I do not own Deadpool.
I do love chicken chimichangas.
Chimichangas
Chicken chimichangas were the best.
Simple, easy to make.
Rice, shredded chicken, cheese, tortillas.
Lots of spice and heat.
Delicious, nutritious.
Suitable for any meal.
He'd even figured out how to bake them in oven just so Blind Al wouldn't stumble into the kitchen and deep fry herself.
"What smells like wet ass in here?"
"First guess? Your sweet ass, Al."
"Shut up, boy."
"You complete me, Al."
The only drawback was . . .
"Come on, you piece of sh- oh my god, did you kill a dead goat?!"
"How do you kill a dead goat? It's already dead. Have you been watching Pet Semetary? Is this a Shrodinger's Box kinda thing?"
. . . the post-changa vapors leaking out of his lower intestinal tract.
"Teabag!"
"Oh god, my face-"
He supposed he could take some Gas-X before going out on a Good Guy Hero Mission.
"My mouth, in it's in my mouth-"
Or just stop eating chimichangas altogether.
"I'm gonna beat the shit outta you!"
"Okay, but I just ate chimichangas for lunch so you're not really setting the bar very high."
But he really just preferred . . .
"Listen. You smell that? I think he's over here."
"No way, man. Nobody'd hide in the sewer like that."
"Chimichangaaaaasss!"
. . . to use it on the bad guys.
"Hey, Al, I'm ho- Whoa, what the hell happened in here?! It smells like- ohhh . . ."
"I ate some of that Mexican shit you left in the tin foil."
"My last changa?!"
"And the toilet's stopped up again."
Most of the time.
Sigh.
"I'll get the plunger."
Okay, 1) my teenage son loves chicken chimichangas. 2) My teenage son smells. 3) I love Deadpool and Ryan Reynolds. 4) I have been stuck in the house too long.
Anyway, thanks for reading!
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