Hangover club
- Thread starter Mark Sun
- Start date
DJ Soulman
Active Member
Me too! Think I'll go back to bed this afternoon and try and recover for tonight.djcarlos said:
I'm in!
Urgh - I hit the town last night to celebrate St Paddys and got sucked
into an evening of debauchery with some mad Italians. Spent the night
swooning (phwaaar) and behaving discracefully.
Rocked up this morning with a face the colour of a four leaf clover. I've
just endured an intense meeting with four marketing directors at CDP (huge ad agency)...if it wasn't for the rocket fuel coffee I'd be a dead man.
Bleurgh.
Urgh - I hit the town last night to celebrate St Paddys and got sucked
into an evening of debauchery with some mad Italians. Spent the night
swooning (phwaaar) and behaving discracefully.
Rocked up this morning with a face the colour of a four leaf clover. I've
just endured an intense meeting with four marketing directors at CDP (huge ad agency)...if it wasn't for the rocket fuel coffee I'd be a dead man.
Bleurgh.
Paddy Eeziglow
Active Member
Hangover Scale...from 1 star to a 6 star
>
>1 star hangover *
>
>No pain. No real feeling of illness. Your slept in your own bed
>and when you woke up there were no traffic cones in there with you. You
>are still able to function relatively well on the energy stored up from all
>those vodka red bulls. However, you can drink 10 bottles of water and
>still feel as parched as the Sahara. Even vegetarians are craving a
>Cheeseburger and a side of fries.
>
>2 star hangover * *
>
>No pain, but something is definitely amiss. You may look okay but you
>have the attention span and mental capacity of a stapler. The coffee
>you hug, to try and remain focused is only exacerbating your rumbling gut,
>which is craving a full English breakfast. Although you have a nice >demeanor
>about the office, you are costing your employer valuable money because all
>you really can handle is some light filing, followed by aimlessly surfing
>the net and writing junk e-mails.
>
>3 star hangover * * *
>
>Slight headache. Stomach feels crap. You are definitely a space cadet
>and not so productive. Anytime a girl or lad walks by you gag, because
>her/his perfume/aftershave reminds you of the random gin shots you did
>with your alcoholic friends after the bouncer kicked you out at 1:45 a.m.
>Life would be better right now if you were in your bed with a dozen
>doughnuts and a liter of coke watching daytime TV. You've had 4 cups of
>coffee, a >gallon of water, 2 Sausage Rolls and a liter of diet coke, yet you
>haven't peed once.
>
>4 star hangover * * * *
>
>You have lost the will to live. Your head is throbbing and you
>can't speak too quickly or else you might spew. Your boss has already
>lambasted you for being late and has given you a lecture for reeking of
>booze.
>You wore nice clothes, but you smell of socks, and you can't hide the fact
>that you either missed an oh-so crucial spot shaving, or it looks like you
>put your make-up on while riding the dodgems depending on your gender.
>Your teeth have their own individual sweaters. Your eyes look like one big
>vein and your hairstyle makes you look like a reject from the second-grade
>class picture circa 1976. You would give a weeks pay for one of the >following:
>Home time, doughnuts and somewhere to be alone, or a Time machine so you
>could go back and NOT have gone out the night before. You scare small
>children in the street just by walking past them.
>
>5 star hangover * * * * *
>
>You have a second heartbeat in your head, which is actually
>annoying the employee who sits next to you. Vodka vapor is seeping out of
>every pore and making you dizzy. You still have toothpaste crust in the
>corners of your mouth from brushing your teeth. Your body has lost the
>ability to generate saliva, so your tongue is suffocating you. You'd cry >but
>that would take the last of the moisture left in your body. Death seems
>pretty good right now. Your boss doesn't even get mad at you and your
>co-workers think that your dog just died, because you look so pathetic. You
>should have called in sick because, let's face it, all you can manage to
>do is breathe - very gently.
>
>6 star hangover * * * * * *
>
>You arrive home and climb into bed. Sleep comes instantly; as you
>were fighting it all the way home in the taxi. You get about 2 hours
>sleep until the noises inside your head wake you up. You notice that
>you bed has been cleared for take off and is flying relentlessly around the >room.
>No matter what you do you now, you're going to chuck. You stumble out of
>bed and now find that your room is in a yacht under full sail. After >walking
>along the skirting boards on alternating walls knocking off all the
>pictures, you find the toilet. If you are lucky you will remember to
>lift the lid before you spontaneously explode and wake the whole house
>up with your impersonation of walrus mating calls. You sit there on the
>floor in your >undies, cuddling the only friend in the world you have left (the toilet),
>randomly continuing to make the walrus noises, spitting, and farting. Help
>usually comes at this stage, even if it is short lived. Tears stream down
>your face and your abdomen hurts. Help now turns into abuse and he/she
>usually goes back to bed leaving you there in the dark. With your stomach
>totally empty, >your spontaneous eruptions have died back to 15-minute intervals, but
>your body won't relent. You are convinced that you are starting to turn
>yourself inside out, and swear that you saw your tonsils projectile out
>your mouth on the last occasion. It is now dawn and you pass your disgusted
>partner, getting up for the day as you try to climb into bed. She/He
>abuses you again for trying to get into bed with lumpy bits of dried vomit
>in your hair. You reluctantly accept their advice and have a shower in
>exchange for them driving you to the hospital. Work is not an option.
I started the morning as a 6, am currently a 3, moving onto a 2.
Oh, and I'm out again tonight. 8)
>
>1 star hangover *
>
>No pain. No real feeling of illness. Your slept in your own bed
>and when you woke up there were no traffic cones in there with you. You
>are still able to function relatively well on the energy stored up from all
>those vodka red bulls. However, you can drink 10 bottles of water and
>still feel as parched as the Sahara. Even vegetarians are craving a
>Cheeseburger and a side of fries.
>
>2 star hangover * *
>
>No pain, but something is definitely amiss. You may look okay but you
>have the attention span and mental capacity of a stapler. The coffee
>you hug, to try and remain focused is only exacerbating your rumbling gut,
>which is craving a full English breakfast. Although you have a nice >demeanor
>about the office, you are costing your employer valuable money because all
>you really can handle is some light filing, followed by aimlessly surfing
>the net and writing junk e-mails.
>
>3 star hangover * * *
>
>Slight headache. Stomach feels crap. You are definitely a space cadet
>and not so productive. Anytime a girl or lad walks by you gag, because
>her/his perfume/aftershave reminds you of the random gin shots you did
>with your alcoholic friends after the bouncer kicked you out at 1:45 a.m.
>Life would be better right now if you were in your bed with a dozen
>doughnuts and a liter of coke watching daytime TV. You've had 4 cups of
>coffee, a >gallon of water, 2 Sausage Rolls and a liter of diet coke, yet you
>haven't peed once.
>
>4 star hangover * * * *
>
>You have lost the will to live. Your head is throbbing and you
>can't speak too quickly or else you might spew. Your boss has already
>lambasted you for being late and has given you a lecture for reeking of
>booze.
>You wore nice clothes, but you smell of socks, and you can't hide the fact
>that you either missed an oh-so crucial spot shaving, or it looks like you
>put your make-up on while riding the dodgems depending on your gender.
>Your teeth have their own individual sweaters. Your eyes look like one big
>vein and your hairstyle makes you look like a reject from the second-grade
>class picture circa 1976. You would give a weeks pay for one of the >following:
>Home time, doughnuts and somewhere to be alone, or a Time machine so you
>could go back and NOT have gone out the night before. You scare small
>children in the street just by walking past them.
>
>5 star hangover * * * * *
>
>You have a second heartbeat in your head, which is actually
>annoying the employee who sits next to you. Vodka vapor is seeping out of
>every pore and making you dizzy. You still have toothpaste crust in the
>corners of your mouth from brushing your teeth. Your body has lost the
>ability to generate saliva, so your tongue is suffocating you. You'd cry >but
>that would take the last of the moisture left in your body. Death seems
>pretty good right now. Your boss doesn't even get mad at you and your
>co-workers think that your dog just died, because you look so pathetic. You
>should have called in sick because, let's face it, all you can manage to
>do is breathe - very gently.
>
>6 star hangover * * * * * *
>
>You arrive home and climb into bed. Sleep comes instantly; as you
>were fighting it all the way home in the taxi. You get about 2 hours
>sleep until the noises inside your head wake you up. You notice that
>you bed has been cleared for take off and is flying relentlessly around the >room.
>No matter what you do you now, you're going to chuck. You stumble out of
>bed and now find that your room is in a yacht under full sail. After >walking
>along the skirting boards on alternating walls knocking off all the
>pictures, you find the toilet. If you are lucky you will remember to
>lift the lid before you spontaneously explode and wake the whole house
>up with your impersonation of walrus mating calls. You sit there on the
>floor in your >undies, cuddling the only friend in the world you have left (the toilet),
>randomly continuing to make the walrus noises, spitting, and farting. Help
>usually comes at this stage, even if it is short lived. Tears stream down
>your face and your abdomen hurts. Help now turns into abuse and he/she
>usually goes back to bed leaving you there in the dark. With your stomach
>totally empty, >your spontaneous eruptions have died back to 15-minute intervals, but
>your body won't relent. You are convinced that you are starting to turn
>yourself inside out, and swear that you saw your tonsils projectile out
>your mouth on the last occasion. It is now dawn and you pass your disgusted
>partner, getting up for the day as you try to climb into bed. She/He
>abuses you again for trying to get into bed with lumpy bits of dried vomit
>in your hair. You reluctantly accept their advice and have a shower in
>exchange for them driving you to the hospital. Work is not an option.
I started the morning as a 6, am currently a 3, moving onto a 2.
Oh, and I'm out again tonight. 8)
