"Parting Thoughts on #Taco-Bot"
"HOT TAMALE, IT’S TACO BOT!"
On the Viral Scale - One to Kony 2012 - Taco Bot had been a solid Bed Intruder Song.
But Taco Bot had the missed fortune of being the best idea of a dying fad.
For a few weeks Taco Bot had been been inescapable on Facebook, asked to access your location services, and had his own line of emojis.
“Of course Taco Bot can access my location and camera.” answered everyone.
People would spend all nights in the hip parts of town, following their noses and friends geo tags to the alleys adjacent to malls and Urban Outfitters that Taco Bot frequented. It was a total “thing.”
Wherever Taco-Bot was was where we were.
Yeah we #gotourTacoBot. We were #hotforTacoBot. You were either #TacoBotoryourenot.
For a summer people lived for a walking talking, slightly racist robot wandering offering the best fast food no one really wanted anymore. So much better than Pho-Bot. Went great with to Tequila-Shot Bot.
But unlike an IPad 1, 2, 3, 4 or Mini, The Atkins Diet, or the Harlem Shake, Taco Bot had a conscience and his fall from favor was not a Baja Blast.
There’s not enough water in tacos, they tweeted. Too many calories said the status updates.
You don’t seek out a guilty pleasure like you do a buried treasure.
Taco-Bot’s new gluten free options weren’t calibrated for his abdominal oven. Went to waste quicker. Made everything else smell bad.
Taco-Bot’s metal head burned and began to erode after after his less racist and sombrero-less rebranding.
The more curved metal of his gleaming smile did nothing to contradict the slouch in the walking kitchen’s gait.
He got laughed at by the mall so Taco-Bot hung out by himself.
He made less tacos. Cared a little less.
He didn’t show up for his nightly charging.
No one wanted to get #caughtwithTacoBot.
They thought #Hungermakesyoulookyounger.
So people didn’t give him access to their contacts anymore.
Taco-Bot’s online reach shriveled and shriveled, according to Google Analytics.
Months later Taco-Bot’s owners decided not to re-up TacoBot.com. But he could keep TacoBot.net since it was a two year contract.
His charge port wasn’t the same as the new models. He wasn’t able to take orders. His app didn’t work on the new IPhone 5 S my D.
Some Autumn Sunday, with a nearly dead battery and charred black taco about to go through the nearest Chipotle window, Taco-Bot decided to check his inbox.
His owners had paid for a years worth of MailChimp before telling him he would be discontinued.
But there was nothing.
And then it occurred to Taco-Bot that he’d never checked his Spam.
He only ate Tacos, after all.
And if he wasn’t being googled or making Buzzfeed…what did it matter?
He’d never get another Onion article written about him. Never show up on EpicMealTime.
Spam. That’s all he was reduced to. All that’s left.
But he clicked it anyway.
Inside the folder were hundreds of emails...
All from .
“You’re worth a lot, Taco Bot” said the subject line.
Taco Bot’s oven coils buzzed inside him. He felt warm.
“Life moves fast. But I won’t let you go the way of crunchy M&Ms.” Read the latest. “People are nostalgic, but short sighted. An ouroboros that’s forgotten its contacts. Well I can see Taco-Bot. I can see the future. And it’s you and me forever cooking in my kitchen and/or man cave. #GivemeashotTacoBot”
Taco-Bot scrolled through the layers and layers of Crunchwrap Supreme of Love that was his spam folder…read it all.
When he’d cried the last of his hot sauce and broken the last of his shells he started his reply…
“You pick the spot…Love, Taco-Bot”
And when his response got Instagrammed, made Mashable and inspired the Buzzfeed Article "15 Times We Saw God In Taco-Bot’s Slow Cooking Stomach” Taco-Bot realized that it wasn't the retweets he cared about, it was the very first.