"Muhammad Nachos"

I saw Muhammad in an order of nachos.

Yep, Muhammad, the Prophet, right there in my order of nachos. His lips were formed by slices of black olive, and they explained to me that it was not his idea, the killing and the bombing and the hatred and so forth. I believed him, as I could see both the passion and sadness in his jalapeno eyes.

His sour cream turban was flecked with bits of ground beef, giving it some real foreshortened perspective, and I was thankful that I'd ordered the Nachos Grande and NOT the Nachos Supreme, as those come with pork green chili. That would have been awkward.

Why, I wondered, possibly aloud, in a world where Jesus appears in spaghetti dinners and Mother Teresa in cinnamon rolls, do I see Muhammad in an order of nachos? Does this make me some sort of a terrorist? Or a terrorist sympathizer? Hey, I love my country...I just wanted a snack.

"Terrorism is very subjective," the plate of nachos said. "Consider the history of your own country, the violence and genocide and repression and global strong-arming. And this is in no way a justification of the violence carried out in my name."

Waiter!

"Everything OK here, sir?" the waiter asked."Another beer?"

"Actually, these nachos are bringing up some points that I'm either intellectually or emotionally unprepared to deal with. Plus, the beans are a little cold."

"Oh yeah," he replied. "The Nachos Grande. Can I bring you something else from the bar menu?"

"Hmmmm ... how are the mozzarella sticks?"

"I like them a lot, sir, though some people have complained that they occasionally arrange themselves on the plate in a way that resembles Hitler."

"Well, how about the buffalo wings?"

"Very spicy. Slight chance of seeing Charlton Heston," he replied.

"You mean Charlton Heston as Moses?"

"No, just Charlton Heston."

"I'll pass, then. Egg rolls?"

"Virgin Mary."

"That's the last thing I need. Pot stickers?

"Pol Pot."

"Yeah, that would make sense, I guess. How 'bout the fried calamari?"

"That's a little unpredictable," the waiter replied. "It's new on our menu, and so far we've had reports of L. Ron Hubbard, Karl Marx and Rasputin. Not at the same time, of course."

"Do you have any appetizers that don't resemble someone famous?" I asked.

"Hmmm ... good question. Lemmee see ..." he said, running his finger slowly down the menu. "Ummm, no, I guess not, now that I really think about it."

"All right, then ... just give me whatever you have that looks like John Lennon," I said, sliding the barely-touched nacho plate towards him.

"And I'll take that other beer now, too."

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