It was a mighty burrito, a fine opponent, Joe thought. Technically, it was a chimichanga but, technically, he didn’t know the difference. Something about frying. But this burrito was microwaved, so that was all irrelevant. All that mattered was the battle.
Fork in hand, he considered his foe. He was big, for a burrito. Definitely bigger than a baby’s arm. The package had described him as XXL. Joe was of only average size but, being human, still had a sizable height and weight advantage on the burrito. But the packaging had also declared the burrito to be “red-hot”, so Joe wasn’t underestimating his opponent.
The heat could be the deciding factor in this battle. Joe was more of a mild-to-medium guy, not disposed to the spicier side of the culinary universe. He usually garnished his burritos with melted cheese and crisp lettuce. But this was a bare knuckle brawl and he was going in with no more protection than a can of Pepsi.
The time for contemplation was over. Joe stabbed his opponent with his fork, tearing a wide gash into the tortilla flesh. Steam fled through the opening. The burrito ignored him, continued about his business, not even giving Joe the courtesy of acknowledging his existence. Refusing to allow the burrito’s seeming disinterest to shake him, Joe plunged the hot wrapper into his mouth and chewed eagerly.
The first bite wasn’t bad but it was mostly tortilla with little filling, thus not representative of the fire that was to come. Still, he chewed it eagerly. He wasn’t desperately starving, but he was hungry, which was what had led to this man vs burrito face-off.
He took his first bite of the filling and was relieved to find that it didn’t burn his tongue. This is going to be easy, he thought. He dug in, plowing through the “beef” and beans and whatever else was contained within the steaming tortilla.
Halfway through, he realized the burrito was fighting back. Sweat had begun rolling down his forehead. His sinuses were clearer than they had been for weeks. But his stomach felt fine, his jaw was still working, he fought on.
Three quarters of the way through, he felt his resolve waning. Perhaps it wasn’t the spiciness, perhaps it was the sheer size of the behemoth burrito. Maybe he had overestimated his hunger. But he wouldn’t give up. He had resolved to see this fight through to the finish and, win or lose, he was going to hear that final bell.
Bite after bite, he fought. Minimal swigs of Pepsi to preserve whatever room remained in his stomach. He chewed and he swallowed and he made it to the other end.
With a sigh of relief, he ate the last bit of tortilla and finished off the Pepsi, announcing his victory with a large belch. I had been a hard fought battle but he had come out on top. But he wasn’t looking forward to the rematch the next morning.
Note: Something I’ve never noted about these Tumblr posts is that they’re generally spur-of-the-moment creative writing exercises. 95% of the time, I simply get my reminder email that it’s time to update Tumblr and I start typing. There’s generally little to no editing. What you see above is a raw first draft, written in the Tumblr text post box over the course of the day. Usually, they’re much shorter pieces, so the level of suckitude doesn’t have an opportunity to reach very high. This time, the piece was obviously a bit longer. So I apologize for your wasted time.