Taco Bell Giveaway a Dinger

But I haven't made shit, Buster Brown. Twenty-eight tacos is short of my goal of thirty-plus. I've flown too close to the sun on wings made of beef made from powder. You've won this time, Taco Bell, I think as I head back to the office, where I will carefully lay a taco on the keyboard of every one of my co-workers, ensuring that the next day when everyone walks in, the building will stink like the rubber bands on improperly cleaned teen braces. But this fight is not over.