Dear hangover,
while I understand your position in the grand scheme of things I feel I must take this opportunity to let you know how I really feel about you. You have been a part of my life for as many years as I can remember.
In a way it’s a comfort. I know that when I partake of a drink or two or eight of an evening that the following morning you will be there. I will wake up with you as surely as the sun rises in the east …erm…west…uhm… whichever one it rises in. There are the initial moments after waking when I feel you settle on my brain like a blanket of shite and I throw my mind back to see if I’ve got the fear.
Then when I get up you get up with me. Wherever I go, you follow. My head might ache, my stomach might be a bit dicky, my skin, limbs, organs, torso and extremeties might also be affected. Food may help, a shower generally does, and painkillers sometimes make you go away but you’re always there lurking in the background like a paedophile outside a primary school.
I think perhaps you try to help. You make me feel like crap so I’ll remember the next time I go drinking but I don’t remember. Not for long anyway. Once a few beers are down then any thoughts about how I might feel the next day go out the window.
The prospect of having to get up early and work doesn’t stop me. The idea that I might feel sick or get sick or get sick with poo out of my arse doesn’t stop me. Even the most vivid recollection of previous hangovers doesn’t stop me. So you see, hangovery old pal, you are pretty much useless, when you think about it.
With or without you I’ll drink beers and other delicious hooch, so I think, after making me suffer so many times over the years, it’s time for you to call it quits. I’ll keep on drinking but you find something, or someone, else to occupy you of a morning.
How about becoming a general malaise and settling down on Pat Kenny until he’s commited to an asylum? You could be a black cloud of depression over some acoustic pop star. You, being so reliable and ever-present, could be anything you want to be. It’s a waste of your talents to keep doing the same old thing over and over again.
I’ll let you away with this morning because I really haven’t explained myself to you before now, but from this moment on I expect to go out, get drunk and wake up fresh as a daisy the next morning.
Otherwise I’ll punch your face in. With a lump hammer.
All the very best to you,
Twenty
Dear Twenty,
You think I like being around you, you horrible smelly old cunt?
Forever fucking yours,
Your Hangover
Have you tried hitting yourself in the face with a lump hammer? It would take your mind off the hangover.
I don’t mind the saturday or sunday hangover. Its the cunt on mondays that I hate. and its not even 12 o clock yet.
If you go outside and lie down in the gutter with your ear to a shore (as if you’re listening for a posse in the distance) the hangover will slither out or your ear like a tapeworm from a supermodel’s arse when she goes too near a plate of food.
We never learn, do we? The Monday morning hangover is an ugly beast, to be sure. Praise the Lord and pass the ibuprofen…
Just change a couple of words and that could easily be a letter from a Limerick drunk to his nagging wife. (The line about the lump hammer stays exactly the same)
A pint of water and 3 solpadeine before you go to sleep helps, but I’m usually too drunk to think of it.
Oh My God – a man after my own heart. Do they not realise, it’s not the physical pain – it’s the mental torture! Solpadeine cannot touch the paranoia pixies!
Get a bit of backbone into you, 20.
Recovering from a hangover can be almost as rewarding as acquiring one.
Embrace the pain. Master it. Move on.
Yeah.. lump hammer that motherfucker!
solpadeine won’t solve all the symptoms, but the rest of them are slightly easier to deal with if that mother fucker of a headache is gone.
My biggest problem is concentration. I just can’t concentrate on work the day after a feed of beer.
And it makes the day all the fucking longer and harder because I have to try and pretend I’m working when all I really want to do is curl up and die. Or go for a cure.
I wouldn’t say it’s to easy to try and write a book while suffering with a hangover. Perhaps we’ll be able to recognise the parts that were written on mondays
Yes! They’ll be the bits written with a stammer “hamana hamana”!!
ah no !!! not Pat Kenny, not that insufferable arsehole,
surely no one deserves that..
Friends_Like_These has got a point. I always feel so guilty when I have a hangover at work that my productivity goes up. Take coffee and analgesics, embrace the pain and work like a bastard…
Was your hangover acting as a pall of depression and therefore responsible for Owen Wilson’s suicide attempt?
It wouldn’t have been a failed attempt if that was the case.
Hah!
Old penis nose probably found a clump of hair in the drain or something. Or watched one of his many awful movies.
“Embrace the pain”! Why are extracts from the young people’s hangover manual being offered to a decrepit old bastard? There are two generations of hangover… the only cures for the ones that affect the aged are sleep or a clatter of pints tonight. Delete whatever you typed today before you go out…
the only problem with the hair of dog remedy is that by the time you feel better, you feel so good that you do it all over again. and again. as the syaing goes, that which does not kill you only delays the inevitable
God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.
God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference….and the energy to kick the shite out of smug feckers who think prayer is the answer to heavy drinking.
Twenty..I too am constantly at the mercy of my hangover..except she’s female too and a real bitch.
Jus shhtay pisshed! Hic!
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