My kind of sign

Because of my sloth-like metabolic rate and my genetic propensity to always push beyond the 34 inch waistline, I no longer allow myself the convenience or chemical goodness of fast food.

But if I did, and God knows I want to, Chipotle would be my first stop on the caloric freight train.

Not because their skirt steak is any tastier.

Or their salsa any salsier.

You just have to love a company willing to put a sign on the back of their truck that reads:

Warning tailgating may result in guacamole.

My brother, who has eaten at Chipotle, tells me there's a sign in the men's room that reads:

Employees must light a match before returning to work.