An Ode to ‘Delicious Tacos’

Alternate Title: Anonymity Revisited

I recently devoured the catalog of anonymous blogger, Delicious Tacos. It’s much like Expat Chronicles in the early years. He has a substance abuse problem (although sober for years now). He writes about sex. He bears his soul and vulnerabilities. He’s a birder who has been to Peru. I’m a naturalist and have been to Lima’s top birding destination.

Reading his work has inspired me. I would credit an uptick in publishing here to … to … what’s his name?

“I’m a grown ass man, dog. Ain’t gettin’ ready to call no ‘nother dude ‘Delicious’.”

We’ll call him Mr. Tacos.

Here is a mashed-up selection of passages, not comprehensive, but a good sample, from his books:

I have to work to pay to work to get a woman’s attention so she can reject me. Love is impossible. A house, a wife – a second date, impossible. Normal things. I’ll never hold my first child. Those things just ended. Yes, I hate my work. And I’m afraid of losing it. They get angry if you’re not thankful for it. That’s a bad attitude. You have to lie every day, every minute, and say you love the thing that’s killing you. It’s Satanic. What do we have, better toilets? The men are all liars. The women are barely people anymore. I’m barely a person anymore. I’m starting to like it. I’m starting to feel proud when I close a deal. To sell branded entertainment. To sell Verizon to fucking moms – it’s all like this. Everything exists just to sell you shit and you have to sell shit too just to live and they make you fucking smile about it. I’ll get old like this.

I’ll be a secretary for another fifteen years. Go to the third world. Buy an illiterate teen slave. With my first world economic power she’ll be forced to squeeze out my babies and clean my toilet. Finally I’ll be happy. Look at that. Spiritual progress.

I have rediscovered myself in sobriety. It’s been sixty days now. Shit you pushed down when you were drunk grows back fast. The way Chernobyl is forest again. Memories come back. Knowledge. Emotions.

They loved you, a lot of them. Why. Probably because you’re tall. No, no, see – one of the things you have to get over is hating yourself. Hating women, hating other people, hating yourself. You are worthy of love. God made you and God only makes things perfect. Well OK. You were worthy of love and got it. You didn’t return it and you only made their lives worse for knowing you. You took them on a date and got them drunk like a machine and then fucked them and never spoke to them again.

You solve writer’s block by eating shit and being in agony for years. Force yourself to hammer out worse than useless garbage for hours that feel like lifetimes.

What are you gonna do, not lift weights? God made me to be a flabby pussy. I skip two weeks, suddenly I’m built like a white garbage bag full of jelly with willow branches sticking out. I am genetically half a man, it’s only with vigilant struggle that I approach the threshold of fuckability.

Most of that is from The Pussy, but that isn’t necessarily his best work. I wanted to not like this guy, and I didn’t highlight any passages from the first books I read. But I couldn’t stop reading. I only started highlighting toward the end. The first book I read, which is his best, is the fictional Finally, Some Good News.

One of his most interesting themes is a disdain for work. More sincere than Office Space. He actually put down a manifesto, This is What I Believe:

Work is living death. “Job creators” are murderers. America is Satan’s agent in the world, spreading the Antichrist gospel of “work ethic.” It must be annihilated. This is what I believe… Entrepreneurs and hustlers are not human beings. They are demons. Their purpose is to propagate evil…

This is not the proletariat message of labor over capital. This is an argument for dumping work altogether, scrapping the whole idea of business. Andrew Yang has pushed the UBI envelope more than anybody else in America, but Delicious Tacos is articulating something else. He’s not saying automation and globalization are why we need UBI. He’s saying we need it for the human condition.

People have said it about me, but I don’t consider myself a hard worker. I consider myself normal. Nobody has ever accused me of being lazy, but this anti-work posture appeals to me on some level. I wish we had more leisure time. I’ve never confessed to anybody that I actually enjoyed the early stages of the pandemic. Less was expected of us.

I’m sorry for people who died, and for people who were single and lonely, or employed in travel and hospitality, but I think most people took a pause to reevaluate life … and enjoyed the pause. I think it was a transformational experience for humanity.

I don’t know if I agree with Mr. Tacos, if freeing people from work is sustainable. But it’s interesting. I get it. It may be inevitable.

What’s the Beef?

Mr. Tacos is middle-aged, he’s single, he hates dating, he hates his job, he hates his cost of living, he hates everything. I am not against moping out, and I loved nodding out to opioids as much as the next guy, but Mr. Tacos is extreme. Reading too much gets me low, fast. Can be a downer.

In sobriety, one of the hardest concepts to internalize is that I’m powerless over alcohol. I don’t like the word, “power-less.” I consider myself power-ful. I’ll knock anybody out. I don’t need a gun. I’ll protect my family. I’ll make all the money. I have been called impulsive. Spontaneous, etc. A good book on entrepreneurship is “Ready, Fire, Aim.” The title is the story of my life. I think I was built like this, it’s genetic. It’s good and bad, pros and cons. Sometimes I would be better served if I were more deliberate, if I planned my moves. There’s a chaotic instability.

What’s the point? My kind doesn’t suffer the same shit for long. I don’t suck it up and take it. For mine is NOT the complaining and commiserating forever and ever, Amen. I’ll make a move. I’ll live on the black side of town, in Latin America, wherever I want. I’ll move to Bogota knowing not one soul and carve out a life. On the other end of the spectrum, opposite impulsiveness, people suffer paralysis. One former employer, making an effort to appreciate my style, said of the other kind, they’re “always getting ready to get ready.”

Mr. Tacos may need to quit the job, leave LA, shack up with one of these women. If it lasts a quarter or two, get hitched. Hell, do something. If you have this much to complain about, why do you keep doing the same thing? READY, FIRE, AIM. Try it.

And why hide behind anonymity? That’s making it worse. I did it for just over a year, and something about hiding your name and face has an emasculating effect. Mr. Tacos needs to come out of the closet. He teased in recent posts that he’ll dump the anonymous pussy stuff, quit his job and move to southeast Asia. I hope he does.

I’m old enough to understand that art is subjective. I experience something differently than others. But I like to think that when I wrote about sex, that it was at least a little exciting for the reader. Maybe left you with the excitement in your pants. Mr. Tacos’s descriptions are never exciting. I’ve read it all and never once felt the excitement. Maybe proof he doesn’t dig being single.

Mr. Tacos is a sniffer. Armpits, panties, etc. I’m not touchy, not a germophobe. I’m old enough to dig the imperfections. But to put it into your nose and get the deep essence of it, nah. Not for me. Not a sniffer … unless it got me high of course.

A regular theme and object of his desire are Asians and minors. He has implied that all men want Asians and minors whether they admit it or not. I can say with the utmost sincerity that neither of those rank for me. I have dealt with Asians and no serious complaints, but they’re unranked.

I believe some men can’t help themselves, there’s something genetic that’s attracted to minors. It’s politically incorrect to say it’s natural, and maybe that’s what Mr. Tacos meant to say. But I, thank God, am not that way. If I catch myself looking at someone who I later discover is a minor, it is because that minor could pass for 20. And if I’m in safe company, I’ll make some clever quip like, “Man, she could pass for 20!”

But it is not at all a turn-on to see pubescent or even post-pubescent-but-still-growing females, even when I was a teenager. I was a late bloomer. I lost my virginity at 16 when a girl took it from me. It was her decision, not mine. I wasn’t interested in girls until about 20 years old, and I emerged into that sexuality desiring 20-year-olds.

There is objective evidence that not all men are attracted to underage. The most popular genre in porn is not “barely legal,” but “MILF.” Not that I watch porn! I married a psycho jealous Peruvian, so I’m not even allowed to masturbate. She demands every fluid ounce. But re: porn, I know a guy who knows a guy…

I would not be surprised to learn that, for those of us who aren’t into the young look, there is a disproportionate fandom of BBW. That’s what the kids say, not sure, I may misunderstand the acronym. Not Lizzo. Not obese. I would think that should be OBW. Big and fat in the right places, and cute, and sturdy. Doesn’t need help running up and down a couple flights of stairs, or even walking the balance beam. The kind that causes a social media outcry when they grace the cover of Sports Illustrated. Ashley Graham.

To quote noted American poet, Todd Shaw:

I want to big freak, fat and sloppy,
I kick on back and I watch her mop me,
Two tons of fun, big mama jama,
A country-girl from Alabama…

Source

Well, where has this gone? That said, I married a twig of a Peruvian. So maybe a little “do as I say, not as I do” going on here. But I know I’m not alone. If I were to publish recurring object-of-desire theme, as does Mr. Tacos, there’s an open niche like this Twitter account.

Anonymity Revisited

I enjoy Delicious Tacos’s racy content. It made me wonder, if I had never gone public, would I still be publishing the raw stuff? Short answer is probably not, because since getting married I don’t get into much trouble. Even less since children, and still less since sobriety. Complete suburban dork dad now.

Another question I’ve been asking myself, since repatriation: how public was I really? Are you public just because you’re fully identifiable? I was blogging in English in a Spanish-speaking country. Most of my neighbors couldn’t read what I said about them even if they wanted to. That’s a different kind of public than if I had been publishing that stuff while living in St. Louis.

Once upon a time I reviewed “Private Parts” by Jeff Jarvis. I was thrilled because the book said something that wasn’t common to hear in 2011, that privacy is in fact an inferior good for proles. Being public has value, and is reserved for the aristocracy. “Influencers” wasn’t a term back then, the attention whore economy was in its infancy. It may still not be fully developed, but we have seen to what lengths people will go to be public. The attention whoring has gone to a place nobody ever imagined.

I have seen that despite all the nefarious content I published, the world can forget. I have been forgotten. I’ve obtained formal employment in the United States since. That’s increasingly the case as analog generations die off and are replaced with generations who grew up with social media and have a more libertine idea of what to put out there. I think we of analog generations were wrong in thinking anybody would care about what we put out there.

Nobody cares!

With all that competition for attention, in hindsight it seems silly that we were worried about our careers or whatever. As long as you aren’t engaged in organized criminal activity, nobody cares!

I don’t have any answers about this. Just thinking out loud. But check out this gem below. This is prole art. This is not Delicious Tacos’s message re: work.

This is proletariat art. This is not Delicious Tacos.

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