The Paris Review didn’t respond for comment. Taco Bell Quarterly is now king in the lit world. Or something like that. It was never about them. I’m just trying to get traffic for my magazine. In the beginning I wanted the Taco Bell Quarterly to be the next Paris Review. Or the anti-Paris Review. Or bigger than the Paris Review. I actually didn’t care where I landed on that first roll of the dice. I was going to buy in no matter what, like in Monopoly. (Except for Baltic Ave. Never buy that crap first.)
After four issues, I can tell you who we are. We’re Taco Bell Quarterly, a magazine in which every writer, artist, and poet references Taco Bell–except for one writer, who wanted Dunkin’ in this issue. It’s like an epic road trip of writers and artists, stopping at fast food restaurants and telling stories.
Advertising and capitalism is the white noise of our lives, etc etc etc. I’m tired of explaining this thing. It’s popular for a reason, and if you don’t get it, we didn’t make it for you. I tried sounding smart about it last year in all those interviews, but it’s the millionth month of the pandemic, and I just want to enjoy my life.
In this issue, there’s fiction that I want commissioned for a feature film starring Matthew McConaughey playing bongos in the desert. There’s mostly true stories about road trips and talking to the cosmic id of the universe. There’s stories about affairs, ballerinas, ghosts, and divorce. There’s righteous anger and outer space comic books and poems about cats and dogs.
Click around and find small delights and revelations. Or consume the whole burrito that is the size of your first-born. Yeah, this is a fat issue. Some of these writers are going to be famous. Most of them won’t. But do you remember the time we all went on an amazing road trip, pulling off at rest stops, eating tacos, and listening to each other’s stories? That’s who we are. Taco Bell Quarterly, King of the Lit World.
Actually, that sounds pretty good. I’m gonna roll with it.
MM Carrigan, Editor