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.

Turns out, it doesn’t matter that it passed with nearly 70% approval, because that was just an opinion poll they had on the ballot.  Apparently, the Metro Council just wanted to gauge public feelings on the issue so they could take that into consideration when they voted.  It sickens me that the Council would cheapen voting down to something they will think about before they decide what is best for us poor dopes out here.

“Bones” says we shouldn’t do it because we need to keep the Sabbath holy.  Really?  I guess Bones doesn’t realize that, according to the Bible, the “Sabbath” is actually Saturday.  Furthermore, the Bible doesn’t say anything about not drinking on the Sabbath.  It does talk about how you aren’t to work or travel or eat, but rather, you are to stay home and praise God all day.  I wonder when is the last time “Bones” actually did any of those things.

I have to be careful how I phrase this, as my column is now required reading in public schools.  Having two ladies “help you make dinner” isn’t as great as you’d think it would be.  Sure, it’s a nice story to tell your buddies.  Every guy loves knowing it is possible to have two “chefs” working for him, but in reality, there is too much going on to keep up with.

Just picture all the awkward moments possible when two people are “in the kitchen.”  Now add another person.  You are trying to put something into the “oven,” while somebody else is trying to “tenderize the steak,” but the other chef is greasing up a “cookie sheet.”  Before you know it, you have “spilled the milk,” and now, the meal is ruined.

I understand, it looks good on “Food Network,” but remember: Those people are professionals, and it’s pre-recorded. The glaze will always look perfect when you can edit the film.

So I quit smoking and I quit drinking.  The next logical step was to do something about my terrible body.  I am a physical disaster.

Since nothing motivates a man like gambling, and I needed something to do with all that extra cash, not to mention needing a new vice, I became involved with a wager.  It started out friendly enough: a few of us who needed to lose a few pounds throwing in cash and setting a timeframe for the contest.  Then it got odd.

I had to do something I have always dreaded: the “Before” picture, or as I like to call it, the “Al Qaeda Hostage” picture.  You can’t just take off your shirt and hold the newspaper.  You have to make yourself look like a wreck.  You need to push out your gut so you look like a cross between a fat person and an Ethiopian with the swollen stomach.  You also have to give yourself the appearance that you haven’t slept in weeks and look completely disheveled.  The worse you can make yourself look “before,” the better you look “after.”

It’s like putting in ten dollars’ worth of gas but not resetting your trip odometer.  It might make your mileage look better, but in the end, you know you are still a slob…or something like that. Maybe I need to eat something besides rice cakes, as I am now just babbling…

If I win, I will publish the pictures.  If not, just know, as expected, I gave it the bare-minimum effort needed to somewhat compete.