Two straight weeks of fast food can do things to a man ... weird things. I've always said that McDonald's is the only place where a person can suffer from malnutrition and indigestion at the same time, but that was just an idle criticism based on nothing but statistics.

Now, I can speak from experience ... gassy, squishy, smelly experience.

Perhaps in my younger years, when my intestines were still seeking out new challenges to test their fortitude, I could've handled slop like that for a month or more. But now, it's just not that easy. A steady diet of deep-fried chicken coupled with burgers drowning in grease and tacos that taste like ground up donkeys has taken its toll on my precious GI tract.

So today, I cooked. Boy did I cook! If the devil ever materializes and challenges me to a cooking competition for my immortal soul, I want today's meal to be my holy weapon against the Prince of Darkness. Spaghetti with meat sauce, just like Mom used to make, a garden salad, and buttermilk biscuits.

After eating, I passed out from pure culinary bliss. Now that I'm awake, I had to tell the world about it. Now you know. So I can go back to sleep, dreaming about battling Satan with garlic powder.