I’ve often said that I’m a big fan of hangovers because they’re basically instant-karma. Meaning you suffer for all your sins from the night previous the minute you crack those crusty slits and scream at the light that’s managed to sneak by your window shade.
After all my partying this year I had no hangover. I actually woke up smiling and happy.
But what about the many many shameful sins I’d committed during the three day debauch? Would I be getting a free pass?
Of course fucking not.
I just surfaced from a debilitating throat infection the likes of which I haven’t seen since I made out with a drainage ditch during a bad acid trip in 1997. Like seriously, one of my glands blew up to the size of a small dog and I was having more hot flashes than the entire cast of Desperate Housewives. I was more pale and sweaty than my friend Drew, more lethargic than my roommate and stinkier than… well than I usually am. I tried medicating the normal way, with booze, and that only worked for a day. After that I went straight to the only thing that ever works, Animal Pharmaceuticals.
I just swallowed my first solid food in three days. It was a dog biscuit.
Paid in full. You’re a dick, Karma.