hangover, drinking, sick, work, sex, life, romanceYou would think that as someone who has an intense dislike of both drunks and hangovers, I would have realised by now that drinking excessive amounts of vodka is not going to end well. Yet not for the first time I have spent much of the last 24 hours suffering alcohol induced torment.

This would be bad enough were it a Friday or Saturday evening but we are talking a Tuesday which meant that my post-piss-up pain had to be endured whilst undergoing the combined nightmares of both working and worst of all, commuting.

Leaving aside the small matter of my own stupidity, the thing that baffles me most about hangovers is that if alcohol is supposed to batter the senses into submission, why do mine seem to be enhanced the morning after a night on the lash? My sense of smell for example, takes on an almost bloodhound like quality which is particularly horrific when faced with the horror of a commuter train.

I do wonder if some of the bastards I am forced to travel with ever actually shower at all and who the bloody hell eats an egg sandwich on their way to work? Do they not understand how vomit inducing a smell that is? And I don’t even want to think about what had caused the stench in the carriage toilet which genuinely felt like it was reaching out and punching me in the face every time the door slid open.

Of course thanks to my inbred fear of train toilets and whatever diseases/filth they harbour I had absolutely no intention of venturing inside to find out but with my stomach doing its usual trick of trying to eject its contents via whatever exit was available, I was forced to undergo the entire journey whilst alternately clenching my throat and my sphincter. A totally unpleasant experience but a necessary one judging by the Relief of Mafeking style fart and subsequent pebble-dashing which occurred the second I planted my slightly moist buttocks onto the works Karzi.

Inevitably, the acidity in said ejection resulted in a ring of fire, relief from which could only be found by either squirming in my seat or sitting on the toilet and flushing repeatedly. The latter actually proving quite handy as my stomach seemed to be producing a never ending stream of brown liquid.

Thankfully, by the time it came to head for home even my bowels had given up which for some bizarre reason made my brain think that eating a cheeseburger would be a good idea.

And having spent most of last night squitting for England for a second time in a day and with my head still banging, I have called in sick. Thus ensuring that I will be accused of being a lightweight when I venture back to my place of employment.

Hangovers….. fabulous.

sex, politics, drinking, hangover, work, life, alone, single life,


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