Which means you guys get a story.
This one begins late at night, in not Dallas. Everything outside of Dallas is country, you see, for miles. It's like Dallas ends, and suddenly jimson weed and goats line the highway, save for a lonely Ikea. This is true because I'm telling this story.
One night, I was with my two best friends, eating dinner at a restaurant in the back country of Not Dallas. Dinner turned to drinks, because that's what you need to do to fortify yourself. More people we knew appeared at this place, and commenced drinking, too. The place serving the drinks eventually closed, and we were not tired.
"Why don't you come see our donkey?" someone said. Now, this is where the story begins to go awry. Already, we had conceded to sup in the back country of Not Dallas, and now someone is telling us we should travel further into the country to see a donkey.
So we fortified ourselves by going to Whataburger, a restaurant placed haphazardly around Texas by Jesus to make sure people will have plenty of Dr Pepper, bacon double ranch jalapeno cheese burgers and angioplasty. There, we pick up Dr Pepper. Giant ones. Bigger than your head. And taquitos. It was to be my first taquito, but to this day, for reasons I'm about to explain, I have never had a taquito.
We drove down dirt roads into the wilderness to see the donkey. At first, we drive up to a house, and being city folk, we wonder if the donkey is inside. But no. The donkey is in a pasture, a good 40 yards away.
"Is it a nice donkey?" we ask. Our hosts merely laugh. We take our taquitos and commence walking - in heels - across a grassy knoll. My heel caught in what I pray was just a random hole, and not some portal to a hell beast living just beneath the dirt.
I wondered at the dark, and the lack of flashlights.
I should've known it was so we wouldn't see the carcasses of other folk who were lured into the country to see the donkey. After walking several yards toward the donkey area, our hosts began calling for the donkey.
"Jack! C'mere Jack! Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!"
Suddenly, the bushes parted and the biggest donkey I've ever seen came charging toward us, snorting and braying, teeth bared. The crowd dispersed, save me.
Me, holding the bag of taquitos. Rooted to the spot by the fearsome spectacle of a full-grown, mad as hell donkey charging directly at me. Also because my foot was caught in another hole. I was going to die.
grabbed for the only weapon I had at my disposal. No, not my shoe, because that would've made sense. I reached into that white and orange bag from Whataburger, and I hurled a taquito at the beast. The first one hit him square between the eyes, but didn't even stun him.
The second hit him on the nose, and he paused. Stunned.
My friends are now a good 39.4 yards away and hurrying for the car. I'm staring down a donkey, and praying I have enough taquitos. I pull my foot out of my stuck shoe, and proceed to walk backwards, up down, up down, up down, one foot in my high heel sandal, the other bare.
Jack starts toward me. I hurl another taquito, and walk faster. Up down, up down. I fling another. Pow! Right in the kisser. I get better at my aim, and become a world-class taquito hurler. I'm the Zena Warrior Princess of taquito throwers, vanquishing my ill-tempered foe with six of Whataburger's drunk people foodstuffs.
My hand reaches the bottom of the bag, and I realize I'm out of ammo. I up down, up down backwards the last five yards to the car, and jump in.
Jack headbutts the car and tries to eat the rearview mirror.
But I live.