I’m At The Combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell
Fast food, stoned suburban teenage Jewish boys, and Das Racist’s 2008 viral Earworm hit
FAST FOOD
The only time in the past 20 years that I’ve eaten at a fast food restaurant was when I was on a road trip, starving for something more than chips and cookies. And the only choices within 30 miles were Jack in the Box, McDonalds and Carl’s Jr.
I picked Carl’s Jr. of course. They had the best fries.
Don’t try and argue differently because you’d be wrong.
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 McDonalds had a fish burger too, I didn’t check. But even if they did, I would have still assumed that Carl’s Jr. offered the most fish-like fish.
Jack in the Box though was out of the question, as I was never able to get that rumor that they served kangaroo meat out of my head. Or was it horse meat? I feel like it might have been both. 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.
There was a more traumatic reason, though, for my refusal to eat at Jack in the Box ever again after the evening of October 17, 1984.
JEWISH BOYS GONE WILD
During high school, I was a member of a Jewish youth group named Zion that was part of the B’nai B’rith Youth Organization (BBYO). Our chapter (boys ages 14-18) covered the area of the north-west section of the San Fernando Valley, a suburb about 45 minutes north of downtown Los Angeles. We had maybe 30 members, which was pretty large compared to other AZA chapters in the Southern California region, which I believe 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) click here.
I was not religious by any stretch, though I was barmitzvah’d (see photo proof!).
I joined Zion for the purpose of making new friends after moving to a new town the summer after 10th grade. I was quite shy and not a typical “joiner,” but Dan, my one-Jewish friend from Agoura, (where I lived from 6th - 10th grade), was obsessed about being part of an AZA chapter and told me that I had to join Zion. That way I could invite him to attend our social events where there would be a bevy of Jewish girls to choose from (he’d just gotten his driver’s license and was convinced his mom would let him borrow her car to drive the 30 minutes from Agoura to Northridge).
I did join Zion, but after one social, Dan decided that Valley girls were lame (I assume his “charms” were rebuffed) and soon he would be relegated to the friends-I-used-to-have bin.
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 weeks after my bar-mitzvah…I’m not sure that’s what the elders meant when they said I was now a “man”) and by sixteen I was an almost-every-day toker.
The summer before my senior year, I was voted President (Gadol) of Zion (there were no other candidates). Which meant that I got to pound a gavel at our monthly meetings and make sure that the rest of the youth board were on top of their projects. Frankly it was 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 quench our munchies.
One night, after a board meeting, we all got stoned then drove over 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) and spread our bounty out 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 (names have been changed), the jokiest of our group, took a couple of plastic straws and stuck them into his nostrils then 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. I’m sure 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 memory. 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 didn’t find 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 2am. It took a while to stop the bleeding but the damage wasn’t as bad as it could have been. He needed a half dozen stitches in each nostril and his nose was bandaged up, but no permanent damage.
I have no idea what they told Jeff’s parents — if us being stoned was mentioned — and I didn’t ask. Shawn was one of those gift of gab kids and I could imagine him telling all 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 prior to the nose-bleed straw incident, Zion held a new member orientation event that I was unable to attend. After the event, several of the members smoked a joint in the backyard. One of the newbies saw this, told their parents, who then called the regional director, 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 and it was decided that I had to suspend the three board members who were in the joint smoking group (all of whom were friends) and organize an anti-drug event/fundraiser with all proceeds going to D.A.R.E.
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.
Was I scared straight? Did I stop eating fast food? Did I drink my beverages without straws? Hell no.
We Zion members had to curb our marijuana enthusiasm at Jewish youth group events, but after six months of good behavior and a successful fund-raising event, most of us would graduate high school and be free to smoke our pot with abandon as freshmen in college.
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 often had to wait 15 minutes for a pizza (unless they had slices on a heating rack)!
It would be decades before fast food establishments would up their marketing skills and partner up. And Pizza Hut and Taco Bell sharing an address was not the first such corporate combo. But 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-tasty options on the expanded menu.
And stoned adults as well. Including Brooklyn MCs Heems and Kool A.D. of Das Racist.
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 the combination Pizza Hut/Taco Bell establishments” but apparently it was more common on the east coast, though we did have one in Oakland, California for a while if memory serves (and it rarely does).
Back in 2008, viral videos were more widespread and long-lasting, as there weren’t a zillion new videos and TikToks posted every minute. I can recall this song (the remix version, above) emailed to me by at least five friends. I loved it. It seemed to speak to the silly, stonery part in most everyone. It was dumb, fun, and made you bop your head and sing along to the 19 words repeated 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’d never heard this before now, you’re welcome. Or: I’m sorry.
I can’t explain why this song reappeared in my head 14 years later, demanding that I write 2000 words based on its appearance. It could be that I passed by a Taco Bell (there is one less than a mile from my house). It could be that I dreamed this song; my dreams often do have a soundtrack. Tracking down the source of our earworms can be cathartic, but rarely does this information help. It doesn’t make it go away faster and often digs it in deeper.
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 it. Cause I haven’t.
Sorry if you came here expecting to learn more about Das Racist, or their two main MCs, Heems and Kool A.D.
I believe Himanshu "Heems" Suri is Indian (born in Queens) and Kool A.D. — Victor Vazquez — is from the Bay Area, where I live, and that the two met at Wesleyan University. Heems actually released a solo album — Eat, Pray, Thug — in 2015, which I just learned about. And Kool A.D. is making music with several projects.
Both of them would like to move on from their jokey viral hit made more than 14 years ago. But jerks like me keep bringing it all back to the forefront in substacks like this.
To this I say: You’re welcome. And: I’m sorry.