I have done a great deal of soul-searching tonight. First I sat on the floor meditating. Then I sat in my car drinking Scotch Whiskey out of a brown paper bag. When a hobo knocked on my window and asked for his brown paper bag back, I knew my life had taken an ugly turn.

The Amateur Gourmet has ruined everything. Nary can I eat a meal without taking a picture. Do you know how weird that is? To take pictures of your food? People stare at me everywhere I go, and I have to tell them: "I'm documenting my eating habits for a bevy of internet readers!" And they undoubtedly respond: "A bevy? Who uses the word bevy?"

Worse than that, though, my social life has completely hit a wall. Friends no longer eat with me for fear I will write about their eating habits on the internet. People no longer tell me things. I ask people to tell me things and they say: "No! You'll put it on the internet!" So, for example, I had to find about my friend Scott Henderson's hemmoroids from a third party. Do you know how hurtful that is?

Mostly, though, I miss my time. The old me used his time very well. I would take ballet lessons, for example. Have you seen Billy Elliot? That's based on me.

And legos! The old me used to play with legos. Not any more. Now I have to eat my legos.

The time has come to reevaluate. And I have come to the following conclusion: at 9 pm tonight, right after Will and Grace and before The Apprentice, I will terminate this website. I do it because I want my sanity back. I do it because I want your sanity back. I do it because I want to go out on a high note, and three months of glory is all a man can expect in this fickle fickle world, on this fickle fickle net we call inter.

There is, of course, the possibility that--instead--I will covertly reveal that this entire message is part of a ruse. "A ruse?" you ask. "Yes," I say. "What sort of ruse," you press. "An April Fool's ruse," I conclude. "Bastard," you say.

Yes. Yes indeed. Happy A.F. Day!