The Six levels of Hangover Hell
BobMcG
Posts: 1,585
1st Level: The Ducked Bullet
No pain. No real feeling of illness. Your sleep was deep and all those carbo-loaded beers have gifted you with a weeks worth of misplaced energy. During lunch you torture your less fortunate coworkers, bragging about how you can pound booze all night, drink warm gin out of a dirty ashtray for breakfast, and still show up fifteen minutes early for work. You crave a steak sub and a side of gravy fries.
2nd Level: The Thirsty Animal
No real pain, but something is definitely amiss. You look okay but you have the mental capacity of a staple gun. You are definitely dehydrated and after drinking two Gatorades you still feel that way. You feel kinda dumb and you notice the temporary lowering of your IQ has made you more sociable and less concerned with workaday worries. You crave a fruity pancake from IHOP.
3rd Level: The Headwound That Wont Heal
Slight headache. Stomach is upset. You are definitely not the paradigm of a productive worker. Anytime a girl walks by you gag because her perfume reminds you of the warm gin shots you did at your friends apartment after the bouncer ejected you at 1:45 a.m. Memories of bad behavior seep in and you cringe with shame. Life would be much, much better if you were in your bed with a dozen donuts and a meatball sub watching Hogans Heroes reruns. You've had four cups of coffee, a gallon of water, three iced teas and a diet coke and you haven't peed once.
4th Level: The Hunchback of Cheap Champagne
You have lost the will to live. Your head is throbbing. You can't speak too quickly or youll punctuate your sentences with vomit. Your boss has already lambasted you for being late and reeking of booze. The clothes you put on wont win you any fashion awards and your face looks like a golf green mowed by a blind junkie (ladies, it looks like you applied your make-up with a shotgun). Your eyes are red enough to give your features a lizardish cast and your hair makes your coworkers ask if youre starting up a new wave band. You vaguely remember doing some really dumb and embarrassing things last night and you dont care. You would murder your favorite bartender for a foot-long Bratwurst smothered with dijon and fried onions.
5th Level: Dr. Kevorkians Dream Date
You dont feel human, you dont even feel like a mammal. Your long morning shower didnt take, no amount of soap could penetrate the coat of sleaze. You have a second heartbeat in your head which is actually annoying the employees sitting near you. Youre getting drunk from the vodka vapors seeping from every pore. You still have toothpaste crust in the corners of your mouth from the futile attempt to remove the taste of decaying rat. Your body has lost the ability to generate saliva, your tongue flops in your mouth like a nightmare-plagued wino thrashing around in his cardboard hooch. You'd cry like a baby but that would steal the last few drops of moisture left in your body. Death seems pretty awesome right now. You definitely don't remember who you were with, where you were, what you drank, and why there is a stranger still passed out in your bed.
6th Level: The Infinite Nutsmacker
You wake up on your bathroom floor, your arms death-locked around your porcelain lover. You would vomit but you quite apparently took care of that last night, with none too good of an aim. You turn your head too quickly and smell the funk of 13 packs of cigarettes in your hair. Suddenly you realize you were smoking, but not ultra lightssome **** handed you a pack of Pall Mall nonfilters and you chain-smoked them like it was your full-time job, telling anyone who would listen that smoking filtered cigarettes is like drinking whiskey through a bar rag. You look in the mirror and find the Ready to Rock stamp has migrated from your right hand to your forehead with the help of Jager magic. You try to rehydrate but all you can stand is one cupped handful of brackish tap water. You crawl into the shower and the coldest water fails to revive your nerve endings as you mumble solemn oaths of never, ever letting a single drop of evil alcohol inside your body again. Ever .
If you could remember your behavior last night you would never step outside your apartment again, but the last thing you recall is accepting your ninth shot offer with the exhortation, Hell yes! Lets get this party started! Everything after that is a black vacuum populated with shifting, vaguely-menacing shapes.
Instead of yelling at you for being late, your boss solemnly invites you into his office to ask you if a parent or sibling passed away. Your super-sensitive ears pick up low talk among your coworkers about interventions and rehab. The cute girl from accounting youve been flirting with for three months looks at you like youre a leprous hunchback who has come for her organs. You cannot bear to eat, the granola bar from the snack machine sticks in your craw like petrified log jammed in a woodchipper. You curse yourself for not calling in sick because all you can manage to do is sit in your chair and breathe . . . very gently.
See? Now it'll be much easier to describe to the CP how you felt after a night of liquid refreshments.
No pain. No real feeling of illness. Your sleep was deep and all those carbo-loaded beers have gifted you with a weeks worth of misplaced energy. During lunch you torture your less fortunate coworkers, bragging about how you can pound booze all night, drink warm gin out of a dirty ashtray for breakfast, and still show up fifteen minutes early for work. You crave a steak sub and a side of gravy fries.
2nd Level: The Thirsty Animal
No real pain, but something is definitely amiss. You look okay but you have the mental capacity of a staple gun. You are definitely dehydrated and after drinking two Gatorades you still feel that way. You feel kinda dumb and you notice the temporary lowering of your IQ has made you more sociable and less concerned with workaday worries. You crave a fruity pancake from IHOP.
3rd Level: The Headwound That Wont Heal
Slight headache. Stomach is upset. You are definitely not the paradigm of a productive worker. Anytime a girl walks by you gag because her perfume reminds you of the warm gin shots you did at your friends apartment after the bouncer ejected you at 1:45 a.m. Memories of bad behavior seep in and you cringe with shame. Life would be much, much better if you were in your bed with a dozen donuts and a meatball sub watching Hogans Heroes reruns. You've had four cups of coffee, a gallon of water, three iced teas and a diet coke and you haven't peed once.
4th Level: The Hunchback of Cheap Champagne
You have lost the will to live. Your head is throbbing. You can't speak too quickly or youll punctuate your sentences with vomit. Your boss has already lambasted you for being late and reeking of booze. The clothes you put on wont win you any fashion awards and your face looks like a golf green mowed by a blind junkie (ladies, it looks like you applied your make-up with a shotgun). Your eyes are red enough to give your features a lizardish cast and your hair makes your coworkers ask if youre starting up a new wave band. You vaguely remember doing some really dumb and embarrassing things last night and you dont care. You would murder your favorite bartender for a foot-long Bratwurst smothered with dijon and fried onions.
5th Level: Dr. Kevorkians Dream Date
You dont feel human, you dont even feel like a mammal. Your long morning shower didnt take, no amount of soap could penetrate the coat of sleaze. You have a second heartbeat in your head which is actually annoying the employees sitting near you. Youre getting drunk from the vodka vapors seeping from every pore. You still have toothpaste crust in the corners of your mouth from the futile attempt to remove the taste of decaying rat. Your body has lost the ability to generate saliva, your tongue flops in your mouth like a nightmare-plagued wino thrashing around in his cardboard hooch. You'd cry like a baby but that would steal the last few drops of moisture left in your body. Death seems pretty awesome right now. You definitely don't remember who you were with, where you were, what you drank, and why there is a stranger still passed out in your bed.
6th Level: The Infinite Nutsmacker
You wake up on your bathroom floor, your arms death-locked around your porcelain lover. You would vomit but you quite apparently took care of that last night, with none too good of an aim. You turn your head too quickly and smell the funk of 13 packs of cigarettes in your hair. Suddenly you realize you were smoking, but not ultra lightssome **** handed you a pack of Pall Mall nonfilters and you chain-smoked them like it was your full-time job, telling anyone who would listen that smoking filtered cigarettes is like drinking whiskey through a bar rag. You look in the mirror and find the Ready to Rock stamp has migrated from your right hand to your forehead with the help of Jager magic. You try to rehydrate but all you can stand is one cupped handful of brackish tap water. You crawl into the shower and the coldest water fails to revive your nerve endings as you mumble solemn oaths of never, ever letting a single drop of evil alcohol inside your body again. Ever .
If you could remember your behavior last night you would never step outside your apartment again, but the last thing you recall is accepting your ninth shot offer with the exhortation, Hell yes! Lets get this party started! Everything after that is a black vacuum populated with shifting, vaguely-menacing shapes.
Instead of yelling at you for being late, your boss solemnly invites you into his office to ask you if a parent or sibling passed away. Your super-sensitive ears pick up low talk among your coworkers about interventions and rehab. The cute girl from accounting youve been flirting with for three months looks at you like youre a leprous hunchback who has come for her organs. You cannot bear to eat, the granola bar from the snack machine sticks in your craw like petrified log jammed in a woodchipper. You curse yourself for not calling in sick because all you can manage to do is sit in your chair and breathe . . . very gently.
See? Now it'll be much easier to describe to the CP how you felt after a night of liquid refreshments.
Post edited by RyanC_Masimo on
Comments
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That is priceless
I love the part about the "mental capacity of a staple gun",,we will see who fits that catagory on mon. morning,, can't wait to use it. JC approves....he told me so. (F-1 nut) -
"You wake up on your bathroom floor....."
You're a champ if you've ever ended up like that, passed out, and woke up in the same place in front of the porcelain God. Happened to me just once. -
Cue Bill Cosby- "And we do this to ourselves because we deserve it after a hard week.Ludicrous gibs!
