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A large, 3-topping solution

Sometimes the only reasonable solution to life's problems is too much pizza.

Sure, I have it from good sources that, in times of need, prayer and meditation are highly beneficial, but — and I don't mean to be hyper-critical — they seem overly complicated and seriously flawed.

If I go the prayer route, there's that whole dilemma of whom to pray to and in what language, format or respectful posture (and honestly the thought of tackling that makes my head feel like one major aneurysm waiting to blow). Then I have to wait for divine intervention as an act of faith.

I'm a huge fan of immediate gratification who's in crisis mode ... so, no, not gonna happen.

Meditation? Dude, you think I should sit there deep-breathing oxygen into a brain that's in dilemma overload and a body that's already reacting to the stress with flight-or-fight level adrenalin? Why don't I just hook a firehose to an oxygen tanker to put out a bonfire? Yeah, meditation ain't gonna work either.

The uber-health conscious are saying that if the introspective methods to induce problem solving don't work for me then I should try exercise. Theoretically, they're right, but in reality that's crazy talk that can only lead to permanent damage to more of my favorite body parts.

To be fair, sure, they're all my favorite parts. They were given to me on my birth day, y'know. I've had them since my first breath, so they're special. I haven't always treated them well, but I have learned this: Exercise will hurt. How is that supposed to solve problems?

I seriously considered the idea that if the virtuous route doesn't help me I might try the pursuit of debauchery, but none of those options seemed like good solutions either.

Cheating just creeps me out, and I don't want to have to lug around all that emotional baggage — it never comes in a soft-sided carry-on with wheels and a convenient collapsible handle. It's that heavy, old-fashioned, hard plastic baggage like from the '50s and '60s that bruises your legs when you carry it and pinches your fingers in the big metal latches.

Gambling's out of the question. If I had that much money to fritter away, I wouldn't have so many problems now would I. I'm too honest to lie and too not-smart-enough to steal.

That leaves drinking or recreational drug use.

I have to admit that both sound attractive. I come from what is arguably the last generation raised not to feel guilty about alcohol consumption and amateur drug use in response to life's difficulties. Culturally, then, I am predisposed to saying, "Ah, hell, let's just get wasted and stupid."

The problem here is that my body's metabolism has never been compatible with such activities. It seems to consider such substances to be a poison of some sort and reacts accordingly, working quickly and efficiently to either shut all systems down to coma-level activity or flush all systems with violent and projectile vomiting. Either way, not so much fun.

Along the lines of conspicuous consumption of edibles, though, I might logically try chocolate, and I have self-medicated with it in the past, but consider this about the pizza in connection with problem solving: Pizza doesn't really fix anything, just as chocolate doesn't fix anything, but I can consume enough pizza to make myself miserably full. And a miserable belly is a simple, understandable problem that will, in a few hours of natural settling and digesting, fix itself without work or worry on my part.

I consume three adult-sized servings, throw away the box and the paper plate, and just sit in my recliner with a cool drink letting biology solve a problem and ease my distress. It's like I'm making progress.

My belly distended with pizza, therefore, is a thing of beauty and a source of profound peace.

(Hey, the pizza had ample representation from four major food groups, so it ain't all bad at


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