Unfortnately for me, I need to do some more testing before I can say this with any certainty, but I do believe that "Pump It" by the Black Eyed Peas temporarily relieves the symptoms associated with a hangover.

Late night TV is all about infidelity.

Consider this list of offenders:

• Jerry Springer

• Cheaters
• Sam Malone from Cheers
  ('Dan from Night Court' in some markets)

The commercials are even more explicit. I saw one of them that actually implied that their service can hook you up with woman who are dissatisfied with the kind of attention they're getting from their boyfriends.

All of this has me wondering: Are the only people watching TV late at night demographically pre-disposed to lechery? Or is it something that's hardwired into all of us, but that we only admit to between the hours of 1:00 and 3:00 AM?

Lunchtime. Somehow I'd managed to escape from work unscathed. And, armed with a list of errands that needed serious running, my injury-free state was going to come in handy.

My tasks were simple:

• Go to Staples and buy a pocket organizer 
• Go to the Revol wireless store, exchange an item, and get that cell number ported

But first — before I could do any of those things — I had to do something both more and less important: I had to eat.

I say both more and less because I think I'm going through one of those things where I don't eat very much. For two or three weeks, I've been about 25% on whether or not I'll eat anything after lunch. But my actual lunch odds are much better because even though I don't typically want to eat anything for lunch, I usually do so anyway. This day was no exception.

Heading north, I mentally planned my route to Staples. I thought about how, with just a little finaggling, I could take myself past a McDonald's. But then I remembered that I didn't want any actual McDonald's food inside my stomach. Next, I imagined a much more convoluted route that would take me past a Wendy's. And with the legendary Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger back on the value menu specifically to appeal to people like me, it was a very tempting option indeed. Just not one I was willing to go that far out of my way for. (Sorry, Wendy.)

That's when I settled on the closest option: Noble Roman's Pizza.

Now, one thing you should know about me and Noble Roman’s is that ... well ... let's just say that when it comes to mid-day quickies, Noble Roman's and I go way back. You see, when I worked in cable advertising, I ate lunch literally every day at Noble Roman's. Every day. And loved it, I might add. And yet I rarely ever eat there anymore. I kinda feel like their quality has gone down and, well ... we've just kinda drifted apart.

Long story short: on this particular day, I was feeling a touch nostalgic (among other things) and so an unusual thought entered my mind: Why not just eat at Noble Roman's?

One flick of the wrist and an uncharacteristically spontaneous left turn later, and I found myself snugly parked in the Noble Roman's lot. Now this particular Noble Roman's is sort of like the bowling alley version of Noble Roman’s, only without the actual bowling alley. Which means it has that that combined-with-a-TCBY ambiance. In other words, the food is just sitting there and you don't really order anything so much as take it to the cashier, right?

Supposedly the benefit of doing it this way is that I get to just grab my food and go. Unfortunately, that's not the way it worked out in reality, as I was cut off on my way in by a coked-out couple wearing 80's clothes entering from another door. And they wanted TCBY, which requires careful attention from the cashier.

In other words, I had to wait.

To be perfectly honest with you, it felt like I was waiting awhile. Now, I know I was only standing there thirty seconds or so, but that time actually came in handy, because (like every other time I've come to this Noble Roman's) the pepperoni slot on the serve-yourself pizza stand was empty. This meant that I was faced with a very serious decision: wait for pepperoni or settle for cheese?

On one hand, I rationalized the cheese position by convincing myself that the cheese pizza would be healthier for me. Which is probably true. But the other half of my personality kept reminding me how boring cheese pizza sounds to my inner pizza maniac and I got to thinking, maybe I did really want to eat pepperoni after all.

But then there was the fact that I'd already been holding the cheese pizza box. And maybe it wasn't right to pick up the pizza like I was going to buy it only to set it down, you know? Might be both immoral and unsanitary.

Of course, that house of cards collapsed the instant the pepperoni pizza came sliding down its little ramp. Well, not the instant, of course. No, I definitely stood there and debated for another second or so ... but once I made up my mind, I pounced on that pepperoni like a 13-year-old kid in a boob-themed candy store.

So there I am switching out the old cheese pizza for a hot and fresh pepperoni, just as the cashier wraps up the TCBY couple and looks over at me.

"What kind of pizza?" she asked.

"Pepperoni," I said, holding the box up triumphantly. But as I lifted the box closer to my nose, I caught the scent of what was inside. And once these noxious fumes entered my nostrils, I instantly recalled the most important thing about this Noble Roman's. The one thing you should always remember. The real reason I don't eat there very often:

THE PEPPERONIS AT THIS LOCATION ALWAYS SMELL AND TASTE RANCID!

Unfortunately, by the time I realized what a terrible mistake I'd made, it was already too late. I had verbally committed myself to the cashier, so I was left with no option but to grin and bear it. Heck, it even turned out to not be so bad of a taste this time. Not like the last time. I couldn't even finish the one tiny pizza that time. Despite my best efforts, it just smelled too rotten.

This time, though, tucked behind the wheel of my car listening to Track 10 on the second Streets album, I didn't eat the whole thing not so much because of the taste, but just because I'm not eating much these days.