There comes a time in every person’s life when he has to face his own mortality. It could be something as simple as a gray hair, or maybe the hot young waitress calling you “Sir.” My sign was more of an assault and robbery. Age kicked me in the ribs and took my wallet.

It was a long, hard road, but finally, we are getting the recognition we deserve.  Last year, we broke into the Top 10, and this year, we almost nabbed the Number 1.  Of course, I am talking about Baton Rouge being the second-most dangerous city in America.  It just brings a tear to my eye to see how this community came together to make a run for the championship.  Personally, I don’t think we should see this as a loss.  We gave it a heck of an effort, and we should all be proud.  Las Vegas:  Look out!  We are gunning for you next year!

As I write this, I am two hours past my first weight-training workout in probably two years.  I feel like a worthless tub of goo.  Just seeing how strong I wasn’t made me feel terrible about my spot in the universe.  My muscles, if you can call them that, are still trembling.  The only redeeming part is that, now that I have the first workout done, the rest will be easier.

As someone who is a connoisseur of fine infomercials, I must say that the quality is definitely going downhill.  I remember a time when an infomercial was a full 30 minutes of product demonstrations with a phone number at the bottom.  Sadly, now it is about 10 minutes of demonstrations that always gets interrupted by 5-minute pitches with close-up shots of the product in action, with lame music and deep-voiced announcer guy telling you how to order.

Maybe it’s because I am “husky,” maybe it’s because my blood pressure is insanely close to stroke level, but I don’t remember the last time I was cold.  Actually, I am almost always hot, or at least very warm to the touch.  Conversely, my girlfriend is always freezing.  Oftentimes, I think she may be dead, with the corpselike hands and feet she always insists on touching me with.

Holy Holidays! It’s that time of year again, so I would like to discuss it. I don’t care what you call this time of year; I call it “December.” I call December 25th “Christmas.” I call a Christmas tree a “tree.” I call people who get offended by what something is called “dumb ****** ****ing *****.”

I was very excited to vote last month.  FINALLY!  They had left it up to the people of East Baton Rouge Parish as to whether we should be able to buy alcohol on Sundays.  It won by a landslide.  I was insanely happy…but it was all for naught.

Today I am in a foul mood, because the world of underground pharmaceutical procurement has let me down.  I know what you are thinking: “But Sunny, you don’t use drugs!”  This may be true, but I still have connections.  You never know when being able to get your hands on an eight ball will save the life of someone you love…or at least help you get someone to “love” you.

I would like to take a moment to step on my soapbox… Let’s talk about addiction. There are lots of people that talk about addiction being a disease. I don’t want to mention any names, because that might get lawyers involved.

So it has now been over forty days without nicotine.  Everyone asks me how I am doing.   It doesn't matter how I am doing, because I am a nonsmoker.  It is not an option.  Just know that, if you don't hear about a madman killing 49 people in the mall, or 67 people in traffic on the interstate, I am doing OK with it.   I may hate my life, and would be willing to walk nude for five miles over flaming glass shards, while spiders rain down from the heavens, just to get a whiff of a Parliament that a hobo has been carrying in his underwear while jogging in from the equator, but I am at peace without nicotine.