The 5 Star Hangover Rating Scale
This is the more colorful adult hangover scale mentioned on the previous page. This version is significantly different form the others, is clearly an adult hangover scale, and was reprinted with permission from (name redacted at his request, he has sissy employers).
You’re fine, no biggie, but you’d like to shake the hand of the man who invented Aspirin. You have to do that rapid-blinking head-shaking thing a few times as you piss, but you definitely know where your pants are. You do not need to create elaborate lies to tell your girlfriend, but you may owe your roommate a few beers. Your throat feels fine; you could sing at church if necessary. Your co-workers won’t notice, and you’ll feel 100% in an hour or two.
You’d like to give the creator of Aspirin at least a handjob, and maybe even tickle his balls a little. Your lower back is stiff from either the drunken chicken fights on the monkey bars or the naked mile you ran with entirely too many dudes. Your morning urination takes sixty seconds and is more yellow than usual. After a second glance, your pants are on the couch. The text-messages you sent your girlfriend could use a spell-check, but nothing you regret was said. You could sing back-up vocals with the choir. Co-workers stereotypically ask “late night?” You’d like to slap them.
Loosen up that jaw, because if Mr. Aspirin walks in you’d better be ready to give oral. You have scrapes on your knees and elbows from diving over the fence in the quad. You are not sure why you dived over the fence in the quad. You sway as you pee for over a minute and consider making yourself vomit to feel better. Your pants are in the hallway. You have thirty-five out-going calls between 3:45 and 3:48am. You pray the red tinge on your penis is lipstick. The scapegoat ventricle of your brain starts to grind. Fuck singing at church. Co-workers ask “Rough time at the bars?” You seriously consider punching them in the jaw.
Your ass is no longer exit-only because Aspirin Man is bending you over. After that, you’ll want to wash the blood off your sheets, but not until you find your pants, which are on the lawn and covered in various Maybelline products. You frantically try and remember if your girlfriend wears Maybelline. Your phone is covered in what looks like Swamp Thing’s ejaculate. Your roommate says you have to write apologies to fourteen different neighbors. You pee for so long you curl up in the fetal position and piss in the corner. This doesn’t even depress you, mainly because you’d still blow a 0.13% BAC. You’d rather just die and descend into hell than go to church. Your mouth is so dry you cry to get moisture on your tongue. Co-workers sniff loudly as you walk by; you call your lawyer to represent you in the thirteen workplace assault cases you’ll be fighting over the next two months.
You would let Mr. Aspirin anally-gang-rape you with his brother Tylenol for just one fucking pill. You do not need to pee because it’s already all over your bed. Two people are lying next to you; you are unsure of gender. Your pants have been cut up and made into tribal war bandana’s currently being worn by the oxen in the corner. Both are wearing condoms. You are bleeding from every possible orifice and have lost your sense of smell. You start to count the positives of being single, but can only count to one before your suffer an alcohol-induced brain aneurysm, which actually makes you feel better than your current state. The only reason you’d go to church is to repent for your sins before you kill yourself. You call your phone from your roommate’s: your stomach rings. Co-workers suffer cardiac arrest upon sight. The Morgue keeps trying to take you away.
The adult hangover scale is like the previous, less colorful version, in that it is subjective in nature. People tend to either want to down play their suffering (possibly in a little denial) or jack it up for sympathy. Remember, while you may be fine, those other people are drunks and cannot be trusted. Therefore, when using the adult hangover scale, be certain that you use your best judgment when others are either, bragging about or downplaying their hangovers.
(I reprinted this with permission from another web master. After the reprinting the gentleman who I got it from asked me to remove his name. Apparently he found a job where the employer did not want his name associated with this type of writing.
I wrote all of that just so you would not give me credit for something I did not do. I am not brilliant enough to come up with something like this)