What’s that, you say? Well soon after commencing my silent quest, I picked out Taco Tuesday as my grand prize. I joked that ordering Calypso Beef tacos should be the thing to break my silence. Hence I thirsted for tacos whenever I was down. It’s all good Brad, you’ll be eating two dollar tacos soon enough! I was mad for these tacos. I would bite my lips to stifle the salivating, thus shutting myself up as well. I dreamt about these tacos and I wanted them so damn badly, more than anything I’ve ever wanted before (score one for hyperbole – ten points to Slytherin)! Tacos became the symbol of my freedom, the gateway to my voice, my mockingjay if you please. The meeting of tongue to taco would thus inspire a vomitus concoction of sunrays and moonbeams from the depths of my diaphragm, and I would bellow and howl a sustained high note in a glorious display of triumph. My friends would continue to casually eat tortilla chips as I stood there atop the table with a bull’s head crushed beneath my pirate boots. I’d bask in my victory to a chorus of applause audible only to me.
But that wasn’t how it happened. Not at all. Most significantly, the words “Calypso Beef” were not the words to terminate my vocal rest. Sad pandas.Read More