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What is the Blood Content of my Liquor?

By James Applewhaite

Have you ever had that kind of hangover? That kind of hangover where you wake up feeling absolutely on top of the word for probably about 30 seconds tops (due to the alcohol still raging in your system). Then you are met with the grave reality of your situation. Your head is pounding, your eyes spinning behind eyelids too heavy to lift, the noxious stench of liquor caked into your teeth and your stomach about to have its revenge on you for last night. Every movement, every sound is slowed down, intensified, a needle hitting the floor comparable to the shifting of tectonic plates. Most of all you are left to ponder the everlasting question: WHAT THE @#$% HAPPENED LAST NIGHT??!!

Hi, my name is Max, and I am currently experiencing the nightmarish hangover previously mentioned. As to where I am, I have no clue.

I do however smell feces.

Grime and glass adorn the ground. My body is slumped in a corner, ahead of me, a stairway opens up. Oh, and here comes the traditional "morning after vomit".


In addition to glass, debris, dirt and sweat, I am now covered in my own vomit. Good thing my shirt decided not to show up today, I wonder where he could have gotten to last night. The walls here are so caked with filth that it seems like dirt is the only thing holding them up from falling over. Black spraypaint runs down the wall adjacent to the stairs. As thrilling as lying here in my own waste is, I'm getting a tad restless. I think my senses have come to their senses and my body is ready to cooperate with my mind, so lets give this a go.

After several disastrous attempts (one which included vomiting), I finally manage to get myself up. Did I mention how unbearable hot it is in here? I can just tell this is going to be the start of a wondrous day. I need to make a mental checklist. I like lists.

  1. Find a shirt (maybe two).
  2. Find out where I am.
  3. Find out WHAT HAPPENED.
  4. Get home.
  5. Don't get caught by mother (please, please, please).
  6. Cure hangover.

So here goes task #1. I stumble around using the wall for support until I make it to a small pile of garbage at the foot of the stairs. I remember leaving the house with a shirt last night, it was white, white with a crew neck. For any of you who have never sorted through garbage before whilst hung over, I highly recommend it. Upon finding my shirt I am met with excitement, then a somewhat expected disappointment. My favorite white shirt is COVERED in red lipstick. I don't think there is more than 2 inches of white left. However it is sopping wet, with something I cannot identify. I've never believed in god, but if you're up there laughing at me, please don't let it be urine. This room is pretty reflective of how I feel right now, so maybe a change of location would brighten my spirits.

See this is why I now think alcohol should be completely banished, it only does people wrong. Take this bum lying curled up at the top of the stairs. His torn, wet clothing, his thick matted hair, his… ruby red lips?!



At this point I don't even want to know what happened last night, I just want to get home and shower. After two more flights of stairs I am reunited with my long lost friends: sunshine and fresh air. A bustling street unfolds before me. Elderly citizens stroll, countless health freaks jog in and around me, all wearing their uniform-like lululemon apparel. Judging by the overwhelming smell of smug and lake-water in the air I'd say I'm in east downtown Oakville.


I live all the way on the other side of town. A good 2-3 hour walk, a walk which in my condition is NOT possible. My dilemma however, is that last night I lost my phone, my wallet, and possibly my virginity. The latter of which may not be such a bad thing. So how do you get on a bus with no money? If I wasn't in my current state that would be difficult, but I have definitely found one advantage to being unbelievably hungover. It's much easier to beg for money.

I take a seat right outside of the Royal Bank with my back against the wall, and my legs outstretched. My new persona is that of "Laszlo Borondy", an impoverished refugee from Columbia. Most of the Oakvillians regard me with disgust and confusion. This continues for several minutes, until I meet an elderly woman with snow white curls.

"Oh you poor poor thing," she says with a nostalgic grandma-like tone that can warm any heart, "What happened to your clothes, do you have a home?" I've always been quite the thespian.

"Senorita! I have no home, my familia come here from Columbia, I need money for food please senorita," I say with a practiced sincerity. She turns for a second, and then proceeds to empty out the entire content of her wallet into my outstretched hands.

"God bless you," she says.

At first I thought I was too shocked for words. Then it became apparent that something treacherous was working it's way up my stomach to my throat. If there is a god, he is one twisted being.

Puke erupts from my mouth. I don't say erupted lightly either, there is a monumental amount of vomit flying through the air, staining the immaculate yellow coat of this kind and generous lady. It was as if time itself had stopped. Everyone on the once busy street had stopped to take in the event. Awe and outrage ensued, a mob started to form. But maybe somewhere up there god hear my cry. A bus swiftly rounded the corner, as if it were my get-away vehicle. I quickly rounded up all the change I could and sprinted for the bus. Narrowly I avoided the grasp of a very intimidating jogger and boarded the bus in a spectacular fashion. Taking a seat at the back of the bus, I finally rest my head. 4 of 6 tasks on my list are completed, now only two remain. Maybe I'll consider completing #3, but to be honest I'm afraid to. For now I need to sleep.

Almost magically I awake at the stop right before my house. The driver ushers me off with a salute,

"Good luck kid," he says.

"Thanks for the ride, " I spout abruptly, fighting back the temptation to vomit.


My mom's white Honda Civic is parked right infront of our townhouse, the sun's glare reflecting off its hood temporarily blinding me. Cautiously I approach the door. Commence task #5.

My living room is empty, along with the kitchen. Mother's keyboard taps softly somewhere in the house. Perfect. She'll be concentrating on work and I'll sneak into my room, have a hot shower, and take a long nap. Halfway up the stairs her typing stops.

"Max?" she beckons from above.

"Hey mom…" I reply.

"Where ya been' champ? I've been calling you like crazy dude!" she says. I'm pretty quick on my feet when it comes to lying.

"Yeah sorry mom, my phone died and I slept over at Sean's, I didn't even realize it!"

She doesn't reply and I take my cue to run to my room. Finally, a fresh change of clothes. As I'm about to enter the shower a knock sounds at my door.

"I'm about to shower mom," I yell out nervously.

"Too late Maxie!"

Without warning she briskly enters my room, me standing there buck naked.

"So Sean's last night eh?" she says, "You sure about that?"

Task #5 is in SERIOUS JEOPARDY. She takes her hands out from behind her back to reveal my cell phone and wallet.

"Last night I received a phone call from Sean. Sean graciously informed me of how disastrously drunk you were. I came to the party, removed your head from the toilet bowl, and carried you out the front door over my shoulder. I'm sure you'll see loads of pictures on facebook."

This time it's not the vomit, I'm too shocked for words.

"I figured leaving you to fend for yourself the day after would be a pretty effective lesson. Next time don't lie to me champ."

My mother's smirk has always stung more than mine ever could. With that, she left.

"Wash up now," she yells from outside my door, "you smell like feces Maxie…"

I was wrong when I said god was a sick being. That role officially belongs to my mom.


Did You Know

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