TFM
You wake up on your friends couch still fully clothed from the night before with to an alarm that, in this moment, sounds like Paris Hilton singing without autotune. After seriously considering walking in front of one of the cars that is speeding down your friend’s street at the ungodly hour of nine in the morning, you manage to get yourself up and find a toilet. It’s the piss of all pisses. You remember drinking a lot, but you have no recollection of when the last time you took a leak was, and judging by this stream, it was before you left for the bars. Two minutes of urination later, you raid the medicine cabinet in desperate search of Advil. No dice.
Your walk out of the bathroom is cut short when you suddenly realize that there’s a mixture of Bud Light, Tequila shots, gin and tonic, and $2 pizza slices having a full-on civil rights movement in your stomach. They want freedom. In between your gut wrenching and spewing out the poisonous amounts of alcohol you put in your body the night before, there’s a brief glimmer of hope that puking will end the hangover. You’ll expel whatever demons are lurking in your guts and feel nothing more than a little bit tired. Again, no dice.
Everyone else is still asleep, but your dumb ass set an alarm which now means you’re up for at least an hour. Might as well drive home. Before leaving you chug two glasses of water and pray that your parents keep their Advil in the same spot as they did before you left for school. The first five minutes of the drive goes fine, until you realize that your body is slowly shutting down. You’re not sure if it’s a hangover, extreme exhaustion, or death, but whatever’s happening, you behind the wheel has just gotten dangerous. The windows go down, the music goes up, and your head is now pounding in pain, but there’s no other way to make sure that you don’t lose consciousness at the wheel, so you have to tough it out.
You somehow make it home and park the car like a woman: badly (it’s just a joke, guys, women can park fine – they just can’t drive… again, joking!). It doesn’t matter, you take three times the recommended number of Advils and crawl up to your room. You spend the next hour with your eyes closed, and even though the headache has subsided, you’re somehow too tired to fall asleep.
You wake up four-and-a-half hours later and don’t feel much better. Somehow the hangover has gotten worse since you somehow managed to nap, and worst of all you got a text – the only text you didn’t want to get:
Yo anyone tryna run it back and drink again tonight?
Fuck.
