I discovered Cowboy Crunch burritos a few years ago at a certain eatery whose name, Neato Burrito, I'll omit out of deference to this magazine's advertisers. But I will say this: while the anonymous burrito chain in question doesn't contribute directly to my paycheck, it does make an insanely good burrito – life-changing, even, depending on whether or not, like Carrot Top, your life is so sad that it could be improved by a single burrito.
If you were to ask me to describe the Cowboy Crunch burrito in four words, and then to translate those words into Croatian using a free online translator, and then to change them back to English using the same online translator, the answer would be "total zest plus large," which is as good or better than my original answer.
The Cowboy Crunch burrito consists of barbecue rice, refried beans, Cajun chicken, ranch dressing, lettuce, tomatoes and – the secret weapon – crushed nacho chips, which give it an unexpected crunchiness, or as the Croatians say, "does surprise into a crisp." But once combined, those seven ingredients create something that, like Michael Moore's ass, is so much larder. Larger.
What first struck me about the Cowboy Crunch burrito were its compact design and stackability, the perfect conditions under which to ship large quantities free of charge to various editors of powerful and influential magazines. Which brings us full circle to my sense of entitlement. There is a grand old tradition in the publication industry, and that tradition is called bribery. It goes like this: you give me lots of free stuff, and I'll totally write about you. What I'm doing now is simply taking bribery one step further by writing about stuff first, with the assumption that I'll receive my "payment" after the fact. This is probably also a good time to mention that Tröegs makes really great beer and that Angelina Jolie, a fine actress, has been looking very pretty lately.
Bribery is a universal practice in journalism, embraced by everyone from columnists in your local daily paper to network TV anchors. Why else would anyone ever write an article? It's hard to do and it takes a lot of time, time that could be spent drinking – I don't know – a delicious and refreshing Tröegs Sunshine Pils. We just need the extra bit of "motivation" to put down our beers, sit down at our computers, log onto Wikipedia and copy and paste the text into a word doc. Bam – article. Anyone who says otherwise is being bribed by someone to lie about it.
I've tried reverse bribery before, to varying degrees of success. My column praising pineapple chicken wraps got me a free platter of them delivered to my door. On the other hand, my column pledging my undying devotion to Diet Dr. Pepper Berries & Cream Soda got me nothing. As a side note, Diet Dr. Pepper Berries & Cream isn't around anymore. I'll let you make your own assumptions about how those two facts are connected. I'm talking to you, Neato Burrito.
On a related note, I recently found a pretty hilarious document on Wikipedia called the "Ethics Code of the Society of Professional Journalists." Whatever that means. People say that English majors have no sense of humor, but check out this doozey: According to the "code," all professional journalists are to "refuse gifts, favors, fees, free travel and special treatment, and shun secondary employment, political involvement, public office and service in community organizations if they compromise journalistic integrity."
Hilarious! "Integrity."
I vaguely remember reading something about this code on the syllabus of my "journalism ethics" course in college, which I signed up for because I thought they were making a joke, like "serial killer ethics" or "republican ethics." But I had to cut class that day so that I could photocopy my older sister's term paper to submit it as my own. I'm kidding, of course. I was photocopying my own term paper to sell to underclassmen.
It's that kind of ingenuity that makes for a successful journalist, and that gets people elected President of the United States. Sure, it might make you a "bad person" with "complete moral bankruptcy" who is probably going to get a lot of e-mail from youvebeenleftbehind.com. But it also gets you burritos. Hopefully. And that's what really matters.
It's your move, Neato Burrito. I'm calling you out like a sheriff in a Western. Either fork 'em over, or face the very, very small possibility that I won't ever write about your delicious, miraculous Cowboy Crunch burrito ever again. It's your call.
Or as the Croatians say, "the case is call of you."
