Yo quiero taco Calendar


Dec. 5

Calendar feels that this day is as good as any to pay a visit to our nondenominational spiritual guide, Armanda.

We met Armanda in Taco Bell-that most spiritual of taquerias rapidas-as she ordered her chalupa (steak, guac, no pickle) and a gordita (because she’s fat).

“Hey, lady!” we demanded. “Did dingoes (or dongoes) eat yo’ baybay, or did you…eat your baby…you saw ‘Raising Arizona,’ right?”

Her mouth too full of fried flat-bread to speak, she nodded. She had indeed seen “Raising Arizona,” and by way of holding up three fingers, indicated that she was one of a triumvirate of Earth-dwellers who appreciate Calendar’s humor.

The other two are: Bert and Ernie, one of whom was found dead in a bathhouse rubbish receptacle, and the other swears he’s “probably not gay, nor a cold-blooded murderer, even though that slut slept with Snuffalupogus.”

Ah, B and E.

So, anyway, Armanda gave us a cheese-grease-stained aluminum business card, and bade us to “ring her bell sometime.”

The card read as follows: “Armanda, spiritual guide and champion chili-dogger. 445 W. 100 Purvana, playing at Port O’ Call (400 S. West Temple), at 9 p.m., tickets at the door.

Needless to say, we never rang no bells. Fattie.

Well, actually, there was that one night…tequila…pachyderm…Armanda…squeegie…we don’t wanna talk about it.

That and we definitely rang her bell today-doorbell, that is. Ha!

We were in dire need of celestial counsel, and Madame Ezmee was apparently knee-deep in mustard and mayo (“Yeah, but when am I not?”) and therefore unable to help.

Calendar couldn’t wait, for Ezmee, Our Seventh Star, playing at Club Boom Va (2701 Washington Blvd., Ogden), 6 p.m., for $5 (plus $2.50 service fee) was all outta wack and s***.

We needed help, damn it, not a spicy tuna melt!

Fin. Or is it? Yeah. Fin. Whatever.