Listen, it’s Thursday.
Normally, I’d at least entertain the idea of putting up with you, but Thursday?
I’m sure someone could spin this and place the blame on me for drinking on a Wednesday night, but I’m not interested in who’s to blame.
I’m more interested in getting you to leave.
I’ve actually got things to do today. Granted, they’re all lame, but that’s not the point…
I’ve done the greasy food.
I’ve done the slice of toast to soak up the alcohol.
And yet, you remain.
Ya know what I have to say to that?
Fuck you, hangover. Fuck you.
… and fuck you to the loud Asian chick who’s two tables away and making things even worse.
Ya know what? I rarely do this, but I’m just issuing a general “fuck you” for the human population of Chicago.
Yeah, that’s right, I said it… and I’m not even gonna take it back!
Okay, well, actually that was rude… just fuck you to the hangover and the girl.
See how you mess with my head, hangover?!? You’re the worst.