A Timeline Of Hating Yourself While Eating Chipotle

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Let’s face it, ladies and gents–while eating healthy and ingesting only the right things are TOTALLY fun and all, every now and then, you just have to tell your better judgment to shut the fuck up and eat something that will fill you up with pure joy and bliss, no matter how much damage it does to your body.

In other words, treat yo self.

After a long, hard day of work, the only thing I can possibly think of that will make me happy is Chipotle. And I am NOT trying to eat healthy at Chipotle. A Burrito Bowl every now and again is just fine and dandy, but seriously? A salad? That’s like buying a bicycle from a place that sells Ferarris. I am NOT about that life. Bye, Felicia.

I’ve had a really rough week. Just throwing that out there. I mean, it’s not easy being this fierce and sassy all the time. When I got up to the counter not too long ago today, I was feeling risky. Ballsy. Bold. I wanted something that only legends dare to whisper about. No mere burrito could satisfy me. Today, I asked for the Quesarito. The burrito jockey had, well, zero reaction and told me that I was “numero cinco” who had ordered one today. That was actually a bit of a bummer. I was expecting gasps and screams of panic.

But I got to bring home this beauty. I felt like a mother looking at her child for the first time.

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What a beautiful, beautiful thing…that is probably the actual size and weight of a human infant.

Upon unwrapping my Quesarito, I noticed it was golden-brown and hard-shelled compared to the pale flabbiness of a regular Chipotle burrito. Basically, if my Quesarito was a person, it would be Mark Consuelos. Drooool.

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First Bite: Life changing. Absolutely life changing. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten in my life. It’s warm, gooey, and filled with cheese. Every bite has cheese. This is a lactose intolerant person’s worst nightmare, but it’s quite literally better than sex. Lasts a lot longer, too. At this point in eating my Quesarito, I couldn’t love myself any more for having bought this. This is the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me. ME!

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A Few More Bites In: Hmm. I’m actually starting to get full. This never happens to me. I thought I could take a lot more of this in my mouth at once. Say “that’s what she said,” and I’ll lose my fucking mind. I’m not quite hating myself yet, but my God, there’s a rough freaking road ahead.

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Halfway Through: Fatigue begins to set in. I can barely breathe. My lungs are FILLED with cheese. I’m sweating while I eat like Fat Bastard in “Austin Powers,” and as I look at the window near my desk, the reflection bears a striking resemblance to Mike Meyers in a fat suit. Now, I’m starting to pray to whichever gods will listen and absolve me of my mistakes: “But I was so healthy! I got the vegetarian tofu Sofritas! IT’S TOFU! And there’s guacamole in it! Guac is a vegetable, right? I’M AN INNOCENT BYSTANDER HERE.”

I’m also starting to lose the structural integrity of the Quesarito…it’s less of a burrito now and more of a glob of tortilla with guacamole coming through every crevasse. Things are starting to look grim. My sense of self-loathing is rising fast, and I fear that this may be the meal that does me in.

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The Last Bites: If anyone can still hear me, the Quesarito no longer has any semblance of structure. It is now an amorphous blob of tortilla, salsa, rice, beans, and the accursed guacamole. The Quesarito has been lost. I repeat, the Quesarito has been lost. A plastic fork has been found in my desk and I’m using it to bail out the remaining survivors of the SS Quesarito, ferrying them into my gullet where they will join their brothers and sisters. All looks lost and I hate myself more than Adrienne hates Brandi on “RHOBH.” This may be the end of Stefon, folks.

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The Aftermath: I did it. I killed the Quesarito. It is dead and gone, and so is my dignity. I feel like I’m nine months pregnant and I’m going to give birth at ANY MINUTE, as un-classy as that sounds. I can’t move, I can’t think–the only prevailing thought going through my head is how much I truly despise myself for plundering through this sweet, sweet, delicious torture. I’m as disgusted with myself as I possibly can be. I’d just like to thank Yoncé for guiding me through this trying time and keeping me safe through all that cheese.

Now if you bitches will excuse me…

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New York's Hottest Club is wherever I am. Haters to the front, hunky Sailors to the back. Bow down betches. Follow this bitch on Twitter @StefonTSM

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