I got black-out drunk last night at around 2am.
I didn’t get home till like, 4am. I’ve been trying to figure out what happened in those two hours, but I think at some point I shouted at deli guy way too loudly “WHERE ARE YOUR CONDOMS?”(I was alone). What the hell? Put a giant shame marker on that deli-door, I ain’t going in there again for at least a month.
Anyway, this is all the creativity I can muster up for one day, analogies and euphemisms for my hangover:
I’m as hungover as a Ron Jeremy’s career.
My hangover is more powerful than the power of Castle Greyskull and Smurf Village combined.
I feel like there are five midgets wrestling behind my eyeballs. (That one is courtesy of my friend Kristi)
My head feels like it is full of Scotch and anger.
My hangover went back in time, killed Charles Bronson and took over for him in the Death Strike movies, that’s how bad ass it is.
My hangover carries box cutters in its back pocket. It doesn’t even know what boxes are.
My hangover looks and feels like this:
That’s all I got today. Time to go sober up.