i come to you on day two of what has been an epic hangover with no sign of abating. after sleeping until 9 p.m. last night, chuck came into the bedroom and asked me if i wanted "the man to bring the medicine."
this was code of "should i order pizza from papa john's?"
ASIDE: papa john's is not the best pizza in the world. it's passable. but what papa john's does is really appeal to my throbbing misanthrope. you can complete an entire transaction online and never have to speak to another human being. and if you really have your shit together, you can send them a text message saying "no. 1" and they will know that you want a medium pepperoni pizza with onions, an order of garlic breadsticks and two cokes.
i propped myself to just the slightest angle. a degree where i wouldn't necessarily choke on a breadstick, at an altitude where the contents of my stomach wouldn't spontaneously pollack the floor.
i went to bed a few hours later and woke when it seemed that a gremlin was trying to gnaw its way out of my stomach. i woke up again when toonses decided to perform a few scenes from les miserables outside the bedroom door.
the rest of the day, walking coma. at one point i spit on the sidewalk, and immediately regretted the loss of fluid.
me: i have the attention span of a [redacted]
[redacted]: [paraphrase] i have a two-day hangover, too.
me: i could [redacted] on demand.
[redacted]: at least you can [redacted]. i'd settle for a [redacted]
me: i made something last night that looked like [redacted]
trust me. this was hilarious.