A psychedelic dog turd. Don't worry. Fruit By The Foot to save the day:

Now, it's a Crayola turd wrapped in human muscle tissue.

I imagine that if you were to perform an autopsy on the caterpillar from Alice In Wonderland, his insides would look a lot like the inside of a Fruit-Chew Burrito.

Trippy nuggets and technicolor goop bursting out of a thin wisp of trippy, mangled flesh. That's what it tasted like, too: bright and neon -- like a black-light poster shoved its hand in my mouth.

Every bite pops with the flavor of its corresponding color. But, all of that fades away by the second bite. What normally happens with fruity, chewy snacks is, as they mingle with saliva, they turn into syrup in your mouth. Now, stack a bunch of those things on top of each other and then add in the Gusher juice. If there were any old-timey, bacteria-sized oil prospectors living in my mouth, they danced a jig because they struck it rich.

Luckily, I only needed two cookies left intact for my Oreo Tower Of Babel. I didn't throw away the rest once I got them. You'll see them again later.

Next was the boring process of gingerly separating the Oreo cream from its cookie so that the cream remained solid. I piled them and piled them. This is the beast I had cursed with the breath of life:

I ate two cookies during the process because I'm not trying to achieve scientific accuracy as much as I am just trying to do stupid things, so what you're seeing there is 28 creams instead of 30. Each is a Double Stuf, which technically makes this a 56-Stuf Oreo.

It's around here that I realized I had no idea how to eat this thing. Do I smash it together and eat an angry wad of mush? Do I take a bite from the center and let the ends dangle and collapse like Powder's flaccid penis? I wasn't sure, so I did this...

Deep-throating was the only way to go. I employed the "cup the balls" hand grip to keep it all structurally sound and then I rammed this thing into my head.

If you're looking for a description of the flavor profiles, the mouth feel, and the flavor notes for the Oreo Tower Of Babel please refer to the following series of sequential pictures taken as I chewed the Oreo Tower Of Babel:

You would imagine that's what would happen when you try to cram 24 of them into the clown car that is your mouth. But, the flavor is more than that. With chocolate and vanilla frosting oozing out of every bite, I had created a Super Swiss Roll Cake, an uber-Ho Ho. The taste wasn't just the culmination of a shit ton of rolls; it was the beginning.

This is the first and last of the Swiss roll cakes. The flavor was so intense that, after two bites, I was convinced that I, in 2015, had created the very first Super Swiss Roll Cake, which would soon travel back in time to become Swiss Roll Prime, the mysterious, time-traveling Super Swiss Roll Cake that would inspire the mass production of billions of Super Swiss Roll Cakes around the world, eventually leading to the creation of itself, The Swiss Roll Fortress, so that its moment of creation could be documented for posterity, by me.

So, yeah. It tasted alright.

I peeled the soft tortilla away from both sides of the hard shell. I lined one side with nuggets, and the other with the burger, which had been cut in half.

The chicken was torn and sprinkled on top, along with the fries.

Seeing it all assembled, I wondered why I ever wanted this. This is what food looks like when it's enchanted and hunting you. I expected this thing to say, between labored breaths, "Kill ... me ..." If I dropped this off in a tiny 1800s eastern European village at 3 p.m., a pious angry mob would burn it at the stake by 3:07.

From the pictures, it's hard to tell where one item ends and one begins, what's folded into what and where, and, for the love of God, why. That's kind of how it tasted. It ended up being the street fight I was hoping it wouldn't be. Everything was battling for supremacy, trying to be the dominant flavor. For the first few chews, all I tasted was violence. Malice. Hate. War.

From the ashes of war arose a victor: the Double Decker. The distinct taste of Taco Bell is a 2 ton stampeding behemoth that wrecks every flavor in its path with no mercy. If you're twitching on the ground in pain, reaching out for help, Taco Bell's taste will stomp you into goo. It cares not for your sad attempts at being yummy. It will be the only flavor; the final flavor, roaming the wastelands until time immemorial, searching for other flavors that it may crush beneath its foot. Taco Bell's taste doesn't give a fuck.

So, a word of warning to you all: If you happen to encounter Taco Bell's taste in a dark alley, don't run. Don't fight. Shhh. Quiet, child. You're safe now. Say a prayer, and wave goodbye to your mortal coils, for Taco Bell's taste is about to shuffle you straight off them fuckers.

Luis is defying his own advice by trying to outrun Taco Bell's taste. Not today, Taco Bell's taste. Not today. In the meantime, you can find him on Twitter and Tumblr.

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