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The Burrito's Fate

Updated on December 12, 2020

It was a dark and stormy night… okay it wasn’t stormy… and it was a strip mall in the middle of Plano, Texas in a somewhat wealthy neighborhood so it was pretty well-lit. Anyway this story begins at Serrano, a popular Mexican-American fusion restaurant that specializes in large burritos.

Jacqueline nervously looked at her watch. 8:47pm. It was almost closing time, but she should be able to get the food and get out. Her periwinkle blue pantsuit was starting to chafe from all the running around she did that day. Maybe she should’ve stuck with skirts. There weren’t many people in the restaurant, which was good since her agoraphobia was acting up again.

There was only one person in front of Jacqueline, but he was the type of person who didn’t like to rush things. She knew this, because he was taking FOREVER to order his burrito. She also knew he was of the inferior blue-collar class due to his ballcap, green plaid shirt, and stone washed jeans.

“Lemme see here uh…” the brainless blue-collar bub blubbered as he brushed his beard. “I’ll take one of them barbacoa burritos.”

“Barbacoa?” the burrito artist acknowledged. “Oh you’re in luck tonight. This is the last bit of barbacoa we have.”

“Well I guess I do feel blessed,” the mysterious man mentioned. His voice had a definite dulled Texas twang to it.

“Um uhh, excuse me!” Jacqueline blurted out. “Am I correct in hearing that you have NO more barbacoa?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re fresh out.” the burrito artist replied, assembling together the bits of burrito goodness.

“Oh no no no. This won’t do. I really need barbacoa,” Jacqueline said, panting with frustration. What were the odds that of all the nights she needed a barbacoa burrito they would be out of barbacoa. She was certainly going to write a nasty letter to the Serrano corporate office using her boss’s letterhead. And she knew that would carry some weight.

“You don’t understand!” Jacqueline wailed. “I was instructed to get barbacoa and ONLY barbacoa! Getting any other filling would make my boss very angry, and you DO NOT want to make my boss angry!”

“And who is your boss?” the burrito artist sheepishly squeaked.

“The President of the United States!” Jacqueline said as she saluted.

“The President’s here?!” someone shouted.

The entire room gasped.

Somewhere in the back a toilet flushed.

“Well no not HERE here, but he’s waiting for me at the hotel,” Jacqueline said.

The bearish bearded ballcapped man standing at the counter spoke up. “You know a big burrito is probably not a good idea for the President to have this late at night. He won’t be able to sleep with all that digesting he’ll be doing.”

Jacqueline pointed her finger at the man and gave him a stare that would blister the barnacles off a battleship. “I don’t question our glorious leader’s orders, I just follow them, and if the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES WANTS A BARBACOA BURRITO AT NINE O’CLOCK AT NIGHT…. then he gets his barbacoa burrito!”


“Be quiet, woman!” a voice shouted.

Jacqueline turned to see a man dressed in an elegant black and red satin robe. His old and weathered face carried a slight frown of disapproval.

“And who are you to tell me to shut up?!” Jacqueline growled.

“I am Cardinal Javier Ernesto de Salazar y Ortega, and I too am on a mission. I am on a mission from God.”

“A mission from God!” the one other Catholic in the restaurant shouted.

“Si, and to complete my mission I must retrieve a barbacoa burrito for his holiness, the Pope.”

“THE POPE IS IN TOWN?!” the other Catholic shouted before fainting.

“You know we still have plenty of steak. Barbacoa is a type of steak,” the burrito artist chimed in, hoping to resolve a potentially disastrous situation before it got out of hand.

“Certainly not!” said the cardinal, flapping his cloak in a dramatic fashion. “I was given strict instructions to retrieve a barbacoa burrito. If your king asks of you a barbacoa burrito then you give him what he asks, not some poor imitation. I shall see that God moves Heaven and Earth before I give his earthly representative a bogus barbacoa burrito!”

A terrible tension hung in the air, as the cardinal and the President’s concierge stared each other down. They paced in a circle like a duel of enraged feral cats; there could be bloodshed at any moment.

“FOOLISH MORTALS!” a booming voice bellowed from the back of the line.

The entire restaurant turned to see a tall elderly man with a long and twisted white beard.

“Who dares to disrupt us?” the cardinal scowled.

“I am Horus, the greatest of deities! I have come to this restaurant to seek out the deliciousness that is the Serrano barbacoa burrito! Only one who wishes for their own destruction would defy me!”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the burrito artist said as he finished bagging the beautiful barbacoa burrito. “but if you had the forethought to come about an hour and a half ago, when we had plenty of barbacoa, then we wouldn’t have this problem.”

Horus lifted a finger and shot a beam of light at the poor burrito artist, setting him aflame.

“Technically he’s correct,” the bearded ballcap man said as he firmly held the brown burrito bag.

“Yes I know,” Horus admitted. “However, I really hate it when someone points out my faults. Now where was I? … Oh yes, GIVE ME THE BARBACOA BURRITO, MORTAL!”

“Don’t listen to him,” Jacqueline interrupted, ignoring the fact that the Egyptian deity just set a person on fire with his appendages. “Give me the burrito and you will get money and power that only a President can give!”

“My good sir,” the cardinal smiled. “Give me the burrito and I will ensure you receive a blessing from the Pope, and God’s countenance will shine down upon you, ensuring you a place at his side in Heaven.”

“Yeah, I’m not really religious,” the burrito-equipped man muttered.

“That’s okay; we can work with that,” the cardinal replied.

“I’m an atheist.”

“Not a problem,” the cardinal quipped. “We can work with that too.”

“You just want my burrito.”


“Sir, think of the President! You wouldn’t want to let down the President, would you?” Jacqueline pleaded.

“My good man, do you wish for God to smite you for not thinking of those less fortunate than you?” the cardinal held out his hand.

“The Pope’s not less fortunate!” Jacqueline shouted.

“Yes, well… he wouldn’t be able to eat such a large burrito so he’s going to give half of it to feed the uh... hungry children of the world.”

“Are you sure you’re a cardinal, Cardinal?” the man with the burrito asked.

“SILENCE!” shouted Horus as he transformed into a large muscular man with golden skin and the head of a falcon. “YOUR INSOLENCE ENDS HERE! GIVE ME THE BARBACOA BURRITO OR FACE YOUR OWN DESTRUCTION!”

This was turning into quite a debacle.

The burrito-laden lad decided that enough was enough. “No thanks, guys. I’m gonna go eat my burrito now,” he said as he walked out the door, went home and quietly devoured his flour tortilla-wrapped prize. And it was the most delicious burrito he had ever eaten.

Horus scratched his head. “Anyone want to go for Chinese?”


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