D.P. Dough to relieve myself.

After nearly 2 hours I bolted out of the bathroom because your shitty tacos made me late for class. Thanks to you, I had to walk of shame 20 minutes late into a large lecture hall. Our professor’s pointless words were then interrupted by an obnoxiously loud cry that came from my stomach and the entire class turned their heads to me. Five minutes later I was running through rows, stepping on faces and shoulders to get to the bathroom again.

Next time I will be dining at Tony’s for lunch, because they don’t make me shit all over my classmates.

The Person Whose Butthole You Ruined

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