Das Racist - (I’m At The) Combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell
Fast food, stoned suburban teenage Jewish boys, and one of 2008's biggest viral videos
This piece was originally posted back in September of 2022. I’ve made some edits, updating it content-wise, and to give it the proper graphical EW&SL sheen.
I was inspired to rework this essay because this week, fellow music-based Substacker,
who writes the excellent newsletter, recently posted a piece featuring Heems, formerly of alternative hip-hop crew Das Racist.I write more about Das Racist in the bottom half of the piece, with an update about the band based on amazing new (to me) info in Jared’s post. Before I do, I want to share the link to Jared’s piece, which features not just Heems’ new project but new releases by several other artists, as well as picks for new media to watch and read. Click below for more info. Do yourself a favor and subscribe to his newsletter!
1. Fast Food
The only time in the past 25 years that I’ve eaten at a fast food restaurant was when I was on a road trip, starving for something more than convenience store chips and cookies. My options for the next 54 miles were Jack in the Box, McDonald's, and Carl’s Jr.
I picked Carl’s Jr., of course. They had the best fries. Or at least they did back when I used to eat at all three establishments.
I didn’t choose Carl’s Jr. because of the fries, though.
I chose it because they had a fish burger and I was a pescatarian. Still am. Maybe McDonald's had a fish burger, too; I didn’t check. But even if they did, I would have assumed that Carl’s Jr. offered the most fish-like fish.
Jack in the Box, though, was out of the question. I could never get the rumor/story that they served kangaroo meat out of my head. Or was it horse meat? I feel like it might have been both.1
Even when I was younger and ate meat at chain fast food establishments on a mostly daily basis, kangaroo and horse would have been definite no-nos.
But it was what happened the evening of October 24, 1984, that led to my refusal to eat at Jack in the Box ever again.
2. Teenage Jewish Boys Gone Wild
During high school, I was a member of a Jewish youth group that was part of the B’nai B’rith Youth Organization (BBYO). Our chapter, Zion (boys ages 14 and up), covered the northwest section of the San Fernando Valley, a suburb about 45 minutes northwest of downtown Los Angeles. We had maybe 30 members, which was pretty large compared to other chapters in the Southern California region, which extended from San Diego to Santa Barbara.
A quick history:
Founded in 1923 in Omaha, Nebraska, Aleph Zadik Aleph — named after Hebrew alphabet letters in the style of the Greek alphabet fraternities used — was formed in response to the widespread exclusion of Jews from the college and university Greek system. In 1943, the age to be a member was lowered to 14 and aimed more at high school boys than college students. In 1944 the National Order of BBG (B’nai B’rith Girls) was formed.
To read more about AZA and BBG (where I found some of this history)2 click here.
I was not religious by any stretch, though I was barmitzvah’d (see photo proof above!).
I joined AZA to make friends after moving to a new town an hour away the summer after 10th grade. I was quite shy and not a typical “joiner,” but Dan Morris, my one Jewish friend from Agoura (where I lived from 6th to 10th grade — now called Agoura Hills), was obsessed about being part of AZA and told me that I had to find a chapter. That way, I could invite him to attend our social events, where he imagined a bevy of Jewish girls to choose from.
I did join Zion, but after driving from Agoura down to Northridge for a social party with BBG chapter D’Vash, Dan decided that Valley girls were lame. In other words, he couldn’t deal with his charmless “charms” being rebuffed.
One reason I fit in so well with the guys in Zion was that most of us were big stoners. I started smoking pot at age thirteen (literally a couple of weeks after my bar-mitzvah…I’m not sure that’s what the elders meant when they said that I was now a “man”). By sixteen, I was an almost everyday toker.
Who knew that the biggest pothead contingent at my new suburban high school would be the Nice Jewish Boys? I see some of you raising your hands.
A year after joining Zion, I was voted gadol (president). There were no other candidates, and I only agreed to the role due to peer pressure. As gadol, it was my job to pound a gavel at our monthly chapter meetings and ensure the rest of the youth board stayed on top of their projects. To this day, it stands as the most leadership responsibility I’ve had in my life.
Often, after our board and committee meetings, the six or seven of us would pack into either Shawn Plotkin’s dad’s Pontiac Grand Prix or my mom’s 4-door Toyota Corolla, pass a joint or a bong around (or both), and then head out for food to satiate our munchies.
One night, after a board meeting, we all got stoned and drove to a nearby Jack in the Box. I can only assume we ordered a dozen burgers, fries, and chocolate shakes (all of which could have been horse or kangaroo), spreading our bounty in an oversized booth. We were loud, dumb teenagers, completely oblivious to the other patrons. We were having a blast.
At one point, Jeff Berman (all names have been changed to protect my leaky memory), the jokiest of our group, took a couple of plastic straws, stuck them into his nostrils, and grunted, “I am the walrus! Cookoo cuchoo!” To an audience of stoned boys, this was hysterically funny.
Shawn, Jeff’s best friend and the burliest of the bunch, was sitting across from Jeff. Thinking he would up the comedy ante, Shawn reached forward and, with the palm of his hand, pushed upward on the bottom of the straws. Within less than a second, streams of blood began to gush from Jeff’s nose, through the straws, and onto the table full of food. Jeff screamed bloody hell (no pun intended), but so did the rest of us, so it was hard to differentiate.
What happened next was a blur, as shock and chaos and THC jumbled my brain. I do know that we grabbed a shit ton of napkins, staunched the blood as best we could, and raced Jeff to the emergency room. We’d arrived at Jack in the Box in two cars, and I was in the group that didn’t go to the hospital, so I never found out what had happened until the next day.
Jeff ended up being fine and even showed up to school, though he didn’t get home until after 2 am. It took a while to stop the bleeding, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. He needed a few stitches in each nostril, and his schnozz was bandaged up, but there would be no permanent damage.
I had no idea what they’d told Jeff’s parents — if our being stoned was mentioned — and I didn’t ask. Shawn was one of those charming, gift-of-gab types, so I could imagine him convincing the adults that it was an accident, that he unwittingly elbowed Jeff and knocked the straws up his nose.
A week went by, and things went back to normal. We’d dodged a bullet.
Only we didn’t, really.
A week before the nose-bleed straw incident, Zion held a new member orientation event, which I’d been unable to attend. After the event, several of the members smoked a joint in the backyard. One of the newbies saw this and told their parents, who then called the regional director, who then called our advisor, who then called me.
As president, I had to attend a meeting with our chapter advisor (every chapter has an adult advisor, someone who makes sure the kids don’t do stupid shit like get stoned at membership events) and the regional director. It was decided that I would suspend the three board members who were part of the joint smoking group (all of whom were my closest friends) and organize an anti-drug event/fundraiser with all proceeds going to D.A.R.E. (Drug Abuse Resistance Education).
Everyone in our chapter knew that it was dumb luck that I wasn’t at the new member event, as I was probably the biggest pot smoker in the group and surely would have had to suspend myself.
Did this punishment scare me straight? Did I stop eating fast food? Did I avoid using straws in my beverages?
Hell no.
The best I can say is that we all curbed our marijuana enthusiasm at Jewish youth group events. But after six months of good behavior and a successful fund-raising event for D.A.R.E. (we raised almost 3000 dollars!), most of us would graduate high school and be free to smoke our pot with abandon as college freshmen.
3. Das Racist: Earwormists Extraordinaire
Although I was no longer a patron of Jack in the Box, it would be many years before I would prioritize my diet, continuing to live life in the fast food lane.
In addition to Carl’s Jr. and McDonalds, I ate at Wendy’s, In & Out, and, of course, Taco Bell. I did eat pizza at Pizza Hut, but I’d never considered pizza fast food. I mean, you sometimes had to wait 15 minutes for a pizza (unless they had slices on a heating rack). That’s not so fast!
It would be a decade before fast-food establishments upped their marketing skills and combined forces. Pizza Hut and Taco Bell sharing an address was not the first fast-food dual-branding corporate combo.3 It’s unclear “the winner,” but that honor might go to Carl’s Jr. and Green Burrito in 1994.
However, to pizza and taco-loving folks across the U.S., it was mind-blowing. Giving stoned teens even more choices to ponder as they stared up at the greasy and fried food options on the expanded menu.
And stoned adults as well. Including Brooklyn MCs Heems and Kool A.D. of Das Racist. As well as their hype man, Ashok Kondabolu.
Released in 2008, Das Racist’s viral YouTube hit “Combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell” seemed to be everywhere.
I was going to say, “like combination Pizza Hut/Taco Bell establishments,” but apparently, they were more common on the East Coast than in the South and Western states (of the U.S. — if you live outside the U.S., let me know in the comments if you’ve seen any combo Pizza Hut/Taco Bell’s in your country.)
In 2008, viral videos had a wider and longer lifespan, as there weren’t a zillion new videos and TikToks posted every minute. I recall “Combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell” (the remix version, above) emailed to me by at least five friends.
I loved it. It seemed to speak to the silly, stonery parts within the silly, stonery masses. It was dumb fun and made you bop your head and sing along with the 19 words repeated in the song about 100 times:
I’m at the Pizza Hut (What?)
I’m at the Taco Bell
I’m at the combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell
If you’ve never heard this song before now, I’m sorry. And, you’re welcome.
I can’t explain why this song reappeared in my head 16 years later, demanding that I write 2000 words (update: 2263) on the song’s earworminess. Maybe I drove past a Taco Bell (there is one less than a mile from my house). Perhaps I dreamt of this song. My dreams often do have a soundtrack.
Like combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bells, Das Racist only lasted a short time, putting out one album, Relax, in 2011 before breaking up. According to Allmusic.com, it’s a 4-star (out of 5) release, which makes me want to listen to more than just this one song. Cause I haven’t. (update: still haven’t.)
Here’s some quick info on MCs Heems and Kool A.D.
Rapper, visual artist, record label owner, Punjabi-American, and native New Yorker (born in Queens), Himanshu "Heems" Suri, after the breakup of Das Racist, released a solo album — Eat, Pray, Thug — in 2015, which he discusses in an excellent NPR radio interview.
Update: I’ve learned viaThe Wax Museum that Heems has just released a brand new album with beatmaker Lapgan, titled LAFANDAR. I'm excited to check it out and will give my thoughts in a future post.
Victor Vazquez (Kool A.D.) is originally from the Bay Area, where I live. He’s been the drummer for several bands, including Boy Crisis and Party Animal. He’s released dozens of acclaimed mixtapes over the past dozen years. He continues to make music with several ongoing projects.
Both Heems and Kool A.D. would like to move on (and for us to move on) from their jokey viral hit made more than 16 years ago. But jerks like me keep bringing it back to the forefront in articles like this.
To this, I say: I’m sorry. And: You’re welcome.
I wasn’t the only teenage stoner with a fast-food bloodfest story to share, was I? Spill the beans in the comments!
Do you remember this Das Racist song and video back in 2008?
I haven’t listened to the new Heems-Lapgam album yet, but if you have, let me know what you think in the comments.
As always, thanks for reading!
https://fastfoodanswers.com/jack-in-the-box-questions/
https://azabbg.bbyo.org/about/history
https://www.franchisewire.com/dual-branding-supercharges-fast-food-franchises/
So much of the above I wasn't.....and, so much to relate to! Never smoked, and was never Jewish, although my sis-in-law is Jewish, my family's best friends (the Fred & Ethel Rubinowitz to Mom and Dad's Lucy & Ricky) were Jewish, and I went to Hebrew High--well, that's what the LARGE Jewish student body at early '70s Bellaire High in SW Houston called it! (still a large Jewish population in that general area, I read recently). They also called it Bethlehem on the Bayou! So, I feel as if I'm one of the chosen Chosen....or, at least an early-round draft pick.
Your stoned Jewish Teen Boy exploits remind me of nothing of my loner (late '60s-early '70s) teen-hood spent huddled in my room listening to endless vinyl, reading liner notes and rock mags, and at nights going either to a free rock concert (thanks, Daddy!) or an Astros game in the Dome (thanks, Daddy!).
BUT, in the late '80s-early '90s (I was 35 in '90, for point of reference), during my days as a pro youth minister at two Lutheran churches (with a B.A. and certification), my high school youth groupers were madcap sponges for all the classic rock I could feed them (and were eager to hear my stories from the decade before--that I'm now writing about here on the 'Stack!!) Our church was in Cerritos (southern L.A. country for non-Angelenos), just above Orange County....every year, we'd get annual passes to both Disneyland AND Knott's Berry Farm! 'Twas an embarrassment of riches! We'd go to one of them every summer day.
We'd go to Carl's Jr. every Wednesday night after Youth Night ended at 9. They were "typical teens," I suppose, but unfailingly nice, and certainly thoughtful and kind. A couple, I suspect, might've smoked, but certainly nowhere near me. These were the guys who were skaters in '88 or so, and after I discovered I could skate (by borrowing one of their boards), I took 3 of them with me to have them help me pick out components for my own board! They LOVED doing that!!! I told them money was no object (hey, expense account!). We'd go to skate parks during the day, and one would bring his video camera so as to make our own skate vids, and we'd skate empty parking garages at night!!
After cooping myself up in my room during MY teens (so I could have something to write about NOW......here), I finally lived out my teenhood in my 30s with those kiddos! Thank you, Jon, Joe, Jason, Scott, a couple of Brians, and the whole bunch!
And, thank you, Steve!
I honestly don't remember Das Racist at all. But the Taco Bell/Pizza Hut track sounds pretty funny.
Now, having grown up in San Diego, headquarters to the Jack in the Box empire, I'll take exception to the sullying of its name. Meaning: There's a long-standing mythos surrounding the JITB taco. Nobody has ever discovered or revealed its contents, but the deep-fried mystery shell was was the go-to filler for the 2 a.m. munchie run. Same with the 15-cent White Castle belly-bomber when I was a teen.
Thankfully, like you, I have forsaken all fast foods for the last five years. My digestive system has been forever thankful.
Keep 'em coming, Steve!