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Published October 04, 2011
           When December rolls around, many people follow some crazy traditions. Not me. I reserve all my seasonal bliss for my favorite holiday, Taco Tuesday. Like Christmas arriving every week, I take a pine tree and bring it inside. We adorn it with lights and sing 'O Taco Tree' in our holiest of voices.
           On Monday night, as the children sleep, I creep out into the masquerading darkness dressed as a morbidly obese conquistador to purchase 15, 000 and place them in a Hefty bag (God willing one with a cinch).
           Then I break into peoples homes (in a nice way) and leave them tacos albeit less than I give my family since most don't even have enough spirit to put up a tree in this day and age. Eventually I get tired and give up on other people.
           Once home, I climb in through a window as we lack a chimney. If my wife forgets to leave one open, I break one. To further maintain the sense of magical wonderment, I leave the majority of of the tacos under the tree so that they may ripen overnight.
           When my beautiful children awaken, they gasp at the sight of aged mexican food greeting them. Then we all stuff our faces with tacos and let me tell you, it is a sight to behold such family joy. Any leftovers are then thrown on the rug so that we may lay in them and swing our limbs wildly about to make taco meat angels.
           Each time we celebrate, I must admit, takes me back to memories of the week before and I am overwhelmed with tears. I literally begin to choke on my tears every time leaving my wife to perform CPR while the kids scream and cry in fear of losing their father. It's how I know they care.
           Once my tears have been vanquished, my family gathers around as I tell them the story of the very first Taco Tuesday, which I figure must have been some manager at a taco joint noticing that the words 'Taco' and 'Tuesday' both begin with the letter 'T' and he decided to cash in on this cosmic illiteration. Then I remind them that my first name Tony also begins with a 'T' and stare at them until they laugh which they always do because it is all fun.
          I tell them about how we must all pray at night for salvation that one day other managers will learn from this example bringing us such holidays as Frankfurter Fridays, Waffle Wednesdays and Sundae Sundays. Perhaps, when this happens, the rest of the world will realize how misguided they were to follow their own religious dogma when they could just as easily adhere to my NOT CRAZY thing.
         But if they do decide to convert, they had better repent for their unfortunate pasts. Because I've good reason to believe if they do not, Conquistador Claus will break into their homes and leave them big pieces of coal on Tuesday instead of spicy cuisine.
        Only he won't leave them in their stockings but rather in their throats so they will know what it's like to choke on their sins and burn in a Hell of their own making.
          
written by Tony Santiago of BansheeMilk
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