*Types quietly*
Hangovers, am I right? The devil's consequence for having a good time. The ol' body's punishment for banter. The heavy price you must pay for being a certified legend. A hangover.
There are very few certainties in life. For example, Freddos are never going to return to the sufficient price point of 10p, and if you go out and have a good time with alcohol, you're going to suffer immensely the next day.
Hangovers are cruel, unforgiving and one of the deadliest silent (almost) killers in operation today. They take you right to the brink of death, but refuse to provide you with that sweet release of mortality. Instead, you must battle through and pray that you will emerge victorious in the end.
Behold, five types of hangover we've all sadly experienced.
1. The Eyjafjallajökull
Remember that Icelandic volcano that wouldn't stop erupting in 2010? Loads of flights were disrupted because they were concerned that the ash would interfere with the plane engines. It was a mess, as is your hangover. You can't stop spewing. It's like a garden hose that's got a kink in it, bursting out water at regular intervals in a bid to regain some control. Something as simple as a glass of water is enough to set you off, along with your brain whose sole job for the day is to give you warning signals that you're about to puke, in between feeding you memories of the repulsive concoctions of alcohol you stuffed down your trap last night. The butterfly effect means dozens of flights have been cancelled due to your selfish actions. Prick.
Mentally, you've left the planet a long time ago. Your body has remained, shaken and weak. You are but a vessel now, transporting goods from your stomach to the nearest toilet every 45 minutes. When the hangover bosses decide that you've carried enough, only then may you rest your weary head. No amount of repositioning can provide comfort, your body simply will not find a sweet spot to lay in. The foetal position is a good starting point, but even the home comforts of being cocooned in a uterus won't prove strong enough to battle the strong urge to spew once more. Keep at it, champ. This too shall pass. There's no shame in lying naked on the bathroom floor. Paramore probably have a song about it.
2. The Monica
You've woken up after a heavy night of boozing and everything feels suspicious. Your body isn't aching, your head feels alright, your brain isn't telling you to immediately chug two litres of water as it spills all down your front, dripping onto the floor like you're in a fast drinking competition. Everything? Is? Fine? Everything is fine. Your hangover hasn't set in yet, or maybe it's not going to come. Have you beaten the system? Are you the one immortal soul on earth that can escape the clutches of post-drinking temporary death syndrome? Rather than waiting to find out, you must jump straight into survival mode. Productivity is key here.
You'll start by making a nice breakfast, something involving eggs and a few slices of chorizo because, at your very core, you are a boujie bitch. Still no hangover by midday, this is turning into quite a story. You question calling a local scientist to do a case study on your hangover-beating superhuman abilities, but opt to clean your entire apartment instead. No area is safe as you whizz through the building with every hygienic tool known to man. There's a duster in your hand. You never bought a duster. It just materialised from the hangover Gods. Roughly two hours into cleaning, your phone rings. It's your pal. He's fucked. He wants to go drinking again. Given that you are now immune to hangovers, you oblige. Tomorrow, inevitably, you will pass away as you suffer the effects of a double hangover. You fool. At least the place is clean though!
3. The Augustus Gloop
With all the strength and determination of an aspiring actor that's been tasked with gaining the maximum amount of weight their body can tolerate in a very short space of time, you're going to be eating
everything during this particular hangover. There's a void inside that can only be quenched by eating an assortment of garbage that your body craves, but ultimately will make you pay for said consumption tomorrow. Regardless, today - we eat. You question whether more than one takeaway order in a day is excessive, then quickly silence the ludicrous negativity with the sound of your laptop's familiar welcoming chime.
From the moment you wake until the second you fall asleep on the couch before bed, you will be eating. Competitively, at times struggling to finish, you will be eating. Your stomach will ache, you won't even be hungry, but your brain orders your body to fill itself with shite food. This hangover is best seen to alone, so as to avoid looking anyone in the eye as you reach for your 8th slice of pizza which is serving as a dessert to the chips, burger and large helping of eventual regret you scoffed half an hour ago. "I'll go to the gym tomorrow", you say to no one in particular as you ravage the freezer for any scraps of ice cream left behind by your housemates. Today is a failure, but tomorrow shall be a triumph. Oh wait, it's a bank holiday? Welp, those leftovers aren't going to eat themselves.
4. The Chuckie
Everything is just a bit frightening during this particular type of hangover, isn't it? Waking up, getting out of bed, looking at your phone. It's a lot. You question everything in the minutes that follow after you wake up. "What if I just don't look at my phone?", "What if I just book a flight right now, fly away somewhere and never return?" or the classic "What about if I just pass away? Dare I lure the grim reaper to my bed where he shall sap me of the small out amount of life that remains?". But no, your mother didn't raise a pathetic wimp. Not this time. You're going to solider on. Things aren't that bad. Just check your phone and put your mind at ease. Everything will be fine.
Wow, zero messages. No notifications whatsoever, not even an email reminder to renew your car insurance or a news update about the idiot tangerine president. No news is good news, right? Or is everyone mad at you because of something stupid you did/said last night? Maybe you've run out of data or the WiFi is gone. Oh wow, full bars on both. Cool. You spend the entire day rigid with fear, right until the group chat kicks off. It turns out the entire squad was going through the exact same anxieties, waiting for someone else to break the silence. All is well. You're going to vomit in twenty minutes, but at least you didn't ruin your life last night. Not yet
5. The Copperfield
Easily the most sinister hangover of the bunch, this little bugger is coming, whether you're prepared for it or not. You'll initially be lured into a false sense of comfort, believing that you've beaten the system. You wake up feeling incredible, the world is a wonderful place, Freddos are reasonably priced, Liberty X are still together, Britney's meltdown is no longer a reference point for insanity because people now understand that celebrities are just as susceptible to mental health problems as the rest of us. You feel alive. Nothing can tear you down. Today will not be wasted. You're going to socialise, be productive, maybe even figure out how to do taxes. Look at you, a cosmopolitan soul whose life is firmly under control.
Then, Copperfield shows up. Completely out of the blue, in a puff of smoke, just like magic. You, my friend, are not well. You are not well at all. Unfortunately, you're midway through a haircut and have to excuse yourself from the chair so that you can nip outside for a tactical vomit, followed by a quick weep. Half your head looks good, but the rest is a mess. You can't leave, you're still wearing the gown. This hangover is determined to ruin not only your life and mental wellbeing, but also your physical appearance. Like a wounded soldier, you return to the chopping seat. Two further tactical voms later, you emerge. Sweating profusely, grey in the face, panting like a dog on a hot day. Get home. Get to bed. Ideally, never wake up again. Today is not your day. Damn you, David Copperfield.
Remember that Icelandic volcano that wouldn't stop erupting in 2010? Loads of flights were disrupted because they were concerned that the ash would interfere with the plane engines. It was a mess, as is your hangover. You can't stop spewing. It's like a garden hose that's got a kink in it, bursting out water at regular intervals in a bid to regain some control. Something as simple as a glass of water is enough to set you off, along with your brain whose sole job for the day is to give you warning signals that you're about to puke, in between feeding you memories of the repulsive concoctions of alcohol you stuffed down your trap last night. The butterfly effect means dozens of flights have been cancelled due to your selfish actions. Prick.
Mentally, you've left the planet a long time ago. Your body has remained, shaken and weak. You are but a vessel now, transporting goods from your stomach to the nearest toilet every 45 minutes. When the hangover bosses decide that you've carried enough, only then may you rest your weary head. No amount of repositioning can provide comfort, your body simply will not find a sweet spot to lay in. The foetal position is a good starting point, but even the home comforts of being cocooned in a uterus won't prove strong enough to battle the strong urge to spew once more. Keep at it, champ. This too shall pass. There's no shame in lying naked on the bathroom floor. Paramore probably have a song about it.
Easily the most sinister hangover of the bunch, this little bugger is coming, whether you're prepared for it or not. You'll initially be lured into a false sense of comfort, believing that you've beaten the system. You wake up feeling incredible, the world is a wonderful place, Freddos are reasonably priced, Liberty X are still together, Britney's meltdown is no longer a reference point for insanity because people now understand that celebrities are just as susceptible to mental health problems as the rest of us. You feel alive. Nothing can tear you down. Today will not be wasted. You're going to socialise, be productive, maybe even figure out how to do taxes. Look at you, a cosmopolitan soul whose life is firmly under control.
Then, Copperfield shows up. Completely out of the blue, in a puff of smoke, just like magic. You, my friend, are not well. You are not well at all. Unfortunately, you're midway through a haircut and have to excuse yourself from the chair so that you can nip outside for a tactical vomit, followed by a quick weep. Half your head looks good, but the rest is a mess. You can't leave, you're still wearing the gown. This hangover is determined to ruin not only your life and mental wellbeing, but also your physical appearance. Like a wounded soldier, you return to the chopping seat. Two further tactical voms later, you emerge. Sweating profusely, grey in the face, panting like a dog on a hot day. Get home. Get to bed. Ideally, never wake up again. Today is not your day. Damn you, David Copperfield.
