Saturday night I was stricken with some of the worst digestive problems I think I’ve ever had, barring perhaps a horrific stomach bug that laid siege to me while traveling in Asia three years ago. I’ll spare the specifics for squeamish readers, and just say that I spent the twenty-four hours after dinner on Saturday and before “The Simpsons” on Sunday more or less in a doubled-over position. It was nasty and uncomfortable and it reaffirmed my suspicion that everything is slowly trying to kill me.