I’ve decided to call these tacos “SOB Tacos” because the second I went for a bite, the tortilla crumbled apart and I yelled son of a bitch across the dinner table. It was fine because we were at home. I had no concern about offending anyone. Except, maybe, Brad Pitt. But his taco crumbled apart, too, so he really had no room to judge my sudden outburst and, in fact, probably agreed with me. 
Somehow he managed to continue eating his in true taco fashion, squishing the tortilla together as best as possible and shoving the contents into his mouth before they could hit the plate. I, on the other hand, gave up and chopped my shell into tiny bites and mixed everything together into a taco salad format. Either way, the sons of bitches tasted good.
Happy Taco Tuesday!
PigTales 