I had a plan. I was going to look at the poll results this morning and declare that -- seeing as the public had spoken so dramatically -- my lunch for today was going to be: a sandwich.

And a hamburger. And pizza. And sushi.

I'd be abiding by the will of the majority, y'see, because "Bug" wasn't supposed to clear fifty percent. If all the other stuff added up to over half the votes, I could just eat that -- all that -- and claim to have followed the poll.

Plus I'd get to make a pig out of myself. Win-win.

But no. More than half of you sickos just had to choose "Bug." I'll bet you stand on sidewalks and chant "Jump, jump, jump!" too.

OK, so, Plan B: If I invalidate the votes of the 54 people who had their decision automatically made for them by an off-site troublemaker (whom I'll call by the pseudonym "Derek Powazek" to protect his identity) that leaves "Bug" with... 50.2%.

Crap.

OK, fine, I'll eat the damned bug.

I was hoping I'd be able to find a restaurant that served bugs -- or, at least, served them intentionally -- and I'd get to have some sort of tasty bug platter for lunch, rounded out with a salad and a Coke. I mean, this is LA.

But, apparently, no such place exists. Out of all the nonsense that goes on in this town -- out of all the earthy, New Agey, hippy, goofy nonsense -- you'd think they'd have at least one good bug restaurant. It doesn't sound so far fetched if you've been living here a while. If a city can support a whole host of dog therapists, then, dammit, there should be at least one bug restaurant.

So instead, I made a noontime appointment at an aquarium shop. They were really nice, once they stopped laughing at me.

When I arrived, the owner went into the back and retrieved a hearty cricket from the freezer. (You kill crickets by freezing them.) It was big bug: beefy, impressivly developed, as if it had spent a fair amount of time down at the bug gym, lifting bug weights, bulking up. It was, in short, the sort of bug that inspires the phrase, "Man, I sure wouldn't want to have to eat that."

One employee told me that crickets didn't taste so bad -- it's mealworms you've really gotta look out for -- but gave me a packet of McDonald's ketchup anyway, if I was the squeamish sort.

OK.

There is no delicate way to eat a bug. You just close your eyes, open your mouth and pretend that what you're chewing on is a spindly, slightly crunchy piece of steak. It didn't taste bad -- the ketchup over-powered the cricketiness of it -- but it wasn't exactly tender either.

Chew, chew, chew. Chew, chew. Chew. Swallow.

Just a note, if you're ever going to do this: Have the water handy before you start.

I ate a bug.