*Buuuuuurrrrrpp*

Please pardon me while I partake in the digestive process of what can be described as a purely hedonistic intake of what was a delicious lunch.

If there is a man, woman, or child on this planet who doesn’t enjoy a good plate of nachos on occasion, I just don’t want to know them. The entire premise just doesn’t make sense to me.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have had a vision of the next market in which to plant vast sums of venture capital. After all, it’s the evilest capital of all next to the one which invested in virtual keyboards and Autocorrect.

Nacho Farm.

Before you pipe up and say something silly by suggesting that you can’t grow nachos, hear me out.

To start, I envision acres and acres of corn fields. Corn is one of the major staples of our dietetic integrity, and you sure as shootin’ need it to make the perfect tortilla chip to receive all of the nacho goodness.

Corn ain’t the only thing though. I need an acre or two of tomatoes, onions, jalapeños, garlic, and cilantro.

Nachos without pico de gallo is like safe sex without….

Never mind. That’s probably a bad analogy.

Did I mention gallo? Of course I did.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with that term, I’m led to believe it means “chicken”.

Free range chicken with the juiciest of breasts and the most luscious of thighs.

*analogy avoided*

Any nacho worth its salt (bad analogy) will have grilled chicken on it. Dark meat or white, it doesn’t matter. As such, chickens are a featured item at Nacho Farm until it comes time to liberate the little cluckers from the confines of life on Earth. The individual employed by Nacho Farm charged with wringing the collective necks of the Nacho Farm chickens for further participation on a real bitchin’ plate of nachos will be a surly lady who has to be at least 85 years of age and raised on a farm. Her great grandchildren have to be on the cusp of having kids of their own, and at least one of her own children must have been born not breech, but sideways. The propensity to smoke a corn cob pipe or use chewing tobacco is a plus.  Irene Ryan comes to mind.

I don’t want my chicken wringer to be soft or inclined to put up with any guff.

Cows!

Lots of them.

Nacho farms will need to employ cows capable of producing the purest of queso.

Not just plain cheese, mind you.

Queso.

It must flow smoothly with no lumps. It must be thick, but not so much that it’s no longer a liquid. One shouldn’t have to add milk or water to it in order to achieve the perfect thickness. It should come out of the udder that way.

Nacho Farm would not be complete without a grove of avocado trees.

It’s as plain, clear, and simple as this ladies and gentlemen. Mexican food was invented to reflect and resonate the glory of guacamole. Prove me wrong. I dare you.

If you’re going to eat nachos, they aren’t complete without guacamole. Guacamole isn’t complete without avocados.

I’ve already discussed this before, and your mere presence here constitutes your acceptance of the power of guacamole.

Now keep in mind that there would be no cross pollination of the market with the Nacho Farm. All items produced here would be for the express purpose and intent of creating bitchin’ plates of artery clogging, illegal in at least one state, nachos designed to catalyze taste bud nirvana.

To those of you venture capitalists out there who are looking to settle a score after being demonized during this years presidential campaign, I would suggest that you now have a vehicle for retribution.

What am I bid?