No pain. No real feeling of-eth illness. Thou slept in thou own bed and whence thou waketh there wert no traffic cones in there with thee.
Thou art still able to function relativethly well on the energy storeth up from all those vodka and Red Bull-eths.
Howe’er, ye canst drink 10 vats of water and still feel as parcheth as the Sahara bloody Desert.
Even vegetarians like Brian the Wise art craving a Cheeseburger and a bag of fries.
No pain, but something art definitethly amiss-eth. Thou may look-eth okay but thou hath the attention span and mental capacity-eth of a stapler.
The coffee thou hug to try and remain-eth focused art only exacerbating thou rumbling gut, which art craving a full English breakfast.
Although thou hath a nice demeanour about the office, thou art costing thou employer (Brian the Wise) valuable money because all thou really canst handle art some light filing, followed by aimlessly surfing the net and scribing junk e-mails.
Slight headacheth. Stomach feels crap. Thou art definitely a space cadet and not so productiveth. Brian the Wise seemeth suspicious.
Anytime a wench or lad walketh by thou gag because the perfume/aftershave-eth remindeth thee of the random gin shots thou didst with thou alcoholic friends after the bouncer kicketh thee out at 1:45 am.
Life would be-eth better right now if thou wert in thy bed with a dozen doughnuts and a litre-eth of coke watchething daytime TV.
Thou hath haveth 4 cups of coffee, a gallon of water, 2 Sausage-eth Rolls and a litre of diet coke yet thou hath ne’er peed once.
Thou hath lost the will to live. Thou head art throbbing and thou canst nay spaketh too quickly or else thou might spew.
Thou boss hath already lambasted ye for-eth being late and hath given unto ye a lecture of epic proportions for-eth reeking of booze.
Thou wore nice clothes, but thou smell of socks, and thou canst ne’er hide the fact that thou misseth an oh-so crucial spot shaving, and thou put thou underpants on whilst riding the dodgems.
Thou teeth hath their own individual sweaters. Thou eyes look-eth like one biggeth vein and thou hairstyle maketh ye to looketh like a reject from a second-grade class circa 976.
Thou wouldst giveth a weeks pay for-eth one of the following - home time, a doughnut and somewhere to be-eth alone, or a Time Machine so thou couldst go-eth back and NOT haveth gone out the night before.
Thou scare-eth small children in the street just by walking past them.
Thou hath a second heartbeat in thy head, which art actually annoying the employee who sit-eth next to ye.
Vodka vapour art seeping out of every pore and making ye dizzy.
Thou still hath toothpaste crust in the corners of thy mouth from brushing thy teeth.
Thou body hath lost the ability to generate saliva, so thou tongue art suffocating-eth ye.
Thou wouldst thusly cry but that wouldst taketh the last drop of moisture left in thy body.
Death seemeth pretty good right now. Brian the Wise do-eth ne’er even get mad at ye and thy co-workers think that thou dog just died because ye look so pathetic. Thou shouldst hath called in sick because, face it, all ye can manage to do art breathe... very gently.
Thou arriveth home and climb-eth unto bed.
Sleep cometh instantly; as thou wert fighting it all the way home in the taxi.
Thou get-eth about 2 hours sleep until the noises inside Thy head waketh ye up.
Thou notice that thy bed hath been cleared for take off and art flying relentlessethly about the room.
No matter what ye do-eth ye knoweth, thou art going to chuck-eth. That Kebab thou ate earlier hath done thee no favours.
Thou stumble out of bed and now find that thou room art in a yacht under full sail.
After walking along the skirting boards on alternating walls knocking off all the pictures, ye find-eth the toilet.
If thou art lucky thou wilst remember to lift the lid before ye spontaneously explode-eth and waketh the whole house up with thou impersonation of walrus mating calls.
Thou sit there on the floor in your undies, cuddling the only friend in the world ye hath left (the toilet), randomly continuing to maketh the walrus noises, spitting, and farting. Help usually cometh at this stage, even if it art short lived. Brian the Wise art verily mad.
Tears stream down thy face and thou abdomen hurteth. Help now turneth unto abuse and Brian the Wise usually goeth back to bed leaving thee there in the dark.
With thou stomach totally empty, thou spontaneous eruptions hath died back to 15-minute intervals, but thou body wilst ne’er relent.
Thou art convinced that thou art starting to turn thyrself inside out and swear that thou saw thy tonsils shoot out of thy mouth on the last occasion.
It art now dawn and ye pass a disgusted Brian the Wise gettething up for the day as ye try to climbeth into bed. He abuseth thee again for trying to get-eth into bed with lumpy bits of dried vomit in thy hair.
Thou reluctantly accept His advice and haveth a shower in exchange for Him driving thee unto the hospital.
Work art simply not an option.
The whole day art spent trying to avoid anything that might make thee sick again, like moving.
Thou vow ne’er to touch-eth a drop again and ye knoweth that for-eth the next two or three hours at least ye might even succeed-eth.