Play Nice, Eat Big

My friends and I believe that the secret to world peace lies deep within the lime-cilantro center of a Chipotle burrito. Were we to be left in charge of the planet, we’d promptly appoint the staff of the College Park Chipotle to the highest cabinet positions. Then we’d send out Evites to all the world leaders and gather them inside the aluminum walls of our headquarters. We’d sit everyone down, give them paper cups with nifty stories printed on, and serve each their choice of chicken, beef, carnitas, or vegetable burrito. The magic would unfold.

A Chipotle burrito is a beautiful thing. It is seemingly disparate pieces coming together in, yes, harmony. Meat! Grains! Cheese! Fiber! Brought together by a tortilla wrap that, no matter how much it is asked to contain, always makes room for all. It’s a kindergarten class, it’s a sing-along. Or one of those bus tours through Europe, where everybody pretends to be cousins.

Of course, all that harmony is only up until digestion. The real heart of the Chipotle Theory of World Peace is the idea that after consuming one full pound of Mexican food, nobody feels like arguing. You must understand, this is a honking burrito. Stuff down one of those puppies and politics is the last thing on your mind. Is there a God? Are there weapons of mass destruction? Nobody cares, as long as there’s Maalox.

Phone your representatives, people. I’m telling you.