Apart from ideally furious spice and a heaping helping of mighty tasty shredded pork, there wasn’t much to get superlative over here at Fat Taco, where only a few nights before Daniella and Jorge from Fremont were grinding against one another to a deafening mash-up of LMFAO and Katy Perry or something. The problem with the spicy pork was its creeping greasiness — damn near every single bite was punctuated with steady drips, and that’s even less OK than when the DJ clears the floor with some third-rate Maroon 5 cut or saccharine Bruno Mars ballad. On the bottom end of the scale, the smattering of blah pinto beans remained a non-factor throughout, while some bites contained alarmingly lukewarm moments, the biggest turn-off this side of a coke-caused nosebleed all over your finest white clubbing shirt. Finally, our burrito’s slender build seemed grossly inappropriate (considering the name of the place), even if the cheese contributed slyly, yet consistently. Then we indulged in some VIP bottle service and said "hella" a lot.