Hangover. Hungover. Game over.

In addition to horrible decisions, alcohol leads to hangovers. This is a fact of the universe and no amount of 50-Cent endorsed hangover cure patches will prevent them. Some argue that booze will cure a hangover, and while I’m a fan of trying this each and every time I’ve got one, the only thing it really leads to is another hangover, and even more bad decisions in the interim (which may or may not include a shitty tattoo). Like bad decisions, every hangover is different. For example, my hangover today feels like I slept on a park bench covered in half-eaten hot dogs. Maybe that’s because I did. The hangover of at least one person I know probably feels like his front bike tire flew off while he was hopping a curb, sending him full-speed into the pavement, and this is most definitely because it did. But the real measure of how a hangover feels is how worth it the night before was. Or, in this case, the morning, day, and night before. And considering that during the day before I got this cake, you bet your huge, purple unicorn dick it was worth it!

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See, at least one person reads this fucking blog! (And I told you I take horrible pictures of things inside bars.) By the way, if anyone out there has any idea what the hell happened to me yesterday, please contact me. My front tire was still on my bike this morning when I woke up, but my body doesn’t look or feel like that was the case…

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