If you’re like me, and God help you if you are, a funny thing tends to happen to you the morning after the last Saints game (or LSU game, as applicable in any given year.) You stumble out of bed, shake off the cobwebs, and it hits you like a ton of bricks.

HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK! HAVE I REALLY BEEN SCREWING AROUND FOR THE LAST THREE MONTHS??? HOLY SHIT, THERE CAN’T POSSIBLY BE THIS MUCH WORK TO DO.

You may ask yourself "Am I right? Am I wrong?" You may say to yourself "MY GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE???"

And you panic for a few minutes. You toss your blogging top hat and monocle (what, don’t you use one?) in the closet and damn them to hell (for a while) for putting you in this situation. Because it’s always the fault of the inanimate objects. You swear off showers and shaving as a needless waste of time, strap on your pee-bag contraption, bust out the bottle of Trucker’s Choice alertness candy, hook up the coffee I.V. and brace yourself for 60 days or so of putting forth the kind of effort that better people put forth on a regular basis.

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