Making the Best of… Your Hangover

Make The Best of…

 

Your Hangover

$ Good news: all subsequent wake-ups improve vastly in comparison. How much better your relationship with sleep will be once ceasing it doesn’t result in your being sent straight to hell! Keep in mind just how bad your hangover currently is and tomorrow (and all subsequent tomorrows) you will truly appreciate being able to wake up.

Similar advice may be followed for: bad chest colds, flu-like symptoms, message-sending horse heads, sports defeats, food poisoning, and remembering (on the cusp of sleep) exactly what death will feel like. Well… won’t feel like.

 

$ It doesn’t count as bulimia if you are going to throw it all up of your own post-drunken accord. Come– eat all you want– or more! Make sure you do it right! Fed is fed and your scale’ll forget.

And no one will notice, the food waster and the food wasted, covered in one another, in the end in the end in the end in the end. Guts, guts– if you’ve got to chuck your guts– some chicken won’t hurt at all!

 

$ Try to make a song out of it– every single noise, the whole thing. REMIX. Record all your heaves (ideally you’ll have a good mix of wet and dry to choose from), wails, cusses, promises to never drink again, crying, whimpering, sniveling, pleading, moaning, headaching,1 the contact splat of face and gut stuff into toilet water, flushes, sleeping.

Really Matmos it up. Write lyrics while you’re doing it and sing them while you’re doing it. Don’t cheat– all source audio.

And I’m never, never, never, never, never  eh-eh-ever
Never, never, never, never, never eh-eh-ever
Never, never, never, never neh-eh neh eh-eh neh EH-EH-EH-EH
Never, never, never, never gonna never gonna drink agohgoddfaarrrhhoogohghghgklk  flllsshfh fljls  gggggggggg

 

$ Good time to get a sweet bleary/bloodshot/watery eyes pic. If you are a bad person, try to pass this off as your reaction to, say, a pet dying or a parent. CREDIBILITY.

 

$ We can all use a reminder to brush our teeth. You can never brush too much! Unless you’ve started to erode your gums, in which case, you can and have. Sorry!

But seriously tho: brush your teeth. It’s us versus the animals and I refuse to lose to some pseudo-opposable-thumbed capuchin.2

 

$ You aren’t a filthy degenerate paying the price for your debauched and sin-filled lifestyle, you are a shrewd investor maximizing the value your bathroom floor. It’s not just artificial ground, it’s a sky proximity increaser, a workplace for your feet, a puddle collector, a grout museum, and now an impromptu bed for the non-electively toilet adjacent. What can’t this miracle surface do! And its not such a bad bed if I say so myself slash even these memories will be good memories one day.

 

$ Commune with Spirits.
They’re desperately throwing themselves against your skull trying to get out;3 they’re furiously bouncing back and forth up and down your trachea and stomach, frothing up your puke juices. You can’t beat them, only wait until they find their way out of you or double die trying.4 So, if you can’t beat them, why not join them,,, in a chat!

Well, first off, because out of all ghosts Spirits are almost certainly the least intelligent and certainly certainly the most poorly conversed. Secondly, what do you know from inter-death communication? All of a sudden you’re some kind of John Edwards? The politician, not the ruthless fraud. Well, I mean, the politician not the ruthless fraud whose ruthless fraud pertains to ghosttalkin’. Double Correction: the former politician, probably.

Aside: one advantage to ghosttalkin’ — you don’t get hangovers. All those poor Spirits want is to find a way out of you. Do them a solid and they’ll do you a solid. Poop joke.

But: try smoke signals. Sure, your communication will lack sophistication, depth, most likely a response– but does anything you say ever really entail or solicit any of those things?5 STEP ONE: start smoking. You are now communing with ghosts. Namely your future own/Message: See You At The Crossroads!!! )6

 

$ Celebrate that you are dumber now. Those brain cells won’t be bothering you anymore. Drink yourself content! Note: heavy drinking killing brain cells is probably a myth, but now that you are dumber you find you just don’t care.

 

$ Make a game of it

You are dumber now than you have ever been. You find you just don’t care. Your MOUTH tastes like stomach. Your HEAD is pounding and your body slick with sweat. All hair on end. You are in your UNDERPANTS and have been crying.

 

> look left

You look to your left. The WALL occupies your entire field of vision.

 

> stare at wall

Yep. That’s the wall, alright. Walling it up. Thanks for holding up the ceiling, pal! I owe you one.

 

> wipe mouth

You wipe your mouth with your left forearm. The SPIT formerly dangling from your lips is replaced by arm sweat. Plus ca change…

 

> look right

You look to your right. Your right arm is draped in the TUB. You are leaning against the TUB. The lip of the TUB is starting to numb your armpit.

 

> rest tub

That’s better. You slump down and take a load off. It feels good. Your arm stops throbbing. A man could get used to this if he never wanted to see his ORIFICE OF CHOICE ever again.

 

> look forward

Yep. Still the wall. Still keeping all its structural promises.

 

> look where forward would have been before I rested my back against the tub

You look in front of you. The TOILET looms large. The LID is still open from your having used it only minutes previous. Between you and the TOILET is a green bath TOWEL. Ostensibly grabbed to clean the SPIT off your face, it is now your best and only friend. Your wiper of spit, your blocker of light, your knee pad, you now understand what the Hitchhiker’s Guide was talking about.

 

> take towel

You grab your TOWEL. You drape it on your body. You give it a squeeze. Love exists.

 

> look back

Behind you is the DOOR. You have tried to leave the BATHROOM three times already only to come rushing back within minutes. You lay your head on your TOWEL. It’s soft.

 

Perhaps it is time to try again?

 

> stand up

You try to stand. Your knees quake from the effort. You put your arm back to support yourself. Second attempt: you’re up. You are stabilizing yourself with the TOWEL RACK, and your heart is in a league of its own– it’s Racine. But you have achieved your modestest of goals.

 

> leave bathroom

You make for the DOOR. As you twist to open, your stomach has a sympathetic reaction with the KNOB, turns over and around. You race for the TOILET.

 

> use towel

You place your TOWEL on the FLOOR in front of the TOILET to use as a knee pad. You assume the position.

 

> vomit

You attempt to empty your body of its unwanted contents. You heave three times, [WET BUT CONTENT-FREE].

 

> spit

You SPIT in the TOILET. Red-and-pink juices. A string of SPIT dangles from your mouth.

 

> spit

You SPIT in the TOILET. Red-and-pink juices. A string of SPIT dangles from your mouth.

 

> spit

You SPIT in the TOILET. Clear, classic saliva. A string of SPIT dangles from your mouth.

 

> spit

You attempt to SPIT but are overcome by a series of heaves.

 

> vomit

You attempt to empty your body of its unwanted contents. You heave three times, [WET BUT CONTENT-FREE].

 

> mutter

You exclaim sharply a series of non-sequiturs: “I don’t want to” (x6), eight “I’m sorrys,” the name of an ex-girlfriend, “paraffin” (x12), one long f-u-u-u-c-k.

 

> vomit harder

You attempt to force the matter. You compress your diaphragm and expel with all your might. You are [UNSUCCESSFUL]. A string of SPIT dangles from your mouth.

 

> bellow

You condense your strength in the pit of your STOMACH and let low a [LESS-THAN-MIGHTY RUMBLE]. Pathetic. A string of SPIT dangles from your mouth.

 

> vomit harder

You would like to just THROW-UP and get it over with, but previous attempts have rendered your face flush and EYES shotful of blood. Any additional strain at this moment feels unlikely to help matters. Your heaves seem to have [STOPPED]. A string of SPIT dangles from your mouth.

 

> try finger

You think of your non-shivering future and attempt to press your throat button. You are [UNSUCCESSFUL]. A string of SPIT dangles from your mouth. Your hand is covered in SPIT.

 

> cry

“Sniff” You let out a pathetic wail. You squeeze your TOWEL. A string of SPIT dangles from your mouth.

 

> lay down on the floor

Though your heaves have for the moment ceased, you decide that it is unwise to attempt to leave at this juncture. You lay down on the FLOOR. You hold your TOWEL close. You whisper four MUTTERs before you close your eyes [I’M SORRY, I DON’T WANT TO, I’M SORRY, NAME OF AN EX-GIRLFRIEND].

 

You are now asleep. A string of SPIT dangles from your mouth on to the FLOOR.

*

*

*

*

*

You are dumber now than you have ever been. You find you just don’t care. Your MOUTH tastes like stomach. Your HEAD is pounding and your body slick with sweat. All hair on end. You are in your UNDERPANTS and have been crying. A string of SPIT dangles from your mouth.

 

At least you save your progress (spit dangle, towel)

Based on a true story


1. sounds like when you pop your cheek with your finger, but lower frequency/inaudible.
2. We’re still making our way through the Primate Bracket– #1 seed, natch. urally. That capuchin may have been able to upset the baboon, but humans? We Can Brush Our Own TEETH, Capuchin. Also we don’t piss on our hands in order to seem cool http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/20975879/#.Tmwx60_t3VQ IDIOTS
3. http://tinyurl.com/sgt145
4 On Double Death: “When they do the double death / that’s them dancing” – (keep your children away from) Liz Phair (well, your dead children)
5. “Probably, I mean… Yeah.”
6. Tri-wink smilie (with a 6 on it’s chin)

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2 Responses to “Making the Best of… Your Hangover”

  1. Wesele Says:

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    • seagreentelecaster Says:

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      I need to hike that shield and unquestionably come (more previously, again) inside you case.
      Nearly a lot. Often.

      *E*X*A*C*T*L*Y*,
      Simon

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