It’s International Hangover Awareness Day. That’s right. Don’t challenge me on this. You know, it’s really quite outrageous. You unpocket a wad of cash to rescue those drinks from a purposeless existence and give them a home. Then, after a bit of hoorahing and carrying you about on their shoulders, the moment you go nighty-night the ingrates turn on you like a pack of teenage werewolves. You awake from a troubled sleep to find the little monsters have successfully conspired to roll you into Hell. “Who hath woe? Who hath sorrow?” the Old Testament wonders, then gamely pounces on its own question: “They that tarry long at the wine.” That woe and sorrow is the boogeyman that has bedeviled humankind since we solved the riddle of what to do with all that extra grain and produce left over from the harvest. Something needs to be done about this menace. I mean, can’t science get together, form like a global Manhattan Project for hangovers, we’ll call it the Restoration of Dignity Project, and finally put a stake in this vampire’s black heart? Because, at this point, and I hate to get into conspiracy theories, but it seems like the Powers That Be, that shadowy cabal pulling all the strings, don’t really want a cure, that they want to keep the penance attached to the pleasure, because they’re afraid the working class might just go on a permanent bender if there’s no price to pay. The same way the U.S. government suppressed that medical study in the 1950s that revealed the health benefits of drinking. True story. Anyway, be aware of hangovers today. I certainly am. One in particular. Fun fact: Did you know there are a wide variety of synonyms for hangover? Here’s a sampling. Morning fog, gallon-distemper, bottle ache, blue-devils, katzenjammer, jim-jams, cropsick, black dog, and my personal favorite, bust-head.
Oh come on… We know it’s picklepearbuckweedsourbranch tea mixed with cat piss to cure that bitch!
Can’t have a hangover if you never stop drinking.