Hungover

It’s taken almost a full 48 hours, but, finally, my stomach is nearly back in order since my friends threw a party. After a enormous alcohol binge, I assume my ass will be spraying Yoo-Hoo for at least a couple of days, but, curiously, my shits have felt like I was passing a space shuttle. I participated in four sessions on Sunday alone, and what brain cells weren’t killed at the bar were snuffed out in the full-body strain to evacuate my bowels.

Strangely, when I walk now, I feel lightness in my step, as if a great weight has been lifted off my soul.

A great time was had by all, Saturday – or, at least, I had a fucking great time, and that’s all that matters, right? Thanks Ryan and Nicole for cooking up a huge plate of dead animal flesh for our enjoyment. Thanks to Sean and Lori for driving 12 hours, just to get wasted, have your car broken into, and drive back. To everyone who bought and/or fed me a shot of delicious Jagermeister, thank – the guy who has to clean the toilets at the last club I went to, probably won’t be thanking you though.

My head still feels like it’s about to melt off my shoulders. I love you all.