We went there -- Denver's premier not-Mexican food Mexican food carnival. And, boy was it as Casa Bonita-y as ever. I spent all of Thursday poofing out these sort of yellowish, refried farts, desperately hoping that I wasn't ruining the pants I was wearing. My stomach rumbled for a full 40 hours. And, halleluja! Today was the day of the glorious Casa Bonita turd, which is just like any other turd, only it's wearing a sombrero made out of Velveeta. And thank goodness for that turd, you know? Because I was running low on Christmas card ideas.
That's the deluxe chicken dinner working its way through me. It was $13.79, toilet paper not included.
Are you a sheltered whitey who doesn't know what an enchilada is, which forces you to carry around a resentful and unnecessary fear of it and is also making you consider voting for Michele Bachmann? Or do you just want some goddamned fried American food already? Casa Bonita has thought ahead:
How about some Cielito Lindo to help wash down that last bite?
The mariachis were pretty good. It's nice when something shows up at your table and just plays music, as opposed to when something shows up at your table, plays music, acts in a short skit, then dives off of a paper mache cliff. But where else can you go in Denver where you can dine in the presence of pubescent cliff divers and be within four minutes walking distance of a crack house, and within thirty seconds walking distance of Black Bart's E. coli-smothered hideout?
Black Bart's Hideout is where you go to vomit after eating your weight in sopaipillas.
We looked.
Thanks, Casa Bonita, for the memories, for the explosive diarrhea.
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