"I don't care... (presumably about) tacos"

This story needs to be told. Being the social archivist that I am, I have committed it to writing. Read on:

Not long ago, Gulley and I were having drinks and appetizers at Applebee's, as we are wont to do when she's in town. Because we're both textbook misanthropes, the bulk of our conversation is centered around who or what we hate. Traffic violations, people too stupid to commit appropriate traffic violations, the morbidly obese, restless leg syndrome, anything that we can wrap our minds around and for which a seemingly articulate reason for disliking it can be found.

Well, embroiled as we were in this discussion, we nearly missed the greatest treasure of anecdotal history we're likely to ever witness, one on par with Lewis Black's "if it weren't for my horse" story. Not two tables away, an irritating man was addressing his crowd of lady-friends. He was tall, with dark hair, overly greased but well-manicured, and he was proclaiming his apathy for tacos.

I'm getting ahead of myself, so let's step back a level of abstraction.

What he said was, "I don't care. We can go to my house... get some tacos." His pronunciation of "tacos" was particularly intriguing: he said it with a definite diphthong in the first syllable, like, "tyah-coes." Perhaps this contains a nucleus of information that will help aid in our interpretation of his arcane statement, rife as it is with meaning. What was he trying to say?

Naturally, our theories on proper interpretation abound. Is he perhaps declaring himself to be like the wicked witch in a Marxist reading of Hänsel und Gretel, possessed of so much food that he has literally constructed his home from it, perhaps with the intent of luring in attractive, hungry women? If so, this approach seems a poor one to execute within a restaurant, where food is readily available at what most would agree is a reasonable price. And furthermore, why tacos? Why not flan? Really, when you're dealing with this level of absurdity, a dessert would be a better idea, and certainly more true to the wicked witch tradition.

Or perhaps he is advertising his wealth. He has so many tacos at home that he just needs to get rid of them, and these lovely ladies seem to have such refined pallets that going home with him and indulging in his surplus of tacos would be a mutually advantageous solution to propose. The fact that tacos cost money is a parallel that the ladies are meant to draw on their own, thus enhancing their opinion of their greasy friend while at the same time sating their collective appetite for Tex-Mex.

The list of possible interpretations exceeds practicality in this medium, where brevity is so treasured, but be advised that I am willing to discuss them--at length--should you choose to offer your own.