PORTRAIT OF JESUS IN HOT SAUCE

I am an active man.  Incredibly so.   And quite impossible to find.
And I say this because even though I've been at or near my desk all morning, it wasn't until I had my face buried in a burrito during lunch that everybody needed to speak with me. 
No, not all at once. One by one. By one.
Thank you, guys, I now have acid indigestion.

It was a good burrito.  Fatty pork plus spicy sauce.
It should have been a slice of heaven.
As in "oh my goodness, this burrito con carnitas y salsa picante sin frijoles is heavenly!"
Un sabor celestial, de verdad!

Jesus makes a damned fine burrito.

Heaven, I was told when I was in kindergarten, was where you would always eat delicious porridge out of golden bowls.  At that time I had no idea what porridge was.
Now I do.
Porridge, as most Americans like it, is nasty muck.
Very unlikely that it would be improved by gold.

I'm certain that if heaven existed, it would be filled with lobster.
Lobster is a surefire way to keep the women happy.
Women love lobster, far more than life itself.
A buffet with several lobster dishes.
That's heaven.

We men will just be glad that our women are happy.
And take satisfaction in an endless burrito bar.
Con carnitas, y salsa picante.
Sin frijoles.

No beans in heaven.
Don't want to ruin the place.
The ducts up there cannot handle beans.
Something about a ventilation system that's 5772 years old.
5773.

Anyhow, no beans. 

Nor people who interrupt lunch.

De verdad.


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