have this theory about hangovers. The theory is this: We are all born with a single hangover. It’s located in our gut and when we drink, it wakes up. I had the bad luck to be born with an incredibly powerful hangover rather than any number of other attributes, such as an enormous cock or a fine head of blond, Bret Michaels–ish hair. The colon-shredding ferociousness of my hangover is one of the few things I can count on in my life.
I’ve even named my hangover. I call him Phil. Phil the Fucker. I think about him this way. Phil the Fucker lives deep inside me in the basement suite owned by Fear and Anxiety, whose ‘70s-style stucco home is located directly across the street from Shame and Resentment’s rundown rancher. It’s not a big neighborhood, but it has character. Then again, I may have gotten all this from an interview I read once with one of the guys in Van Halen.
A few times I thought Phil might kill me. The key to coping when Phil’s awake is to do everything real slow. He seems to settle down if I feed him Chinese takeout. The greasier the better. I just thought I’d mention this. It seems relevant somehow.
Anyway, about the incident at the Home Depot. That was a shit show, I admit. When Prudence stopped by my room the next day I told her to go away and leave me to die in peace. That’s what I used to say to my mother and she always listened. She was trained from living with my father. But Prudence didn’t know any better and she walked right in.
She wrinkled her nose at the smell and then put a steaming mug on my bedside table and leaned forward and opened a window, letting in a blast of wind with a distinct Arctic bite to it.
“Please don’t let the air in. I’m allergic,” I said.
“I thought you wanted to die. That’s what you said yesterday when I was trying to get you into the house.”
“I do. But not of fresh air. I was thinking you could smother me or maybe I could overdose on something in the morphine family.” As I spoke, Phil took a bite of my spleen.
I had to sit up to talk to her, but first I had to take a peek under the covers to make sure I had underpants on. I’ve been known to go commando. Also, I was never quite sure what might happen to my lower half when I was trying to sleep one off. Once I established that I was dressed I pulled myself up. God, it felt so bad to have a girl standing in my room looking at me when I felt so sick.
“So I guess I’m fired,” I said. “Sorry about that. I’ll get my stuff and head home as soon as I get my shit together. Thanks for giving me a chance and all that.”
“That’s not going to work,” said Prudence.
“What? Me being fired? Dude, I’ve obviously crossed the line and I deserve it. I realize I’m not employee of the month and I’m ready to take the consequences.”
“Your mother won’t take you back.”
“Did you tell her I was fired?”
“I told her I didn’t think things were working out.”
“So where does she expect me to go?”
Prudence just shook her head.
“This is such bullshit,” I said, pulling the thin blankets higher.
Prudence sat down on a chair across from the bed, gingerly, like I was a very sick patient in a hospital.
“Hmmm,” she said.
I couldn’t even look at her. Her face was so clear and unfucked up. Looking at her, all healthy and everything, made me feel a hundred times worse about myself. My heart was slamming in my chest. I had nowhere to go.
“I brought you some chamomile tea,” she said. “To help you rehydrate and calm your stomach.”
She picked up the mug and I took it with a trembling hand.
Pushing through the pain, I leaned my back so it rested against the wall. I held tight to the cup with both hands and took a small sip. I could see Prudence notice the way my hands shook, even when I had them wrapped around the tea mug.
“Seth, you seem like a nice person. I hate for things to end this way.”
I squeezed my eyes shut so Phil wouldn’t push them out of
I’ve even named my hangover. I call him Phil. Phil the Fucker. I think about him this way. Phil the Fucker lives deep inside me in the basement suite owned by Fear and Anxiety, whose ‘70s-style stucco home is located directly across the street from Shame and Resentment’s rundown rancher. It’s not a big neighborhood, but it has character. Then again, I may have gotten all this from an interview I read once with one of the guys in Van Halen.
A few times I thought Phil might kill me. The key to coping when Phil’s awake is to do everything real slow. He seems to settle down if I feed him Chinese takeout. The greasier the better. I just thought I’d mention this. It seems relevant somehow.
Anyway, about the incident at the Home Depot. That was a shit show, I admit. When Prudence stopped by my room the next day I told her to go away and leave me to die in peace. That’s what I used to say to my mother and she always listened. She was trained from living with my father. But Prudence didn’t know any better and she walked right in.
She wrinkled her nose at the smell and then put a steaming mug on my bedside table and leaned forward and opened a window, letting in a blast of wind with a distinct Arctic bite to it.
“Please don’t let the air in. I’m allergic,” I said.
“I thought you wanted to die. That’s what you said yesterday when I was trying to get you into the house.”
“I do. But not of fresh air. I was thinking you could smother me or maybe I could overdose on something in the morphine family.” As I spoke, Phil took a bite of my spleen.
I had to sit up to talk to her, but first I had to take a peek under the covers to make sure I had underpants on. I’ve been known to go commando. Also, I was never quite sure what might happen to my lower half when I was trying to sleep one off. Once I established that I was dressed I pulled myself up. God, it felt so bad to have a girl standing in my room looking at me when I felt so sick.
“So I guess I’m fired,” I said. “Sorry about that. I’ll get my stuff and head home as soon as I get my shit together. Thanks for giving me a chance and all that.”
“That’s not going to work,” said Prudence.
“What? Me being fired? Dude, I’ve obviously crossed the line and I deserve it. I realize I’m not employee of the month and I’m ready to take the consequences.”
“Your mother won’t take you back.”
“Did you tell her I was fired?”
“I told her I didn’t think things were working out.”
“So where does she expect me to go?”
Prudence just shook her head.
“This is such bullshit,” I said, pulling the thin blankets higher.
Prudence sat down on a chair across from the bed, gingerly, like I was a very sick patient in a hospital.
“Hmmm,” she said.
I couldn’t even look at her. Her face was so clear and unfucked up. Looking at her, all healthy and everything, made me feel a hundred times worse about myself. My heart was slamming in my chest. I had nowhere to go.
“I brought you some chamomile tea,” she said. “To help you rehydrate and calm your stomach.”
She picked up the mug and I took it with a trembling hand.
Pushing through the pain, I leaned my back so it rested against the wall. I held tight to the cup with both hands and took a small sip. I could see Prudence notice the way my hands shook, even when I had them wrapped around the tea mug.
“Seth, you seem like a nice person. I hate for things to end this way.”
I squeezed my eyes shut so Phil wouldn’t push them out of
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