El Diablo de los Muertos

Who wants a little Caliente in their Pantalones? 

“And on that day the foil lined packets did run red, the stomachs churned and the people who turned their eyes towards Vesuvius, they learned the terrible lessons once passed down upon Sodom…the prophecy had been fulfilled, all that remained now was the aftermath.” – The Chalupa Diaries, Book of Tasteful Revelations.

Picking up my daughter after a successful awards assembly I knew that I would have to reach deep into my bag of tricks to top the “everyone gets an award” frenzy we had just departed. With the light of creation in her eyes and my wife having another hour before I dropped her back at work I knew what must be done…it was time to make a run for the border. 10:40 in the a.m. may not be Taco Time to most, but here in the Midwest the Pork Plant opens early and the Migrant workers have brought with them the advanced culture of early lunch. But Waffle Tacos are awful...never forget that.

Seriously, just like Jurassic Park, we were so caught up with if we COULD we didn't think if we SHOULD.

The kindly lady behind the counter took note of my awesome softball jersey so we talked pro wrasslin’ for a bit, then the tray was put forth. A chili cheese burrito, nacho’s bell grande, a number 10 AND a quesarito big box, with Kickstart on fountain tap this meal was about to go down like a freshman on prom night when suddenly a new fancy caught my eye.

There in a new metal tin, piled high like a Freudian Orgy Pit was something of darker colors than my fatty eyes were trained to seek. El Diablo, the package said. Could it be? 15 years after the debut of something Fiery has Taco Bell again sought to change the game regarding Fourth Meal? For all things in the name of Science I stacked my platter high with a weapon of mass consumption.

Unfortunately all my Marvel Universe mirror forms are fatties too.

Opening ever so much easier than previous models of sauce packets that which was now gushing forth led me to immediately take note that unlike it’s weaker pedigree brother Fire this sauce has forsaken the slightly chunky texture of its forefathers. Instead, like the Black Gold that turned a hillbilly into a millionaire this sprung forth in a fast moving river not unlike the Ambrosian milk and honey myths of ancient Greece.

Like an assassin in the night this sauce first disguised its intent with an initial sweetness that would could only compare to the Lip Smackers covered kiss of a 20 year old with nothing but stardust ahead of her. Much like the aforementioned voodoo poonannie this sweetness was all a ploy to pull the vicimt further down the rabbit hole. I made hate to my chili cheese burrito w/sour cream….and then its silent companion made sweet sweet hate to my mouth. Like a moth to the flame this burn was worth it, as Icarus will attest you must fly close to the heat if you seek the knowledge of the gods.

That'll teach you Icarus....that'll teach you. 

I can now attest that I have tasted that knowledge….and it is delicious. Now, all I can say is this, as the beads of sweat tap danced across my forehead and down my neck like the fire ants from a particularly gruesome episode of MacGyver I looked to the napkin to soak my fatness and it was not enough. I forgot my Towel…Some field researcher I turned out to be…..Bring a Towel….you’ll need it.