Turning Shit into Gold since 2006
In the wide world of sports there are underdogs who overcome incredible deficits and injuries to win improbable games. Their spectacular plays and unwavering courage make for goose bump inducing entertainment.
Like sporting events, a night of epic drinking can also grind out a comeback kid the morning after. The ability to power through a work day when your motivation drags lower than your confidence is an act of physical and mental endurance that in some instances goes unmatched in the world of hangovers. Vomiting is only half the victory.Approximately a fortnight ago I began a dangerous dabble into the tropical combination of pineapple juice and sailor rum, only to be followed by a handful of Mimosa refills. Prior to all of this liquor consumption I had tasted not a single morsel of food. Once beers the length of my tibia were being chugged there was but one thing to do…get into a hot tub.
How long I floated in the dehydrating bath of my own filth I do not remember. Following a few more drunken words of inspiration to my fellow party goers the curtain fell on my night of jovial intoxication. Pretzel stick filled pockets turned to crumbs as I made my way home like a disheveled Cinderella.
Morning arrived and the questions began to flood in, rattling my cloudy mind and jumbling my vulnerable stomach. The sugary liquor, champ, and beer smoothie sloshing against my naked inner belly wall turned every blink of the eyes into a nauseating roller coaster ride. Better judgement had been drunk under the table, or in my case into a hot tub. How had I allowed myself to fall folly to the biggest drinking mistake known to regular drinkers from here to Moscow; beer on whiskey, mighty risky.
Oatmeal. A big bowl of instant oats should be enough to soak up the remaining toxins and put a solid lid on this queazy hangover. One and a half minutes later and I was halfway from completing the meal in front of me when the sick realization that this hangover was not going away without a wicked fight settled in. My bed was no longer a safe place to reside. The couch was much closer to the bathroom and allowed for stable rest. A bodily explosion, from which end I was not yet sure, was coming sooner than I had hoped.
Seasonal allergies that had blown in a few days prior to my heavy partying had caused a massive amount of congestion to accumulate in my breathing passageways. Blowing my nose meant movement and movement meant sitting up and sitting up meant awakening any monster that brewed within my belly. The television droned along as I forced myself to ignore the problem. Work loomed over my conscience as I lay motionless and pained. Sickness creeped closer by the minute.
Suddenly I was hit with a messy decision: vomit vertically on myself or force myself up and vomit into a possibly unflushed toilet. With these two undesirable options as solutions to my sickening problem I made a choice to confine my situation to the restroom.
Puke poured from my guts. A reverse geyser of oatmeal pounded the toilet bowl like a wall of water coming down a canyon. There was no end to the destruction. The expelling of oats became so violent that I thought I might actually shit my britches. Dry heaving soon became my worst enemy as it attempted to push the hot, thick oats out my nose. My nasal passages were clogged with mucus and there was nowhere for the slightly digested food to go. Panic set in as I began to struggle to breathe, unable to swallow the oatmeal that was stuck in limbo between my throat and my nostrils.
Finally the Quakers blasted their way free and life flooded back into my shocked system. Three oatmeal filled tissues later and I was ready to wipe my face clean and pull it together. Wallowing in my misery was what my body begged but there was no way in holy hell that a night of sipping sissy cocktails was going to KO my ability to make it to work.
Courage, determination, and a dash of denial allowed me to persevere over the mighty obstacle that blocked my view of the end zone that day. Drunk, sober, or hungover there will always be the howl of the underdog guiding me to victory.